David Gray

“ Arrived in the parish of Inverburn, David Gray left his horse at the house of a friendly farmer outside of the village, and lest the dragoons should lay hands upon him, he crept up the valley to Hartrigge, and was the first to carry tidings of Rullion Green to Andrew Gray's wife. He found her about her usual tasks, for though her heart was heavy with foreboding fears, Susan Gray continued mindful of her husband's last words, to look well to her household, and put her trust in God. ”

“ Meanwhile, quite unconscious of this miraculous escape, Jane Gray was endeavouring to parley with the officer at the door.
"Sorry to disturb your repose, sweet mistress," he said. "If you will but deliver up that renegade, David Gray, who is sheltering here, we will go away and leave you in peace."
"David Gray!" ejaculated Jane Gray, faintly; "what men-folk have we under this roof-tree, sir? ”

“ Who shall say how these familiar woods, and fields, and glens, and streams were to him dearer, a thousand times dearer and more romantic, than any woods, or fields, or glens, or streams in any other part of the world. No man but a true poet has that warm affection for home scenes, for his country, for his native land, for the friends of his youth; no man but a true poet has those sentiments in their height and in their depth; and if ever a man entertained them, the poetical remains of David Gray prove that he had them in a deep, pathetic, and most earnest manner. ”

“ Among the Glasgow subscribers I find the name of Mrs. Nichol, widow of the late Professor of Astronomy in our University, who I know took a great interest in David Gray from first to last, and who, I know also, with her usual benevolence, aided in smoothing his dying pillow. I find the name of William Logan, one of the most earnest and attached friends that David Gray ever had; I find Lord Houghton; I find Mr. ”

“ A poet is also a vates or prophet, and there is no reason why he should not be permitted sometimes to prophesy of himself. David Gray prophesied of himself that his name would yet be known to his fellow-countrymen as a poet and a teacher, for every true poet is a true teacher. ”

“ It was an unusual entertainment that David had provided for his little circle of intimate friends in the old orchard surrounding the Omnibus House. There was a look of intense excitement in his eyes, as he stood awaiting his guests, the following afternoon. Mrs. Gray had already arrived, and, leaving her carriage to wait for her near the entrance, now stood by David and helped him receive.
"It's good to see all my children together again," she exclaimed, giving Anne a gentle hug; for ever since her Christmas house party she had acquired a sort of proprietary feeling toward these young people. ”

“ He bethought him that he might as well look in at Hartrigge, and enquire for the welfare of its inmates; therefore he urged his horse to make the steep ascent, and in a short space of time the animal's hoofs made a clatter on the path outside the house, and brought Andrew Gray to the door.
"David, is that indeed you in person?" he exclaimed in surprise, and hastened to relieve him of his bridle rein. "No ill news, I hope, brings you so far from home this bleak night."
"No worse news than has come to many another household this day, Andrew," replied the minister, with a sigh. ”

“ I was constantly attempting to come down to life from above. Instead of being content to carry through life a sufficiently wonderful being named David Grayson I tried desperately to set up and support a sort of dummy creature which, so clad, so housed, so fed, should appear to be what I thought David Grayson ought to appear in the eyes of the world. ”

“ Backward swings sullen the disusëd gate, And quiet, with measured steps, they enter here, And cross the moundy sward, amongst the stones, To where the red clay gapes. How mournfully Are the last rites paid to a fleshly frame! Behold the old man with the sunken eyes And broken heart. ”

“ STOP! taste the balmy essence of this flower, That fondly twines about the dark-green fir; The air is sweet, and, like a mild-eyed saint, It liveth doing good. The balmy gale Far wafts its odours to the lowly door Of yon small cot thatched with the dying heath, And the old dame doth bless the laden wind. ”

“ All around Is loving and continuous deity; His mercy over all His works remains. And surely in the glossy snow there shines Angelic influence—a ministry Devout and heavenly, that with benign Action, amid a wondrous hush lets fall The dazzling garment on the fostered fields. ”

“ Thy lean red shanks cling round the dusty trunk, And send their white shoots through the brown rough bark, So true, so fond and frail-like that when one Looks on thee, his mind’s eye sees round God’s throne White spirits breathing hymns and fed with love. ”

