THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.
“Among the writers who have done much to refine and elevate American literature, Thomas Bailey Aldrich should have the brightest place of one who has wrought equally well in prose and poetry. Among his early efforts ‘Baby Bell’ will longest hold its place in poetry.”—Henry James, Jr.
It is the vision of a gentle, tender spirit, and many eyes unused to tears will grow moist over the delicate lines. We have not room for the whole.
“Baby Bell.”
Have you not heard the poets tell,
How came the dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours?
The gates of heaven were left ajar;
With folded hands and dreamy eyes,
Wandering out of Paradise,
She saw this planet, like a star,
Hung in the glistening depths of even—
Its bridges, running to and fro,
O’er which the white-winged angels go,
Bearing the holy dead to heaven.
She touched a bridge of flowers—those feet,
So light they did not bend the bells
Of the celestial asphodels.
They fell like dew upon the flowers;
Then all the air grew strangely sweet!
And thus came dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours.
…
O, Baby, dainty Baby Bell,
How fair she grew from day to day!
What woman-nature filled her eyes;
What poetry within them lay!
Those deep and tender twilight eyes,
So full of meaning, pure and bright,
As if she yet stood in the light,
Of those oped gates of Paradise.
And so we loved her more and more;
Ah, never in our hearts before
Was love so lovely born;
We felt we had a link between
This real world and that unseen—
The land beyond the morn.
And for the love of those dear eyes,
For love of her whom God led forth
(The mother’s being ceased on earth
When Baby came from Paradise),
For love of Him who smote our lives,
And woke the chords of joy and pain,
We said, Dear Christ! our hearts bent down
Like violets after rain.
…
It came upon us by degrees,
We saw its shadow ere it fell—
The knowledge that our God had sent
His messenger for Baby Bell.
We shuddered with unlanguaged pain,
And all our hopes were changed to fears,
And all our thoughts ran into tears
Like sunshine into rain.
We cried aloud in our belief,
“O, smite us gently, gently, God!
Teach us to bend and kiss the rod,
And perfect grow through grief.”
Ah, how we loved her, God can tell;
Her heart was folded deep in ours;
Our hearts are broken, Baby Bell!
At last he came, the messenger,
The messenger from unseen lands;
And what did dainty Baby Bell?
She only crossed her little hands,
She only looked more meek and fair;
We parted back her silken hair,
We wove the roses round her brow—
White buds, the summer’s drifted snow—
Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers
And thus went dainty Baby Bell
Out of this world of ours.
Some of Aldrich’s descriptions of oriental scenery are richer in color and more luxurious, but he is more at home and more captivating with familiar themes drawn from every day life. We are charmed with such simple pictures as
“Before the Rain.”
We knew it would rain, for all the morn
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapory amethyst
Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens,
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
To sprinkle them over the land in showers.
We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
The white of their leaves, the amber grain
Shrunk in the wind—and the lightning now
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain.