the poet at the breakfast table-第7节
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glasses through which she looks at the Common and the Colleges； and
as the sunsets shine upon her through the flickering leaves or the
wiry spray of the elms I remember from my childhood； they will
glorify her into the aspect she wore when President Holyoke； father
of our long since dead centenarian； looked upon her in her youthful
comeliness。
The quiet corner formed by this and the neighboring residences has
changed less than any place I can remember。 Our kindly； polite；
shrewd； and humorous old neighbor； who in former days has served the
town as constable and auctioneer； and who bids fair to become the
oldest inhabitant of the city； was there when I was born； and is
living there to…day。 By and by the stony foot of the great
University will plant itself on this whole territory； and the private
recollections which clung so tenaciously and fondly to the place and
its habitations will have died with those who cherished them。
Shall they ever live again in the memory of those who loved them here
below？ What is this life without the poor accidents which made it
our own； and by which we identify ourselves？ Ah me！ I might like to
be a winged chorister； but still it seems to me I should hardly be
quite happy if I could not recall at will the Old House with the Long
Entry； and the White Chamber （where I wrote the first verses that
made me known； with a pencil； stans pede in uno； pretty； nearly）； and
the Little Parlor； and the Study； and the old books in uniforms as
varied as those of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company used
to be； if my memory serves me right； and the front yard with the
Star…of…Bethlehems growing； flowerless； among the grass； and the dear
faces to be seen no more there or anywhere on this earthly place of
farewells。
I have told my story。 I do not know what special gifts have been
granted or denied me； but this I know； that I am like so many others
of my fellow…creatures； that when I smile； I feel as if they must；
when I cry； I think their eyes fill； and it always seems to me that
when I am most truly myself I come nearest to them and am surest of
being listened to by the brothers and sisters of the larger family
into which I was born so long ago。 I have often feared they might be
tired of me and what I tell them。 But then； perhaps； would come a
letter from some quiet body in some out…of…the…way place； which
showed me that I had said something which another had often felt but
never said； or told the secret of another's heart in unburdening my
own。 Such evidences that one is in the highway of human experience
and feeling lighten the footsteps wonderfully。 So it is that one is
encouraged to go on writing as long as the world has anything that
interests him； for he never knows how many of his fellow…beings he
may please or profit； and in how many places his name will be spoken
as that of a friend。
In the mood suggested by my story I have ventured on the poem that
follows。 Most people love this world more than they are willing to
confess； and it is hard to conceive ourselves weaned from it so as to
feel no emotion at the thought of its most sacred recollections； even
after a sojourn of years； as we should count the lapse of earthly
time；in the realm where； sooner or later； all tears shall be wiped
away。 I hope； therefore； the title of my lines will not frighten
those who are little accustomed to think of men and women as human
beings in any state but the present。
HOMESICK IN HEAVEN。
THE DIVINE VOICE。
Go seek thine earth…born sisters；thus the Voice
That all obey；the sad and silent three；
These only； while the hosts of heaven rejoice；
Smile never： ask them what their sorrows be：
And when the secret of their griefs they tell；
Look on them with thy mild； half…human eyes；
Say what thou wast on earth； thou knowest well；
So shall they cease from unavailing sighs。
THE ANGEL。
Why thus； apart；the swift…winged herald spake；
Sit ye with silent lips and unstrung lyres
While the trisagion's blending chords awake
In shouts of joy from all the heavenly choirs？
THE FIRST SPIRIT。
Chide not thy sisters；thus the answer came；
Children of earth； our half…weaned nature clings
To earth's fond memories； and her whispered name
Untunes our quivering lips； our saddened strings；
For there we loved； and where we love is home；
Home that our feet may leave； but not our hearts；