“ And suddenly, yet silently, the blue Deepened, until innumerous white stars Thro’ crystal smooth and yielding ether drooped, Not coldly, but in passionate June glow. The Corncraik now, ’mong tall green bladed corn Breasted her eggs with feathers dew-besprent, And stayed her human cry. The silence left A gap within the soul, a sudden grief, An emptiness in the low sighing air. Then swooning through full night, the summer’d earth Bosom’d her children into tender rest; Now delicately chambered ladies breathe Their souls asleep in white-limb’d luxury. ”

“ I cannot tell by what mysterious means, Day-dream, or silver vision of the night, Or sacred show of reason, picturing A smooth ambition and calm happiness For years of weaker age—but suddenly In prime of life there flowered in his soul An inextinguishable love to be A minister of God. When holy schemes Govern the motions of the spirit, ways Are found to compass them. ”

“ Nature had made Caswell short, swarthy, high cheek-boned, with dark hair and narrow dark eyes, and for ten years he had been sitting at the feet of the Priest of Lake Biwa, dressing as the Japanese dress, leading their life, and thinking as far as an Occidental may their thought. ”

“ When the well-known and once embraceable form Is but a handful of white dust, the soul Grows in divine dilation, nearer God. Therefore grieve not, my heart, that unsustained His memory died among us, that no more, While yet the grass is hoary and the dawn Lingers, he shyly thro’ untrodden fields Brushes his early path: that he no more Beneath the beech, in lassitude outstretched, Ponders the holy strains of Israel’s King; For in translated glory, and new clothed With Incorruptible, he purer air Breathes in a fairer valley. ”

“ BUT yestermorn the February snow Lay printless as the heaven upon this field, And, with a rapture in my bosom born, In sudden awe and reverence I kneeled Alone beneath the glory of the sky And omnipresent deity. To-day The spirit of the beautiful no more Over the wondering earth, in earnest glow Touches to beauty all the landscape grey,— Bringing a vision from her palace high To this sublunar planet. ”

“ The Luggie flows with bells of foam-like stars About its surface. A smooth bleaching-green Spreads its soft carpet to the open doors Of simple houses, shining-white. Blue smoke Curls thro’ the breathing air to the tree-tops Thin spreading, and is lost. A humming noise Industrious is heard, the clack of looms, Whereon sit maidens, homely fair, and full Of household simpleness, who sing and weave, And sing and weave thro’ all the easy hours, Each day to-morrow’s counterpart, and smooth Memory the mirror wherein golden Hope, Contented, sees herself. ”

“ If such an adventure should befall you, know that you have met
Your friend,
David Grayson.
P. S.—Harriet bemoans most of all the unsolved mystery of the sign man. But it doesn't bother me in the least. I'm glad now I never found him. The poet sings his song and goes his way. If we sought him out how horribly disappointed we might be! We might find him shaving, or eating sausage, or drinking a bottle of beer. We might find him shaggy and unkempt where we imagined him beautiful, weak where we thought him strong, dull where we thought him brilliant. ”

“ O IF we never knew the genial hour When Happiness sits by us like a god Dispensing treasures, we would never know The barren sadness of the common day, The weariness, and discontentment sour At human life—its ordinary load Of hopes deferred, and presences that flow Smilingly past us, syrens in the dream Of young imagination, fancy-fed. O I have seen such beauties with the gleam Of fairy sunshine on them, and I long Upon their bosoms this my life away To dally, like the lover in a song, And be a luting swain, Arcadian bred! ”

“ And ever on the window pane A froward gust blew down with rain, And day by day in tawny brown The Luggie stream came heaving down:— I could have fallen asleep and dreamed Until again spring sunshine gleamed.
And what! said I, is this the mode That Winter kings it now-a-days? The Robin keeps its own abode, And pipes his independent lays. I’ve seen the day on Merkland hill, That snow has fallen with a will, Even in November! Now, alas; The whole year round we see the grass:— Ah, winter now may come and go Without a single fall of snow. ”

