The Ravens and the Angels, with Other Stories and Parables

by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

CHAPTER VII.

Before the night passed away the Child awoke, and started up on his feet, to convince himself he was not still dreaming. Whenever he awoke in his own little cave, the waves were heaving and breaking against the rocks far below; he felt there was something awake beside himself, and he was not alone; and so, after listening a few minutes to the ceaseless song, he fell peacefully asleep again. But here in the wood all was so still. The bees were fast asleep hanging to their combs; not a field-mouse nor a squirrel was stirring near him; even the winds seemed to have fallen asleep among the branches, and the birds rested in their warm nests. Only now and then a little bird gave a slight dreamy stir and chirp, as if it were talking in its sleep; or a large moth would whiz past him, and be out of hearing in a moment. The Child could not bear to feel so silent and alone amidst the multitude of living creatures, and yet he shrank from the sound of his own voice; so he crept noiselessly on to where the moonbeams broke through an opening in the trees. When he reached the clear space, he found the trees there began to be scattered thinly about, whilst the little stream flowed silently through the open glade among the silvery ferns. It was pleasant to stand again under the open sky; and as he stood still, he caught the sound of waters falling in the distance. It reminded him of his own home by the sea, only the rush was constant,—not rising and falling like the organ-swell of the waves. The Child followed the sound, till he reached a waterfall gleaming like a white robe in the moonlight. He watched it a long time with wondering delight, to see the silvery waters ever the same, yet ever new; always leaping after each other with such a startled joy over the edge of the rocks, and always sinking with such content into the deep dark pool beneath, again to set out on a new journey among the sand and pebbles.

The Child knew the way they would have to go among the thick trees into the wood, and he thought of the surprise and delight it would be to them to lose themselves among their companions in the boundless sea, and be changed into waves, the homes of countless happy living creatures.

So the Child's heart followed the little stream until his feet followed his heart, and he climbed in the moonlight up the rocks by the side of the waterfall. Many tough old ferns and young saplings held out their hands to help him up, and so he reached the top and stood on the open plain above. There, as far as he could see, the little stream gleamed and sparkled in the moonbeams, until it was lost in the shadow of the great hills beyond. Above those hills rose mountains with snowy brows open to the moon; and when the Child looked on the other side, his eye was lost in the thick shadows of the wood, where so many living creatures were quietly sleeping.

The song of the earth was hushed; but as the Child looked up into the heavens, the same song seemed to flow down to him from above. And as he listened, the moon went down behind the mountains, and the silvery veil of moonbeams grew so dim that star after star began to peep through it on the Child. These grew brighter and brighter as they and the Child looked into each other's eyes; and more and more came forth, till the heavens were full of millions of happy stars. Every moment the firmament seemed to become deeper and fuller, and the Child's heart grew fuller of joy. For from every star came a separate tone of music, and once more the music seemed almost to form itself into a Name. But the Child could not catch what it was; and he clasped his hands, and, looking up, said to the stars, "You are so far off, I cannot hear what you are singing, but I am sure you know the words of the Song. Bend down to me, happy stars, and tell me the words, that I may sing with you."

The stars answered the Child by a richer and deeper peal of music. But still there were no words, till they hid themselves again in the gray of morning.

Then the child seated himself among the ferns; his fair head sank on his bosom, and he fell asleep.

But in his sleep he was still looking up into the heavens; and there, where the stars had been, he saw white robes floating like moonlit clouds, and human faces like his own looking down on him with tender love, and he heard them sing with human voices the old sweet solemn Song; but it had new tones in it, sweeter than any he had ever heard before, and there were words: but the words were in a language the Child did not know, and in his dream he wept bitterly to hear such sweet songs, so full of love and joy, and not to know what they meant.

But from above the singers came a Voice sweeter and more tender than any of theirs, yet mighty as the sound of many waters, and it said to him, "Weep not: thou also shalt learn the Song."

Then he remembered the mother bird on her nest, and it seemed to him as if something like a mother's love were brooding over him in the heavens. So the Child awoke with a new joy in his heart. He was sure that Voice must have spoken the truth, and with a light and buoyant heart he retraced his steps through the wood beside the stream till he reached his own little cave and the sea-shore. There all his old friends were in a flutter of delight to see him back again. The flowers looked so glad that they almost spoke; the cockles dived into the sand and up again as if they were playing at hide-and-seek; the sand-borers fluttered their feathered heads, and the anemones spread all their living petals; the crabs performed all sorts of ridiculous gambols; the little shrimps darted in and out among the crimson copses of coralline and the tufts of glittering green sea-weed; tiny silver fish shot under the sand arches, their black silver-rimmed eyes watching the Child. Corynes stretched out their little fingers, plant animals rang their delicate bells of glass-thread, and even the sleepy brown and crimson sponges were more active than usual in making their tiny whirlpools.