 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
CHASING ECHOES.
Two travellers, when the east was red,
Arose, paid reckoning for their bed,
And, having broken fast with bread
And meat, set out together.
Of heart and hope they felt no lack;
So each along the highway's track
Carried his knapsack on his back
As lightly as a feather.
Arose, paid reckoning for their bed,
And, having broken fast with bread
And meat, set out together.
Of heart and hope they felt no lack;
So each along the highway's track
Carried his knapsack on his back
As lightly as a feather.
But when the sun his hot rays sent,
Aside into the fields they went,
And walked on grasses dew-besprent,
And cool with many a shadow;
Where robin, leaving his bush astir,
Fluttered up with a sudden whir,
And whistling to each, “Good morning, sir!”
Went sailing over the meadow.
Aside into the fields they went,
And walked on grasses dew-besprent,
And cool with many a shadow;
Where robin, leaving his bush astir,
Fluttered up with a sudden whir,
And whistling to each, “Good morning, sir!”
Went sailing over the meadow.
At top of the dead tree, solemn and still,
The black crow sat like a thing of ill;
The red-winged woodpecker struck with bill
Horny and hard, like a hammer;
The modest bluebird twittered her song;
The quails ran over the ground in a throng;
The steel-blue swallow, with wing so strong,
Took hold of the air like a swimmer.
The black crow sat like a thing of ill;
The red-winged woodpecker struck with bill
Horny and hard, like a hammer;
The modest bluebird twittered her song;
The quails ran over the ground in a throng;
The steel-blue swallow, with wing so strong,
Took hold of the air like a swimmer.
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And evil seemed to flee with the night,
As upward pushing his horn so bright,
The sun went, leaving a trail of light
In the mist, like a golden furrow;
And viewing it all with a shake of the head,
The younger man to the elder said,
“But for the sweat of the brow for bread,
The world would hold no shadow!”
As upward pushing his horn so bright,
The sun went, leaving a trail of light
In the mist, like a golden furrow;
And viewing it all with a shake of the head,
The younger man to the elder said,
“But for the sweat of the brow for bread,
The world would hold no shadow!”
So our travellers fell into easy talk,
Half of it earnest, half of it mock,
On methods the terrible fiat to balk;
And arguing thus together,
Left the field, unaware, behind;
And entered a pathless wood so blind,
Where mingled murmur of leaves and wind
Gave token of stormy weather!
Half of it earnest, half of it mock,
On methods the terrible fiat to balk;
And arguing thus together,
Left the field, unaware, behind;
And entered a pathless wood so blind,
Where mingled murmur of leaves and wind
Gave token of stormy weather!
Then to a whisper their loud speech fell—
Over the hillside, down in the dell—
Which was the right road neither could tell,
And the rainy night was falling.
And now the elder a sad breath drew;
“We are lost,” he said, “and the thing to do
Is just to stand, and call ‘Halloo!’
And see what comes of calling.”
Over the hillside, down in the dell—
Which was the right road neither could tell,
And the rainy night was falling.
And now the elder a sad breath drew;
“We are lost,” he said, “and the thing to do
Is just to stand, and call ‘Halloo!’
And see what comes of calling.”
And the younger, answering back with dump
Of gun and knapsack, all in a lump,
Turning to one and another clump,
Filled the woods with hallooing;
When, lo! from the heart of silence rung
A sound that seemed like a silver tongue,
And which both men, with hope high strung,
Believed to their bitter ruing.
Of gun and knapsack, all in a lump,
Turning to one and another clump,
Filled the woods with hallooing;
When, lo! from the heart of silence rung
A sound that seemed like a silver tongue,
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Believed to their bitter ruing.
For soon the sky was all a-frown,
The shadows changed from dun to brown,
And pitiless the rain came down,
And winds wailed, oh, so dreary!
And never even the little spark
Of a friendly candle threw on the dark
Its welcome gleam, the path to mark
For the feet so worn and weary.
The shadows changed from dun to brown,
And pitiless the rain came down,
And winds wailed, oh, so dreary!
And never even the little spark
Of a friendly candle threw on the dark
Its welcome gleam, the path to mark
For the feet so worn and weary.
They turned their sad case round and round;
'T was death to sleep on the sodden ground—
And nothing better could there be found
Than calling out, yet higher;
And as they, breathless, harked once more,
The voice came nearer than before,
As if the woodman had come to the door,
Or they to his hut were nigher.
'T was death to sleep on the sodden ground—
And nothing better could there be found
Than calling out, yet higher;
And as they, breathless, harked once more,
The voice came nearer than before,
As if the woodman had come to the door,
Or they to his hut were nigher.
And so the twain got heart again,
Saying, “If it rains, why, let it rain!
Some hermit hereabout, 't is plain,
Is watching for our coming;
How sweet 't will be to see him spread
His board with fruit, and wine and bread,
The while his fire, with mosses fed,
In rosy warmth is humming!”
Saying, “If it rains, why, let it rain!
Some hermit hereabout, 't is plain,
Is watching for our coming;
How sweet 't will be to see him spread
His board with fruit, and wine and bread,
The while his fire, with mosses fed,
In rosy warmth is humming!”
Thus by the silver tongue misled,
As best they could they trudged ahead,
To find the supper and find the bed,
And find the hermit holy;
But what with trees so thickly set,
And what with rain and cold and wet,
And weariness and hunger-fret,
They made their way but slowly.
As best they could they trudged ahead,
To find the supper and find the bed,
And find the hermit holy;
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And what with rain and cold and wet,
And weariness and hunger-fret,
They made their way but slowly.
At last the winds began to spin
Among the faded leaves and thin;
And then, as daybreak light poured in,
The cock-crow, and the rattle
Of falling bars, and pasture-rails
With tinklings blent of pans and pails,
And low of drowsy cattle.
Among the faded leaves and thin;
And then, as daybreak light poured in,
The cock-crow, and the rattle
Of falling bars, and pasture-rails
With tinklings blent of pans and pails,
And low of drowsy cattle.
The night was past, the rain was done,
The sun was like an Easter sun,
And all the tuneful birds begun
To fill the air with praises.
“Ah,” said the friends (in pride's despite),
“That lying echo served us right;
Men who will sin against the light
Must reap the thorns, not daisies!
The sun was like an Easter sun,
And all the tuneful birds begun
To fill the air with praises.
“Ah,” said the friends (in pride's despite),
“That lying echo served us right;
Men who will sin against the light
Must reap the thorns, not daisies!
“And we had travelled east and west,
Had had our work-days and our rest,
And gained good gains, but not the best,
For this was left for learning:
That, after all is done and said,
But the straight way gets men ahead,
And never honey-sweetened bread
Like honesty of earning!”
Had had our work-days and our rest,
And gained good gains, but not the best,
For this was left for learning:
That, after all is done and said,
But the straight way gets men ahead,
And never honey-sweetened bread
Like honesty of earning!”
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |