Julia C. R. Dorr

“ Rejoice in thy beautiful strength and say Earth holds not such another! [124] Thou art not old with thy hundred years, Nor worn with toil, or care, or tears: But all the glow of the summer-time Is thine to-day in thy glorious prime! Thy brow is fair as the winter-snows, With a stately calm in its still repose; While the breath of the rose the wild bee sips, Half-mad with joy, cannot eclipse The marvellous sweetness of thy lips; And the deepest blue of the laughing skies Hides in the depths of thy fearless eyes, Gazing afar over land and sea Wherever thy wandering children be! ”

“ How does life seem to thee? I long to look Into thine inmost soul, and see if thou Art even as other men! Oh, set apart And consecrate so long to purpose high, Canst thou take up again our common lot, And live as we live? Canst thou buy and sell, Stoop to small needs, and petty ministries, Work and get gain, eat, drink, and soundly sleep, Sin and repent, as these thy brethren do? Unto what name less sacred answerest thou Who hast been called the Christ of Nazareth? Thou who hast worn the awful crown of thorns, Hanging like Him upon the dreadful Tree, Canst thou, uncrowned, forget thy royalty? ”

“ But—up in heaven—how is it with thee, dear? Art thou a man—to man’s full stature grown? Dost thou count time as we do, year by year? And what of all earth’s changes hast thou known?
Thou hadst not learned to love me. Didst thou take Any small germ of love to heaven with thee, That thou hast watched and nurtured for my sake, Waiting till I its perfect flower may see?
What is it to have lived in heaven always? To have no memory of pain or sin? Ne’er to have known in all the calm, bright days, The jar and fret of earth’s discordant din? ”

“ When I awake at morn, refreshed, renewed, Glad with the gladness of the jocund day And jubilant with all the birds of May, My spirit shrinks from Night’s dull quietude. With it and Sleep I have a deadly feud. I hear the young winds in the maples play, The river singing on its happy way, The swallows twittering to their callow brood. The fresh, fair earth is full of joyous life; The tree-tops toss in billowy unrest; The very mountain shadows are astir! With eager heart I thrill to join the strife; Doing, not dreaming, to my soul seems best, And I am lordly Day’s true worshipper! ”

“ Our God, who knoweth women’s hearts, knows best— And every little bird must build its nest From whence it soareth, singing, to the skies. What though the one that thou hast builded lies Where sinks the sun to its enchanted rest, If, on each breeze that bloweth east or west, To thee, on swiftest wing, my spirit flies? We are not far apart, and ne’er shall be! [248] For Love, like God, knoweth not time, nor space, And it is freer than the viewless air; And well I know, belovèd, that if we Trod different planets in yon starry space We should reach out, and find each other there! ”

“ THE BLIND BIRD’S NEST “The nest of the blind bird is built by God.”—Turkish Proverb.
Thou who dost build the blind bird’s nest, Am I not blind? Each bird that flyeth east or west The track can find.
Each bird that flies from north to south Knows the far way; From mountain’s crest to river’s mouth It does not stray.
Not one in all the lengthening land, In all the sky, Or by the ocean’s silver strand, Is blind as I!
And dost Thou build the blind bird’s nest? Build Thou for me Some shelter where my soul may rest Secure in Thee. ”

“ Yet, grandly poised, as calm and fair As some proud spirit of the air, Unmoved she lifts her radiant brow— She, the White Lady of the Prow!
The winds blow east, the winds blow west, From woodlands low to the eagle’s nest; The winds blow north, the winds blow south. To steal the sweets from the lily’s mouth! We come and go; we spread our sails Like sea-gulls to the favoring gales; Or, soft and slow, our oars we dip Under the lee of the stranded ship. Yet little recks she when or how, The grand White Lady of the Prow. ”

“ Compassionate is He who called thee, child; And well I know He sent some Blessed One of aspect mild With thee to go
Through the dark valley, where the shadows dim Forever brood, That the low music of an angel’s hymn Might cheer the solitude! [9] OVER THE WALL
I know a spot where the wild vines creep, And the coral moss-cups grow, And where, at the foot of the rocky steep, The sweet blue violets blow. There all day long, in the summer-time, You may hear the river’s dreamy rhyme; There all day long does the honey-bee Murmur and hum in the hollow tree. ”

“ Thy cheek is pale, thy brow is worn; Thine arms are weary, that have borne The heaviest burdens ever laid On any, since the world was made.
But thou didst know her whom to-day My fond heart mourns, and must alway; She loved thee, claimed thee, called thee dear, Hailing with joy the glad New Year!
Thou didst behold her, fair and good, The perfect flower of womanhood; Simple and pure in thought and deed, Yet strong in every hour of need.
Ah! other years shall come and go, Bidding the sweet June roses blow; But never on their yearning eyes Shall her fair presence once arise! ”

