Papers from Overlook-House

by Frederic W. Beasley

Just for a brief space, down there seemed to fall
A veil between the two—a veil like night.
All Ellen's greater, deeper swell of tides
Of soul, forever dashing on the cliffs
On which mind's ocean-great forever beat
Their swell of thunder, here could find no height
That could reverberate. And yet her heart
Was all too noble, high, serenely pure,
Too Christ-taught ever thus to stand apart.

The tender gentleness, the laughing eye,
The soul responsive to the moment's joy,
The power to love, the softening sympathy
With every bird or squirrel that appeared,
Or rabbit, scarce afraid, with wondering eye,
The love of parents, her sweet talk of friends,
And above all, a heart to beat so true
To all that One in heaven had said to her,
Were most alluring powers. Ellen forgot
Wherein they differed: And their souls then chimed
As sounds of bells, blended in summer's wind.
So, as if sunbeams faltering on the bank,
The cloud departing, creep o'er all the green,
Her brightening interest rested on the child.

And when they parted at the bridge of logs,
Though the child's dress was gorgeous, and the pomp
Of city livery from the chariot shone,
While the soft tear was in our Ellen's eye,
There still dwelt all unknown in her sweet mind,
All free from pride, the deep inspiring wish,
That she could raise this merry-hearted one
Above herself: and then there came the thought,
Unconscious, causing sorrows—higher aims—
That the one gone was poor, and she was rich.

There was a loneliness, and so she sought
Her mother; whose companionship was peace:
Who ever won her to her wonted rest.

There is a poetry in many hearts
Which only blends with thought through tenderness:
It never comes as light within the mind
Creating forms of beauty for itself.
It has an eye, and ear for all the world
Can have of beauty. You will see it bend
Over the cradle, sorrow o'er the grave.
It knows of every human tie below,
The vast significance. Unto its God
It renders homage, giving incense clouds
To waft its adorations. By the cross,
It hears the voice, "How holy all is here!"
It speaks deep mysteries, and yet the clue
Is most apparent to the common mind.
Its sayings fall like ancient memories;
We so accept them. Natures such as these
Are often common-place, until the heart
Is touched, and then the tones from gates of heaven.
Such are the blessed to brighten human life—
To give a glory to our earth-born thoughts—
To teach us how to act our deeds as kings,
Which we might else perform as weary slaves.
They give us wings, not sandals, for the road
Full of dry dust. And such the mother was.
So as we tell you of the child, there needs
No voice to say, and such the woman was.

One day she sought her father in the field,
Just before sunset, ready for his home.
And as they reached the rocks along the shore,
Where the road turns, to meet the deep ravine,
Nigh unto Farley, a faint cry for help
Rang in their ears. It was a manly voice
Grieving through pain. They turned aside, and found
A stranger, who had fallen, as he leapt
From out his boat. His fallen gun and dress
Proclaimed the sportsman. Aid was soon at hand,
And in their dwelling he found friends, and care.

Days past. His mother came, and soon she found
He spake to Ellen, Ellen unto him;
As they spake not to others. And it seemed,
Such a perpetual reference in his talk,
As if he had not now a single thought,
Which had not been compared with thought of hers.

At first her pride was moved. And while she stood
Irresolute, the spell was fixed: as when
The power of spring thaws winter to itself.
She knew her son was worthy: and she knew
Here, in the wide-world must he seek a wife.
And in due time she was his fair-haired wife.

They had a rural home across the stream.
Their lights at night answered the cheerful light
Of her paternal home. Their winter's fires
Mingled their gleam upon the dark night wave,
Or on the ice. By summer's winds her voice
Was wafted o'er the waters, as she sang:
And loving hearers blessed her in their hearts.

Oh! what a joy, when in her arms they placed
Her son—ah doomed to be her only born!
Her cup of happiness seemed now so full.
And then the Father, knowing all to come,
Gave her more grace, and so she loved him more,
And had no Idol. But, as days rolled on
Such sorrow came, I scarce can tell the tale.
She saw her husband's manly strength all gone.