THE FOUNTAIN’S SONG.
Into the narrow basin
Falleth the ceaseless rain,
Echo of sweet-voiced river
Singing through mountain glen,
Breaking amid the footfalls
Filling the city square,
Mingling with childhood’s clamor
Piercing the heavy air:
Shrill-sounding, childish voices
Gathered from dust-grimed street,
Pale little wondering faces,
Swift little shoeless feet;
Coral-stained cheeks of olive,
Lips where all roses melt,
Eyes like the heavens’ zenith—
Latin, Teuton, and Celt
Crowding with eager glances
Where the wide bowl lies spread,
Watching the gold-fish glimmer,
Giving the turtles bread:
Eyes that of mountain streamlet
Never the light have known,
Ears that of mountain music
Know not a single tone,
Feet that have never clambered
Clinging to mossy stone,
Hands that the palest harebell
Never have called their own.
Glittering in the sunshine
Droppeth the fountain’s rain;
Glistening in the moonlight,
Singing its mountain strain.
Twittering round the basins
Sparrows sit in a line,
Dip in the ruffled water,
Scatter its jewels fine.
Rests in the earth-bound basin
Depth of the starlit sky,
Shadows of noon and twilight
Soft on the waters lie.
Fresh on the clover circle
Falleth the wind-driven spray,
Keeping an April greenness
All through the August day.
Meet that St. Mary’s gable,
Bearing the cross, should crown
This little glimpse of freshness
Set in the sun-parched town;
Meet that St. Mary’s altar
Rise with its Sacrifice
Here where the city’s poor ones
Seek pure breath from the skies.
E’er in the dropping water
Filling the pool below
Voices I hear that never
Pure mountain-stream can know:
Singeth the city fountain
Songs that are all its own,
Though for its needs it borrow
Music the hills have known:
Sings it of sin forgiven,
Sorrow-tossed heart at rest,
Wearisome load soft lifted,
Soul of all bliss possessed.
Chanteth the silver murmur
Notes of the vesper hymn;
Gleams in the moonlit showers
Twinkle of taper dim
Burning before God’s altar
Faithful through day and night,
In its unbroken service
Token of holier light.
Bells rung at Benediction
Mingle their sacred chime
Clear in the solemn rhythm
Wherewith the fountain keeps time.
Gifts of our Blessed Mother,
Lady of God’s dear Grace,
Fall with the falling waters—
Heavenly dew of peace.
Wind-swept spray of the fountain
Keeping the clover green,
Telleth the grace of sorrow
Clothing a soul serene;
Bubbles breaking in sunshine—
Heaven-reflecting spheres—
Shine like joy-freighted eyelids:
Heart finding speech in tears.
Quarrelsome little sparrows
Wear the white wings of dove,
Brooding o’er mystical waters,
Fusing the waves with love.
So doth the fountain whisper
Thoughts of all sorrow and joy,
Sparkle like blessèd water
Cleansing from sin’s alloy:
Voices of mountain and altar
Blend in its ceaseless rain,
Holding my soul that listens
Bound in a subtle chain.