“ Out spoke at last a tongue that should have been Palsied in foul dishonor there and then. “O great Ahasuerus! ne’er before Reigned such a king so blest a people o’er! What shall we ask? What great and wondrous boon To crown the hours that fly away too soon? There is but one. ’Tis said that mortal eyes Never yet gazed, in rapturous surprise, Upon a face like that of her who wears Thy signet-ring, and all thy glory shares,— Thy fair Queen Vashti, she who yet shall be Mother of him who reigneth after thee! Show us that face, O king! For nought beside Can make our cup of joy o’erflow with pride.” ”

“ Thirty-one days, and each will creep As the shadows crawl over yonder steep. Thirty-one nights, and I shall lie Watching the stars climb up the sky! How can I wait till a month is o’er?”
“But a year is so long!” he said, Uplifting his bright young head. “All the seasons must come and go Over the hills with footsteps slow— Autumn and winter, summer and spring; Oh, for a bridge of gold to fling Over the chasm deep and wide, That I might cross to the other side, Where she is waiting—my love, my bride!” ”

“ O land beyond the setting sun! O realm more fair than poet’s dream! How clear thy silver rivers run, How bright thy golden glories gleam!
Earth holds no counterpart of thine; The dark-browed Orient, jewel-crowned, Pales as she bows before thy shrine, Shrouded in mystery profound.
The dazzling North, the stately West, Whose waters flow from mount to sea; The South, flower-wreathed in languid rest— What are they all, compared with thee?
All lands, all realms beneath yon dome, Where God’s own hand hath hung the stars, To thee with humblest homage come, O world beyond the crystal bars! ”

“ Nature sleeps beneath a pall; Not a ray from moon or stars Glimmers through the cloudy bars; Huge and black the mountains stand Frowning upon either hand, And the river, dark and deep, Gropes its way from steep to steep. Yonder tree, whose young leaves played In the sunshine and the shade, Stretches out its arms like one Sudden blindness hath undone. Pale and dim the rose-queen lies Robbed of all her gorgeous dyes, And the lily bendeth low, Mourner in a garb of woe. Never a shadow comes or goes, Never a gleam its glory throws Over cottage or over hall— Darkness broodeth over all! II. ”

“ O Rosebud garland of girls! If the whole glad year were May; If winds sang low in the clustering leaves, And roses bloomed alway; If youth were all that there is of life; If the years brought nothing of care or strife, Nor ever a cloud to the ether blue, It were easy to sing a song for you!
Yet, O my garland of girls! Is there nothing better than May? The golden glow of the harvest time! The rest of the Autumn day! This thought I give to you all to keep: Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life’s latest sands are its sands of gold! ”

“ What does she hear when, pale and calm, She lists for the great sea’s evening psalm?
Speak, Lady, speak! Thy sealèd lip, Thou fair white spirit of the ship, Could tell such tales of high emprise, Of valorous deeds and counsels wise! What prince shall rouse thee from thy trance, And meet thy first revealing glance, Or what Pygmalion from her sleep Bid Galatea wake and weep? The wave’s wild passion stirs thee not— Oh, is thy life’s long love forgot?
How canst thou bear this trancèd calm By sunlit isles of bloom and balm— Thou who hast sailed the utmost seas, Empress alike of wave and breeze ”

“ Then, as on eagles’ wings, Above the soiling touch of sordid things, Bid thy soul soar till, mounting high and higher, It feels the glow of pure celestial fire, Bathes in clear light, and hears the song that rings Through heaven’s high arches when some angel brings Gifts to the Throne, on wings that never tire! [242] It hath a subtile music, strangely sweet, Yet all unmeet for dance or roundelay, Or idle love that fadeth like a flower. It is the voice of hearts that strongly beat, The cry of souls that grandly love and pray, The trumpet-peal that thrills the battle-hour! ”

“ And why should your poet to-day His pale little garland of poesy bring, On the altar to lay? High-priests of song the harp-strings swept Ages before he smiled or wept!”
What need have the roses to bloom? And why do the tall lilies grow? And why do the violets shed their perfume When night-winds breathe low? They are no whit more bright and fair Than flowers that breathed in Eden’s air!
What need have the stars to shine on? Or the clouds to grow red in the west, When the sun, like a king, from the fields he has won, Goes grandly to rest? ”

