Read Ebook: The Man of Uz and Other Poems by Sigourney L H Lydia Howard

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 461 lines and 33152 words, and 10 pages

rown farm-houses take unto themselves wings and fly away, Like the wild-geese in autumn, if only something might be new. There's the Miller forever standing on that one same spot of ground, Watching his spouting wheel, when there's water, and when there is none, Grumbling, I suppose, at home, to his spiritless wife and daughters. I like not that fusty old Miller, his coat covered with meal, Ever tugging at bags, and shoveling corn into the hopper." Discreetly answer'd Bertha, and the lively one responded, Lively, and quick-sighted, yet prone to be restless and unsatisfied, "Counting rain-drops as they fall, one by one, from sullen branches. Seeing silly lambkins leap, and the fan-tail'd squirrels scamper, What are such things to me? Stupid Agriculture I like not, Soap-making, and the science of cheese-tubs, what are they to me? The chief end of life with these hinds and hindesses, Is methinks, to belabor their hands, till they harden like brick-bats."

"Look, look, Miranda, dearest! The new moon sweetly rising Holdeth forth her silver crescent, which the loyal stars perceiving, Gather gladly to her banner, like a host around their sovereign. Let us find the constellations that our good Instructor taught us. Remember you not yesterday, when our lesson was well-render'd, How with unwonted flattery he call'd us his Hesperus and Aurora?"

"These hum-drum teachings tire me, I'm disgusted with reciting And repeating, day by day, what I knew well enough before." Then quickening briskly her startled steed with the riding-whip, She darted onward through the forest, reaching first their own abode.

"Oh Miranda! Our Mother! In your company is her solace. In your young life she liveth, at your bright smile, ever smileth, Such power have you to cheer her. What could she do without you When the lengthen'd eve grows lonely, and the widow sorrow presseth?" "Oh persuade her!" she cried, with an embrace of passionate fervor, "Persuade her, Bertha! and I'll be your bond-servant forever."

Seldom had a differing purpose ruffled long those sisterly bosoms. Wakeful lay Bertha, the silent tear for her companion, While frequent sighs swelling and heaving the snowy breast of Miranda, Betray'd that troubled visions held her spirit in their custody.

Like twin streamlets had they been, from one quiet fountain flowing, Stealing on through fringed margins, anon playfully diverging, Yet to each other as they wander'd, sending messages through whispering reeds, Then returning and entwining joyously, with their cool chrystalline arms.

But who that from their source marketh infant brooklets issue, Like sparkling threads of silver, wending onward through the distance Can foretell which will hold placid course among the vallies, Content with silent blessings from the fertile soil it cheereth, Or which, mid rocky channels contending and complaining, Now exulting in brief victory, then in darken'd eddies creeping, Leaps its rampart and is broken on the wheel of the cataract.

Generous is the love and holy that springeth from gratitude; Rooting not in blind instinct, grasping not, exacting not, Remembering the harvest on which it fed, and the toil of the harvester; Fain would it render recompense according to what it hath received, Or falling short, weepeth. As the leaf of the white Lily Bendeth backward to the stalk whence its young bud drew nutrition, So turneth the Love of Gratitude, with eye undimm'd and fervent, To parent, friend, teacher, benefactor, bountiful Creator. Sympathies derived from such sources ever sacredly cherishing; Daughter of Memory, inheriting her mother's immortality, Welcome shall she find among angels, where selfish love may not enter.

CANTO SECOND.

In the gay and crowded city Where the tall and jostling roof-trees Jealous seem of one another, Jealous of the ground they stand on, Each one thrusting out its neighbor From the sunrise, or the sunset, In a boarding school of fashion Was Miranda comprehended, Goal of her supreme ambition.

--Girls were there from different regions, Distant States, and varying costumes, She was beautiful they told her, And her mirror when she sought it Gave concurrent testimony.

--Very fond was she of walking In the most frequented places, Fondly fancying all beholders Gazed on her with admiration. Striking dresses, gay with colors She disported and commended, Not considering that the highest Of attractions in a woman Is simplicity of costume, And a self-forgetful sweetness.

--So completely had this beauty Leagued with vanity, uprooted Serious thought and useful purpose, And the nobler ends of being, That even in the solemn Temple Where humility befitteth All who offer adoration, Close observance of the apparel Of acquaintances or strangers, And a self-display intruded On the service of devotion, While her fair cheek oft-times rested Daintily on gloveless fingers Where the radiant jewels sparkled On a hand like sculptured marble.

--As the autumnal evenings lengthen'd, Bertha with a filial sweetness Sought her mother's favorite authors, And with perfect elocution Made their sentiments and feelings, Guests around the quiet fireside.

