A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, ‘A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown:
This child I to myself will take,
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own!’”
Wordsworth.

I

Little Katie, when your mother
Sees you sleeping on your bed,
Golden hair upon your pillow
Halo-like, around you spread;
List'ning to your gentle breathing,
Bending down to catch the sighs,
And the sleepy words you murmur
When the light is on your eyes:

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II

When she hears your little footsteps
Running on their devious way,
Sees you with your waxen baby
Hold a never-wearied play:
And with mimic care attend it,
And in loving tones caress,
Fond and tender words repeating
That your own sweet childhood bless:

III

When she holds you to her bosom,
Looking on your dimpled smile,
There is “love that passeth knowledge,”
Working in her heart the while:
And she thinks, “Whatever sorrow
One day in my path may be,
And whatever cares may trouble,
O this same shall comfort me!”

IV

Little Katie, when your father
First beheld your open eyes,
Strange delight was in his blessing,
Half incredulous surprise.

211

Only daughter! There is magic
Surely in a daughter's name,
And the gladness of your birthday
Growing still, is still the same.

V

Little Katie, when your laughter
Rises sweetly to his ear,
Do you know what thoughts it wakens
Of a voice no longer here?
Do you know how much you tell him,
In its clear and joyful tone,
Of lov'd accents that it echoes,
And of features like your own?

VI

When you come with baby footsteps,
When you cling about his chair,
And he parts from off your forehead
The soft curls of veiling hair:
Sometimes, looking down, remembrance
Of another face doth rise,
And he sees, but heeds no longer,
Thinking on those buried eyes,—

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VII

On her face, that now lies cover'd
With a mantle green and fair,
Where at sundown falls the shadow
Of a distant house of prayer:
At whose feet the young tree flourish'd
Ere you came, an infant guest,
One, to whom her name descended,
And her welcome in his breast.

VIII

What if more be gather'd shortly,
If they go to join her there,
Will you fill their vacant places
With your watchful love and care?
Will you learn the silent language
Dimly written on his brow,
Minister to wants unspoken,
To unutter'd wishes bow?

IX

It is much if love attend us,
Something to be understood:
More, if heedful thoughts be on us,
Always waiting for our good.

213

Kindness, more than precious jewels
Or than ornaments of gold,
Beautifies a woman's beauty,
Gives her grace when she grows old.

X

For the sister-voice that never
With his household music blends,
For that lost delight of childhood
Will you make his heart amends?
Till he says, “In all my labours,
Long and toilsome though they be,
And for all remember'd sorrows,
Now this same doth comfort me!”

XI

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XII

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XIII

Pleasure, like that ray of glory
By the ancient painters shed
Round some pictur'd fond resemblance
Of the dear Redeemer's head,

214

In the loom of life doth pleasure,
Ere our childish days are told,
With the warp and woof enwoven,
Glitter like a thread of gold!

XIV

Be not anxious to discover,
Questioning with curious thought,
Why in life's embroider'd tissue
Should this golden thread be wrought:
Nor, as some have done before you,
In the midst of joyous play,
Wonder why you are so happy,
And how soon 'twill pass away!

XV

Pass it surely will, and early—
Thoughtless pleasures will not last;
Things that perish in the using—
Morning rime that melteth fast.
But, instead will come perceptions
Of a nature more intense;
Conscious joys — but care-attended,
Growing up with thought and sense:

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XVI

Things our Childhood did not dream on
While she linger'd with us still,
Making necklaces of daisies—
Sailing fleets along the rill:
She is gone! and with her vanish'd
Much that fancy well may rue,
Theories that shrink from proving,
And beliefs no longer true.

XVII

Then there comes a feeling common
To the disenchanted heart,
As it thinks how marvel ceaseth,
And from earth how wonders part.
“Miracles have long been over,
All things follow changeless rule,—
Angels stir not now the waters,
Of Bethesda's desert pool.

XVIII

“Men forget the worlds above them,
And can see no signs in Heav'n,
Art has almost put out Nature
With her deep insidious leav'n:

216

And our God withdraws his presence,
While perverse, in harden'd mood
Live the Tribes that once He nourish'd,
Forty years on Angels' food.”

XIX

So doth Youth — from fables rising—
Fashion out of all she sees,
Even from this world's condition,
Fellow thoughts and sympathies:
Even Nature's face we colour
With the mind's prevailing tone,
Change her language to a cadence,
Harmonizing with our own!

XX

Thought is free, the sages tell us—
Free to rove, and free to soar,
But affection lives in bondage,
That enthralls her more and more:
From her utmost branch she sendeth,
Downward like the Indian tree,
Roots that with the earth connect her,
Strongly and enduringly.

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XXI

Yet alas! for something better—
Love is such a helpless thing—
Poor as earthly gold and silver,
Life to buy, or peace to bring.
Like a woman empty-handed,
Weeping for her children's need,
Love can heal no pang it mourneth,
Nor her tears the children feed!

XXII

Then our envy turns upon us—
“What! and would'st thou purchase rest
By the drying up of feeling,
By love's cooling in thy breast?
No! thou would'st not! why complain then,
Simple reasoner that thou art?
How shall these two dwell together—
Quiet life and loving heart?”

XXIII

There is no such thing as silence,
Sleepless echoes round us wait,
Every sound we can interpret
Makes it bear on ev'ry state:

218

Absent voices crowd about us,
Talking with us by the way;
Faces that the grave has cover'd
Look upon us all the day.

XXIV

And their words are not reproachful,
Though we sometimes wish they were,
Pain'd for every past unkindness,
That from us they had to bear.
Many needless things are spoken,
(Words to folly near akin)
Rather than in silence listen
To those voices from within!

XXV

Little Katie, when your childhood
Passeth, like a dream of night,
Then may youth arise unclouded—
Like a summer morning bright.
Having left no absent voices
Any cause to pain you thus—
Live to hear from all who love you—
“O this same doth comfort us!”

July, 1847.