“ O trembling heart! take courage and be strong. Hark! to a voice from yonder crystal bars:
“Did the roses blow last June? Do the stars still rise and set? And over the crests of the mountains Are the light clouds floating yet? Do the rivers run to the sea With a deep, resistless flow? Do the little birds sing north and south As the seasons come and go?
Are the hills as fair as of old? Are the skies as blue and far? Have you lost the pomp of the sunset, Or the light of the evening star? Has the glory gone from the morning? Do the wild winds wail no more? ”

“ My heart’s unuttered cry Hath soared beyond the stars and reached Thine ears.
Thou knowest—ah, Thou knowest! Then what need, O, loving God, to tell Thee o’er and o’er, And with persistent iteration plead As one who crieth at some closèd door?
“Tease not!” we mothers to our children say— “Our wiser love will grant whate’er is best.” Shall we, Thy children, run to Thee alway, Begging for this and that in wild unrest?
I dare not clamor at the heavenly gate, Lest I should lose the high, sweet strains within; O, Love Divine! I can but stand and wait Till Perfect Wisdom bids me enter in! ”

“ Yet, as the years went on, Out of the dust and moil I grew as tall And fair as lily in a garden plot, Shut in by ivied cloisters—Let it pass!— God knows how girls are tempted when false love Comes with beguiling words and tender lips, Promising all things, and their barren lives Break into sudden bloom as when a bud Unfolds its shining petals in the sun And joys to be a rose! ”

“ Does ever a haunting undertone Blend with the chantings sweet and low?
When this day dawned (if where you are Skies grow red when the morn is near) Did you know that before its close The love once yours would be on its bier? Did you know that another’s lip Would redden with kisses once your own, And the golden cup of a younger life O’erflow with the wine once yours alone?
Do you remember? Ah, my saint, Bend your ear from the ether blue! Have you risen to heights so far That earth and its loves are nought to you? Do you care that your place is filled? ”

“ But in her own loveliness Nature is glad, And little she cares for man’s smile or his frown; In the robes of her royalty still she is clad, Though his eye may behold not her sceptre or crown! And over our beautiful Otter the trees Swayed lightly as now in the frolicsome breeze; And the tremulous violet lifted an eye As blue as its own to the laughing blue sky. The harebell trembled on its stem Down where the rushing waters gleam, A sapphire on the broidered hem Of some fair Naiad of the stream. ”

“ At first you sat on a swaying bough, Mocking the bugle’s blare, Fearless and free in the fervid glow Of the heated, sulphurous air. Your voice rang out like a trumpet’s note, With a martial ring in its upward float, And stern men smiled, for you seemed to be Cheering them on to victory!
But at length, as the awful day wore on, You flew to a tree-top high, And sat like a spectre grim and wan, Outlined against the sky; Sat silently watching the fiery fray Till, heaps upon heaps, the Blue and Gray Lay together, a silent band, Whose souls had passed to the shadowy land. ”

“ Thou hast proved that while man can still battle for truth, Even boyhood can give up the promise of youth, And, yielding its life with a smile and a sigh, Say, “’Tis sweet for my God and my country to die.” O heart-searching Present, thy sons have gone down To the night of the grave in their day of renown! Thy daughters have watched by the hearth-stone in vain For the loved and the lost that returned not again. ”

“ A woman sits in the shadow Watching the children twain, With a joy so deep and tender It is near akin to pain, And a smile and tear blend softly— Sunshine and April rain!
Her heart keeps time to the rhythm Of love’s unuttered prayer, As, with still hands lightly folded, She listens, unaware, Through all the children’s laughter, For a footfall on the stair.
I know the woman who sits there; Time hath been kind to her, And the years have brought her treasures Of frankincense and myrrh Richer, perhaps, and rarer, Than Life’s young roses were. ”

“ To-day the other dies. It walked in humbler guise, Nor stood where all men’s eyes Were fixed upon it. Earth may not pause to lay A wreath upon its bier, Nor the world heed to-day Our dead that lieth here!
Yet well they loved each other— It and its greater brother. To loftiest stature grown, Each earned its own renown; Each sought of Time a crown, And each has won it; XIV.
But what to us are Centuries dead, And rolling Years forever fled, Compared with thee, O grand and fair Vermont—our Goddess-mother? ”

“ Dear Helen, if thine earnest eyes, So deeply blue, so darkly bright, Look downward from the azure skies That hide thee from my yearning sight:
Think not, because my days go on Just as they did when thou wert here, Sometimes in shade, sometimes in sun, From month to month, from year to year,
That I forget thee! Fresh and green Over each grave the grass must grow In God’s good time, and, all unseen, The violets take deep root below.
But yet the grave itself remains Beneath the verdure and the bloom; And all kind Nature’s loving pains Can but conceal the enduring tomb. ”