 | Poems and Songs |  |
A Day Dream.
Twas summer—July—and the sun had looked out
Just to see what the folks with hay-fields were about,
When a man with a paper he saw near a stream
By the sea. “'Tis some care-tortured mortal a-dream
I will put him to sleep,” said the sun, “half a-day.
By my beams! 'Tis the much-abused David Macrae.”
Just to see what the folks with hay-fields were about,
When a man with a paper he saw near a stream
By the sea. “'Tis some care-tortured mortal a-dream
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By my beams! 'Tis the much-abused David Macrae.”
So he glared at him just as our mesmerists do,
Unwinkingly out of the clear summer blue,
Till down 'mong the grass lay the reader's hot head,
And over his face fell the Herald he read.
“More mining disasters,” as backward he lay,
Was the heading that last troubled David Macrae.
Unwinkingly out of the clear summer blue,
Till down 'mong the grass lay the reader's hot head,
And over his face fell the Herald he read.
“More mining disasters,” as backward he lay,
Was the heading that last troubled David Macrae.
And whether 'twas that or the sun's fiery heat
(The soft water-lullaby crooned at his feet
Could not cause it), the teller declares he don't know;
But the Herald-hid sleeper went drop down below,
And in darkness most visible groping his way;
Unto where he knew not stumbled David Macrae.
(The soft water-lullaby crooned at his feet
Could not cause it), the teller declares he don't know;
But the Herald-hid sleeper went drop down below,
And in darkness most visible groping his way;
Unto where he knew not stumbled David Macrae.
Then faces—grimed faces, but human—saw he;
Some passed with a smile; some beheld him with glee,
And as each form that passed wore some coarse woollen stuff—
“Well, it seems that I cannot have dropt far enough:
For forms just like these in the broad glare of day,
I have seen where the pits are,” said David Macrae.
Some passed with a smile; some beheld him with glee,
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“Well, it seems that I cannot have dropt far enough:
For forms just like these in the broad glare of day,
I have seen where the pits are,” said David Macrae.
But onward he moved, and, wherever the track,
Vague danger seemed round him, and all things were black,
Except where some roof-wreathing fungus shone white—
A fairy, a ghost, or a halo of light,
Just as fancy elected. “Behold a bright ray
In the darkness Cimmerian,” said David Macrae.
Vague danger seemed round him, and all things were black,
Except where some roof-wreathing fungus shone white—
A fairy, a ghost, or a halo of light,
Just as fancy elected. “Behold a bright ray
In the darkness Cimmerian,” said David Macrae.
But, lo! from a passage a hoarse whispering broke,
“I've a match. Who has pipes?” said a voice, “let us smoke.”
Then a flame burst before him sulphuric and blue,
And dim haggard forms rushed the passages through;
Confusion, death shrieks, and strange torture held sway:—
“What! A hell after all?” muttered David Macrae.
“I've a match. Who has pipes?” said a voice, “let us smoke.”
Then a flame burst before him sulphuric and blue,
And dim haggard forms rushed the passages through;
Confusion, death shrieks, and strange torture held sway:—
“What! A hell after all?” muttered David Macrae.
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And behold! (a new angel within a new sun),
A strange figure appeared as the tumult begun,
Raising high a tall form of concentrated gloom,
It seemed in the roof for its head to make room;
While round it the flame seemed to curl in fond play:—
“This is not of earth, earthly,” said David Macrae.
A strange figure appeared as the tumult begun,
Raising high a tall form of concentrated gloom,
It seemed in the roof for its head to make room;
While round it the flame seemed to curl in fond play:—
“This is not of earth, earthly,” said David Macrae.
And the face was a marvel—majestic, serene—
A face where compassion of old may have been;
And the eyes—wondrous eyes—made for staring one blind—
But the glare in them seemed neither cold nor unkind,
As a voice, sermon-toned, said, “Where wanderest thou, pray?
So, you seek to abolish me, David Macrae?
A face where compassion of old may have been;
And the eyes—wondrous eyes—made for staring one blind—
But the glare in them seemed neither cold nor unkind,
As a voice, sermon-toned, said, “Where wanderest thou, pray?
So, you seek to abolish me, David Macrae?
“I have come just to meet you half-way in the gloom,
And to show how, at times, we earth's hollows illume,
And confuse with faint warmth—you have seen what took place,
And how in a moment sweet life we efface;
Just a hint—take it so—of what waits you some day.”
“Thou wer't ever a liar,” said David Macrae.
And to show how, at times, we earth's hollows illume,
And confuse with faint warmth—you have seen what took place,
And how in a moment sweet life we efface;
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“Thou wer't ever a liar,” said David Macrae.
“A liar! That's brave, and, besides, it is true;
I'm to others a liar—true Satan to you.
How I wish we were friends! Just a little me leave!
Oh! why of his all a poor devil bereave?
I would live and let live, as among you they say.”
“No! I can't compromise it,” said David Macrae.
I'm to others a liar—true Satan to you.
How I wish we were friends! Just a little me leave!
Oh! why of his all a poor devil bereave?
I would live and let live, as among you they say.”
“No! I can't compromise it,” said David Macrae.
“Ah, me! Do but think, sir, how hard it must be,
The sweet souls of infants no more come to me.
Once they poured down in thousands from east and from west—
From wherever the foot of Transgression found rest;
Now the dear little spirits are sent t'other way”—
“There was never one near you,” said David Macrae.
The sweet souls of infants no more come to me.
Once they poured down in thousands from east and from west—
From wherever the foot of Transgression found rest;
Now the dear little spirits are sent t'other way”—
“There was never one near you,” said David Macrae.
“Ah, well! very good, reverend brother, but sure
You might well let the torments of adults endure
Through eternity—so 'twas arranged long ago;
And a bargain is always a bargain, you know—
Oh! leave that fond fear to grace sermon, and lay”—
“No; I've done with such error!” said David Macrae.
You might well let the torments of adults endure
Through eternity—so 'twas arranged long ago;
And a bargain is always a bargain, you know—
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“No; I've done with such error!” said David Macrae.
“Well, brother—for I am a minister too,
And, just like yourself, do what's set me to do;
I have fought in my time; so have you;—very well,
Here's a list of your Synod. For each I've a cell,
Kept aflame from the first for him—what do you say?”
“I confess I am mortal,” sighed David Macrae.
And, just like yourself, do what's set me to do;
I have fought in my time; so have you;—very well,
Here's a list of your Synod. For each I've a cell,
Kept aflame from the first for him—what do you say?”
“I confess I am mortal,” sighed David Macrae.
Then laughter burst forth from the long-lingering flame,
Now distant it echoed, now nearer it came—
A sneering, triumphant “Ho, ho! Oh, ho, ho!
How they love, these Seceders! Amen! Be it so!
What is sauce for the gander is sauce for”—“Away!
'Twas a moment of weakness!” cried David Macrae.
Now distant it echoed, now nearer it came—
A sneering, triumphant “Ho, ho! Oh, ho, ho!
How they love, these Seceders! Amen! Be it so!
What is sauce for the gander is sauce for”—“Away!
'Twas a moment of weakness!” cried David Macrae.
Then while still in his ears the strange ho! hoing rang,
From his couch by the streamlet the pale dreamer sprang
In a visible tremor, and wild was his stare,
And tragic the grasp of his hand in his hair,
“What a horrible vision! Thank God, he's away!
'Twas a dreadful temptation!” said David Macrae.
From his couch by the streamlet the pale dreamer sprang
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And tragic the grasp of his hand in his hair,
“What a horrible vision! Thank God, he's away!
'Twas a dreadful temptation!” said David Macrae.
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