--Page of Livy, or of Caesar, Stirring scenes of tuneful Maro, From their native, stately numbers To the mother's ear she rendered; Or with her o'er ancient regions, Fallen sphynx, or ruin'd column, Led by guiding Rollin, wandered, Deeply mused with saintly Sherlock, Or through Milton's inspiration Scanned the lore of forfeit Eden.

--Greatly their surprise amused her, But the Mother and the Sister With their eagle-eyed affection, Spied a thorn amid the garland, Heard the sighing on her pillow, Saw the flush invade her forehead, And were sure some secret sorrow Rankled in that snowy bosom.

Rumor, soon with hundred voices Whisper'd of a dashing lover, Irreligious and immoral, And the anxious Mother counsel'd Sad of heart her fair-hair'd daughter.

--Scarce with any show of reverence Listen'd the impatient maiden, Then with tearless eyes wide open Like full orbs of shadeless sapphire All unpausing, thus responded.

--"I have promised Aldebaran, To be his,--alone,--forever! And I'll keep that promise, Mother, Though the firm skies fall around me, And yon stars in fragments shatter'd, Each with thousand voices warn'd me.

--Thou hast spoken words reproachful, Doubting of his soul's salvation, Of his creed I never question'd, But where'er he goes, I follow. Whatsoe'er his lot, I'll share it, Though it were the darkest chamber In the lowest hell. 'Twere better There with him, than 'mid the carols Of the highest heaven, without him." Swan-like arms were wrapped around her With a cry of better pleading, "Oh Miranda!--Oh my Sister! Gather back the words you've spoken, Quickly, ere the angel write them Weeping on the doom's day tablet.

--You have grieved our blessed Mother: See you not the large tears trickle Down those channels deeply furrow'd Which the widow-anguish open'd? Kneel beside me, Oh my Sister! Darling of my cradle slumbers, Ask the grace of God to cleanse thee From thy blasphemy and blindness, Supplicate the Great Enlightener Here to purge away thy madness, Pray our Saviour to forgive thee."

"Bertha! Bertha! speak not to me, What knowest thou of love almighty? Naught except that craven spirit Measuring, weighing, calculating, That goes shivering to its bridal. On this deathless soul, all hazard Here I take, and if it perish, Let it perish. From the socket This right eye I'd pluck, extinguish This right hand, if he desire it, And go maim'd through all the ages That Eternity can number.

--Prayer is not for me, but action, Against thee, and Her who bare me Stand I at Love's bidding, boldly In the armor that he giveth, For life's battle, strong and ready. --Hush! I've sworn, and I'll confirm it."

In due time, the handsome suitor Paid his devoirs to Miranda, In her own paternal dwelling. Very exquisite in costume, Very confident in manner, Pompous, city-bred, and fearless Was the accepted Aldebaran.

--Axious felt she, lest the customs Of the rustic race around her, So she styled her rural neighbors, Might discourage or disgust him, But he gave them no attention, Quite absorbed in other matters.

--In their promenades together She beheld the people watching Mid their toils of agriculture, Saw them gaze from door and windows, Little ones from gates and fences, On the stylish Alderbaran, And her heart leap'd up exulting.

--Notice took he of the homestead, With an eye of speculation, Ask'd the number of its acres, And what revenue they yielded. Notice took of herds and buildings With their usufruct, and value, Closer note than seem'd consistent With his delicate position; But Miranda, Cupid blinded, No venality detected.

--He, in gorgeous phrase address'd her, With an oriental worship, As some goddess condescending To an intercourse with mortals. Pleas'd was she with such observance, Pleas'd and proud that those around her Should perceive what adoration Was to her, by him accorded.

--When he left, 'twas with the assurance The next visit should be final. Marking on his silver tablet With gay hand, the day appointed When he might return to claim her In the nuptial celebration.

There's a bridal in the spring-time, When the bee from wintry covert Talking to the unsheath'd blossoms, Meditates unbounded plunder, And the bird mid woven branches Brooding o'er her future treasures Harkeneth thrilling to the love-song Of her mate, who nestward tendeth.

--There's a bridal in the spring-time, And the beautiful Miranda Through her veil of silvery tissue Gleams, more beautiful than ever. From the hearth-stone of her fathers, With the deathless love of woman Trusting all for earth or heaven To a mortal's rule and guidance, One, but short time since, a stranger, Forth she goes. The young beholders Gazing on the handsome bridegroom, Gazing on the nuptial carriage, Where the milk-white horses sported Knots of evergreen and myrtle, Felt a pleasure mix'd with envy At a happiness so perfect.

Of the sadness left behind her In the mansion whence she parted, Loneliness, and bitter heart-ache, Deep, unutter'd apprehension, Fearful looking for of judgment, It were vain in lays so feeble To attempt a true recital.

