University of Virginia Library

[I saw a child, whose eyes had never drank]

I saw a child, whose eyes had never drank
The cheerful light of heaven; yet they were fair
And beautiful, and oft those mild blue orbs
Would turn, and seem to seek the forms of those
He lov'd. Full well he knew them, for we need
Not sight true friends to know. If stranger's voice,
Or stranger's step obtruded on his ear,—
Shrieking, he to his mother closer clung,
And with his fair yet sightless eyes uprais'd
Would seem from her, whom best he knew, to ask
Protection. His ear was tun'd to nicest
Harmony. His voice—sweet as nightingale's,
That in some lone vale of Attica,
'Midst ivy dark, sits warbling her plaintive
Notes. Entranc'd the shepherd, as he
Hies him home with quicken'd pace, unconscious
Of delay, lingers to hear her evening
Song. Sightless, think not that he was sad, although
The smiles of morn; the blushes of the sun,
When 'neath his crimson canopy of clouds
He mildly sinks to rest; the evening star,
Seen from behind dark-rolling clouds smiling
Amid the storm; the moon rising from out
The ocean's bed; the lofty groves bending
To catch the zephyrs, as they come laden
With balmy spoils from many a flow'ry field;
The brook leaping from rock to rock, and then
Wand'ring 'mid thickets dark, where scarce the sun
The noon day heat can penetrate, then through
The wide-extended plain, now flowing smooth,
Now ruffled, hoarsely murm'ring o'er the rocks,
Until it fades in distance from our view;
And though all the beauties, which with lavish
Hand nature outspreads, all to him were dark;
Think not, although he ne'er was bless'd
By sights like these, that he was sorrowful.
O no. He knew not, felt not he had want
Of that he never had. With what delight
O sun, would he have view'd thy morning smiles,
Thy evening blushes, when thou sink'st to rest;
If, into those blue eyes, that roll'd in vain
To find thy light, thy piercing beam had gone!
O star of eve, how beautiful wouldst thou
Appear smiling amid the storm! and thou,
Fair groves bending to catch the zephyrs! thou,
O brook, flowing through thickets dark, and wide
Extended plain!
But once, ere he departed to the world,
Where all are bless'd with perfect sight, the want
Of vision dimm'd his eyes with tears—but once,
For mother's fondest care prevented more.
It was a summer's day cloudless and fair;
Alas! that summer's day he ne'er beheld!
The cooling breezes play'd around his head,
Tossing in sport his auburn locks; as, on
A bank cover'd with fairest flowers, mirthful
He sat, near to his paternal mansion.
The rose bent not beneath his airy touch;
The drops of dew, that on it hung, scarce fell,
And falling seem'd to mourn, that he, who on
It laid so light a hand, should not behold
Its beauties. Sweeter to him its fragrance,
For loss of one makes other senses more
Acute. Perchance a bee upon his hand
Alighted. He, dreaming nought of harm, held
Fast and crush'd it; but ere that was done, its
Sting had deeply pierced, and many a tear
Gush'd from those sightless eyes. Let us from this
A moral draw: though done by him who ne'er
Enjoy'd the light of day, 'twill serve to teach
Those, who have always sported in its beams,
A useful lesson. Oft as vice assails,
Rememb'ring that it stings both soul and body,
Let us cast it from us; but if within
Us it has taken root and flourish'd long,
Let us, like that sightless boy, though many
A pang we suffer in the attempt, with firm,
Unsparing grasp, crush the dire foe, and be
Forever free.