“ The palpable body in its mother’s breast Dissolves, and every feature of the face [58] Is lost in feculent changes. O black earth! Wrap from bare eyes the slow decaying form, The beauty rotting from the living hair, The body made incapable thro’ sin God’s Spirit to contain. Earth, wrap it close Till the heavens vibrate to the trump of doom!
This is not all: for the invisible soul Betrays the soft desire, the quenchless wish, To live a purer life, more proximate To the prime Fountain of all life. ”

“ All the green Of sweet leaves playing with the subtle air In dainty murmuring; the obstinate drone Of limber bees that in the monkshood bells House diligent; the imperishable glow Of summer sunshine never more confessed [9] The harmony of nature, the divine Diffusive spirit of the Beautiful. Out in the snowy dimness, half revealed Like ghosts in glimpsing moonshine, wildly run The children in bewildering delight. There is a living glory in the air— A glory in the hush’d air, in the soul A palpitating wonder hush’d in awe. ”

“ There was the treasure of her brown hair, with the gold light in it, tumbled in heaps about her head; there was the face that had been for him the loveliness of early morning in gardens, that had haunted him in the summer perfume of clover-fields and in the fragrance of night-wrapped lawns. There was the slim, rounded figure that once had brought the blood into his face as it brushed against him. There were the hands whose touch was so smooth and cool and strong. ”

“ Darkly the crystal wave Gleams cold, secluded; on its polished breast Imaging twining boughs. No pitcher breaks Its natural sleep, except at morn and eve When my good mother thro’ the dewy grass Walks patient with her vessels, bringing home The clear refreshment. Every blowing Spring, A snowdrop, with pure streaks of delicate green Upon its inmost leaves, from withered grass Springs whitely, and within its limpid breast Is mirror’d whitely. ”

“ This is the utter poetry of woe— That the bright-flashing gods should cure despair By love, and make youth precious here below. I die, being young; and, dying, could become A pagan, with the tender Grecian trust. ”

“ God makes His angels spirits—that is, winds— His ministers a flaming fire. So, heart! (Weak heart that fainted in thy loneliness) In the sweet breezes spirits are alive; God’s angels guide the thunder-clouds ”

“ Sages may shun, philosophers may scorn; But, ah! to a young heart, how glorious The thought that he, by well-earned merit, shall Be spoken of, yea praised, ’neath the roof-tree Of peasant, or beneath the monarch’s dome! That learned men will wonder, and in joy Will lift their hands and shake astonished heads; That by the fireside, while the flick’ring lamp Doth send its shadow-forming light athwart. ”

“ For, O dear God! there is a pure delight [48] In dreaming: in those mental-weary times, When the vext spirit finds a false content In fashioning delusions. Oh, to lie Supinely stretched upon the shaded turf, Beholding thro’ the openings of green leaves White clouds in silence navigating slow Cerulean seas illimitable! Hushed The drowsy noon, and, with a stilly sound Like harmony of thought, the Luggie frets— Its bubbling mellowed to a musical hum By distance. ”

“ BEHOLD! a waking vision crowns my soul With beatific radiance, and the light Of shining hope;—a golden-memoried dream That clings unto my youth, as clung the strange Leonine phantom to that mystic man, Lean Paracelsus. It has grown with me Like destiny, or that which seems to be My destiny, ambition: and its glow Inflames my fancy, as if some clear star Had burst in silvery light within my brain. ”

“ OH, many a leaf will fall to-night, As she wanders through the wood! And many an angry gust will break The dreary solitude. I wonder if she’s past the bridge, Where Luggie moans beneath; While rain-drops clash in slanted lines On rivulet and heath. Disease hath laid his palsied palm Upon my aching brow ”

“ Alone hath knowledge—in a pensive mood, Outstretched on green moss-velvet floss’d with thyme, To watch the fall o’ the leaf before the moon Shines out in sweet completion circular. For when the sunset hath withdrawn its gold And glimmering, like the surcease Of rich, low melody, erst inaudible streams Find voices in their still unwearied flow; And winds that have been much above the moors And mountains, have a deadly feel of cold, Forespeaking clear blue dawns and frosty chill. ”