SONNLEIN
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To archèd walks of twilight groves.
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe with heavèd stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt
There, in close covert, by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye.
—Il Penseroso.
The dawn was still blushing at the greeting of the sun when, as usual, I took my way with bowed head to an old monarch pine, my altar, to greet the day with prayer. Absorbed in pious meditations I knelt down; but just as I was closing my eyes, I felt something lightly strike, or push, my knee. Still unheeding I knelt, when a more vigorous push made me turn to see what venturesome creature had the temerity to disturb my adorations. I shall never forget the bewilderment that encompassed me when I beheld beside me, lying at the foot of the old pine, the form of a child, almost covered with leaves and cones. But this little visitant, of earth or heaven, child or cherub—I scarce could believe mine own senses! In truth, I know not how long I knelt there, mouth agape, eyes wide open and hands outstretched. But finally I recovered myself sufficiently to see that miracle or no miracle, the being was a reality. And then brushing aside the leaves I scrutinized the little foundling more closely; for sleeping it was, as sweetly and trustfully as if in the Mutterchen's arms, instead of on the hard bosom of mother earth with a wilderness about it. The little head with its tangled mass of dark, silky hair was resting against a large, sheltering root that reached out from the base of the pine, in a broad, tender arm-like curve about the babe. Recently dried tears had furrowed the not over-clean face, flushed with sleep, with grimy little water courses. A stained and tattered white baby cloak afforded scanty covering for the child; for beneath the frayed edges extended the poor, tiny, wayworn feet, which, like the chubby hands, were torn and scratched with thorns, filling my soul with pity, and with indignation at the wretch who could thus desert an innocent child; and my wrath was not diminished when I felt that hair and face and hands and feet were damp with dew.
"In truth I know not
how long I knelt there."
Page 22.
And yet the dear stranger slept on so unconscious of such trifling things as dew and hard, earthen cradle, I could not find the will to awaken the little one. Instead, I turned again toward the east and raising mine eyes to Him I implored and beseeched him, with all the power I could put into my petition, to guide and direct me in the care and conduct of this lost, orphaned one; for somehow—I never knew why—I accepted the idea unhesitatingly that this child had come into my life to be a part of it to the end of my days. My prayer ended, I saw that my charge still slept. I quietly sat down on a rock near by and watched and waited for the awakening.
How long I sat I know not, motionless as to body but of a verity sadly puzzled in mind as to how the child came there and what I should do with it in my hermit life amid such wild surroundings. From the leafy coverts about me came the calls and the chattering of the birds greeting the morn with such lusty will I was almost minded to join in, but wisely refrained lest my heavy voice arouse the sleeper and mayhap drive far from me the cheerful songsters. A saucy red squirrel with waving, rearward plume came down the old pine, stopping now and then to bark defiance at sleeper and watcher. Still nearer the red rover came, his proud plume fairly quivering with excitement. Once he rushed down in a burst of half-hearted confidence, coming almost to my feet, looking up at me as though challenging to mortal combat—and then with might and main he scampered back again, his long tail almost brushing the face of the little slumberer, as the bold tree-dweller rushed far up into the branches of the pine, as if he never again would be so rash and heedless.
At last, however, the little form at the foot of the tree moved uneasily and the yawnings and twistings showed that the awakening had come; and so it had. The little one sat up rubbing its eyes and blinking and winking, when suddenly it saw me and then such a full-lunged cry burst forth as drove the red squirrel in precipitate flight far into the depths of the forest and also drove me into a state verging upon imbecility; for verily I knew not what to do. The more I tried to soothe the child, the louder it yelled and truly my patience was tried most sorely. But I have since learned that the cry of a healthy child, however lusty, does not last long and so after many rubbings of the eyes and gradually subsiding sobs, and sundry sniffs, the little wanderer took out of my large, awkward hands the pretty wild flower I had plucked, and actually laughed as the big, dark eyes looked trustfully into mine.