--Still, to Mother and to Sister Came epistles from Miranda, Essenc'd and genteelly written, Painting happiness so perfect, So transcending expectation, So surpassing all that fancy In her wildest flights had pencil'd, That even Eden ere the tempter Coil'd himself amid the blossoms Fail'd to furnish fitting symbol.

Heartfelt bliss is never boastful, Like the holy dew it stealeth To the bosom of the violet, Only told by deeper fragrance.

--He who saith "See! see! I'm happy? Happier than all else around me," Leaves, perchance, a doubt behind him Whether he hath comprehended What true happiness implieth.

Oh, the storm-cloud and the tempest! Oh, the dreary night of winter! Drifting snows, and winds careering Down the tall, wide-throated chimney, Like the shrieking ghosts from Hades. Shrieking ghosts of buried legions.

--"Mother! hear I not the wailing Of a human voice?" "My daughter! 'Tis the blast that rends the pine-trees. The old sentry-Oak is broken, Close beside our chamber-window, And its branches all are moaning. 'Tis their grief you hear, my daughter."

But the maiden's car was quicken'd To all plaint of mortal sorrow, And when next, the bitter north wind Lull'd, to gather strength and vigor, For a new exacerbation, Listening close, she caught the murmur, "Hush mein daughter! hush mein baby." Then she threw the door wide open, Though the storm rush'd in upon her, With its blinding sleet and fury.

What beheld she, near the threshold, Prostrate there beside the threshold, But a woman, to whose bosom Clung a young and sobbing infant?

--Oh the searching look that kindled 'Neath those drooping, straining eye-lids, Searching mid the blast and darkness, For some helper in her anguish, Searching, kindling look, that settled Into heavy, deadly slumber, As the waning taper flashes Once, to be relumin'd never.

Still her weak arm clasp'd the baby, Rais'd its pining, pinching features, Faintly cried, "Mein kind! Have pity, Pity, for the love of Jesus!"

--Yes, forlorn, benighted wanderer, Thy poor, failing feet have brought thee Where the love of Jesus dwelleth. Gently in a bed they laid her, Chafed her stiffening limbs and temples, Pour'd the warm, life-giving cordial, But what seem'd the most to cheer her, Were some words by Bertha spoken In her own, dear native language. Voice of Fatherland! it quicken'd All the heart's collapsing heart-strings, As though bath'd, and renovated In the Rhine's blue, rushing waters.

O'er the wildering waste of ocean, Moved by zeal of emigration She had ventured with her husband To this western World of promise, Rainbow-vested El-Dorado.

On that dreary waste of waters He had died, and left her mourning, All unguided, unbefriended. --There the mother-sorrow found her And compell'd her by the weeping Of the new-born, to encounter With a broken-hearted welcome Life once more, which in the torrent of her utter desolation She had cast aside, contemning As a burden past endurance.

--Outcast in this land of strangers, Strange of speech, and strange in manner, She had travel'd, worn and weary, Here and there, with none to aid her, Ask'd for work, and none employ'd her, Ask'd for alms, and few reliev'd her, Till at length, the wintry tempest Smote her near that blessed roof-tree.

Heavy slumber weigh'd her downward, Slumber from whence none awaketh. Yet at morn they heard her sighing, On her pillow faintly sighing, "I am ready! I am ready!" "Leonore! my child! my darling!"

Then they brought the infant to her, Cleanly robed, and sweetly smiling, And the parting soul turn'd backward, And the clay-seal on the eyelids Lifted up to gaze upon it.

Then they laid her icy fingers Mid the infant's budding ringlets, And the pang and grasp subsided In a smile and whispering cadence, "God, mein God, be praised!"--and silence Settled on those lips forever.

Favor'd is the habitation Where a gentle infant dwelleth, When its brightening eye revealeth The immortal part within it, And its curious wonder scanneth All its wide spread, tiny fingers, And its velvet hand caressing Pats the nurse's cheek and bosom, Hoary Age grows young before it, As the branch that Winter blighted At the touch of Spring reviveth.

When its healthful form evolveth, And with quadrupedal pleasure Creeping o'er the nursery carpet, Aiming still, its flowery surface With faint snatches to appropriate, Or the bolder art essaying On its two round feet to balance And propel the swaying body As with outstretch'd arms it hastens Tottering toward the best beloved, Hope, her freshest garland weaveth Glittering with the dews of morning.

When the lisping tongue adventures The first tones of imitation, Or with magic speed o'ermasters The philosophy of language Twining round the mind of others, Preferences, and pains and pleasures, Tendrils strong, of sentient being, Seeking kindness and indulgence, Loving sports and smiles, and gladness, Tenderest love goes forth to meet it, Love that every care repayeth.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet