“A blessing on you, fair strangers! It is night,—and do you wander abroad? It is night, for the dew is upon me. Ah! that hand now laid on my head is gentle and soothing, as that which so often presses it in my sleepless dreams, throughout the long night;
Ah! it speaks not to me:
No face appears with smile,
Its light I could not see,
And trace the gentle wile,
But bathed in perfume from the far-off land,
Upon my head comes,—lies, a holy hand,”
and she raised her face to the sky so earnestly.
“But, my pretty child,” inquired Katharine, “why do you gaze upwards? Does that hand, which visits you so oft, in dreams, appear then, at this hour, from out one of those changing clouds?”
“Do I!” the child exclaimed in intense emotion, indicated by her livelier tones and brightened face,—“do I, indeed, gaze upon the wide, the beautiful sky? Yes, it breathes upon my forehead! Feel it!”
They were bewildered at the strangeness of her words and movements. She took Katharine’s hand, and held it to her brow, and then resumed,—
“Now take it away. You would not deprive me of that sweet, sweet influence. Oh! they tell me how glorious the sky is. I cannot see, I cannot think of it, I cannot even dream of it. I know all the flowers of earth by their touch and fragrance. I know, fair ladies, that you are beautiful, but the sky is far, far above me. I hear its sounds, but its face is veiled from me. Will the time never come, when mine eyes shall open to a star, a bright-tinged cloud, a fair expanse of love, to canopy and bound our dream? Must the mean reptile be permitted to see them, although it prefers to crawl amidst dust and clods,—and shall not I?”
“God pities the blind, fair child,” kindly returned Dawson.
“Have you seen God?”
“No; he cannot be seen by us, now.”