Though o'er us shine the jasper…lighted dome：
The chain may lengthen； but it never parts！
Sometimes a sunlit sphere comes rolling by；
And then we softly whisper；can it be？
And leaning toward the silvery orb； we try
To hear the music of its murmuring sea；
To catch； perchance； some flashing glimpse of green；
Or breathe some wild…wood fragrance； wafted through
The opening gates of pearl； that fold between
The blinding splendors and the changeless blue。
THE ANGEL。
Nay； sister； nay！ a single healing leaf
Plucked from the bough of yon twelve…fruited tree；
Would soothe such anguish；deeper stabbing grief
Has pierced thy throbbing heart
THE FIRST SPIRIT。
…Ah； woe is me！
I from my clinging babe was rudely torn；
His tender lips a loveless bosom pressed
Can I forget him in my life new born？
O that my darling lay upon my breast！
THE ANGEL。
And thou？
THE SECOND SPIRIT。
I was a fair and youthful bride；
The kiss of love still burns upon my cheek；
He whom I worshipped； ever at my side；
Him through the spirit realm in vain I seek。
Sweet faces turn their beaming eyes on mine；
Ah！ not in these the wished…for look I read；
Still for that one dear human smile I pine；
Thou and none other！is the lover's creed。
THE ANGEL。
And whence thy sadness in a world of bliss
Where never parting comes； nor mourner's tear？
Art thou； too； dreaming of a mortal's kiss
Amid the seraphs of the heavenly sphere？
THE THIRD SPIRIT。
Nay； tax not me with passion's wasting fire；
When the swift message set my spirit free；
Blind； helpless； lone； I left my gray…haired sire；
My friends were many； he had none save me。
I left him； orphaned； in the starless night；
Alas； for him no cheerful morning's dawn！
I wear the ransomed spirit's robe of white；
Yet still I hear him moaning； She is gone！
THE ANGEL。
Ye know me not； sweet sisters？All in vain
Ye seek your lost ones in the shapes they wore；
The flower once opened may not bud again；
The fruit once fallen finds the stem no more。
Child； lover； sire；yea； all things loved below；
Fair pictures damasked on a vapor's fold；
Fade like the roseate flush； the golden glow；
When the bright curtain of the day is rolled。
I was the babe that slumbered on thy breast。
And； sister； mine the lips that called thee bride。
Mine were the silvered locks thy hand caressed；
That faithful hand； my faltering footstep's guide！
Each changing form； frail vesture of decay；
The soul unclad forgets it once hath worn；
Stained with the travel of the weary day；
And shamed with rents from every wayside thorn。
To lie； an infant； in thy fond embrace；
To come with love's warm kisses back to thee；
To show thine eyes thy gray…haired father's face；
Not Heaven itself could grant； this may not be！
Then spread your folded wings； and leave to earth
The dust once breathing ye have mourned so long；
Till Love； new risen； owns his heavenly birth；
And sorrow's discords sweeten into song！
II
I am going to take it for granted now and henceforth； in my report of
what was said and what was to be seen at our table； that I have
secured one good； faithful； loving reader； who never finds fault； who
never gets sleepy over my pages； whom no critic can bully out of a
liking for me； and to whom I am always safe in addressing myself。 My
one elect may be man or woman； old or young； gentle or simple； living
in the next block or on a slope of Nevada； my fellow…countryman or an
alien； but one such reader I shall assume to exist and have always in
my thought when I am writing。
A writer is so like a lover！ And a talk with the right listener is
so like an arm…in…arm walk in the moonlight with the soft heartbeat
just felt through the folds of muslin and broadcloth！ But it takes
very little to spoil everything for writer； talker； lover。 There are
a great many cruel things besides poverty that freeze the genial
current of the soul； as the poet of the Elegy calls it。 Fire can
stand any wind； but is easily blown out； and then come smouldering
and smoke； and profitless； slow combustion without the cheerful blaze
which sheds light all round it。 The one Reader's hand may shelter
the flame； the one blessed ministering spirit with the vessel of oil
may keep it bright in spite of the stream of cold water on the other
side doing its best to put it out。
I suppose； if any writer； of any distinguishable individuality； could
look into the hearts of all his readers； he might very probably find
one in his parish of a thousand or a million who honestly preferred
him to any
