The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes Part 86

Through my north window, in the wintry weather,-- My airy oriel on the river sh.o.r.e,-- I watch the sea-fowl as they flock together Where late the boatman flashed his dripping oar.

The gull, high floating, like a sloop unladen, Lets the loose water waft him as it will; The duck, round-breasted as a rustic maiden, Paddles and plunges, busy, busy still.

I see the solemn gulls in council sitting On some broad ice-floe pondering long and late, While overhead the home-bound ducks are flitting, And leave the tardy conclave in debate,

Those weighty questions in their b.r.e.a.s.t.s revolving Whose deeper meaning science never learns, Till at some reverend elder's look dissolving, The speechless senate silently adjourns.

But when along the waves the shrill north-easter Shrieks through the laboring coaster's shrouds "Beware!"

The pale bird, kindling like a Christmas feaster When some wild chorus shakes the vinous air,

Flaps from the leaden wave in fierce rejoicing, Feels heaven's dumb lightning thrill his torpid nerves, Now on the blast his whistling plumage poising, Now wheeling, whirling in fantastic curves.

Such is our gull; a gentleman of leisure, Less fleshed than feathered; bagged you'll find him such; His virtue silence; his employment pleasure; Not bad to look at, and not good for much.

What of our duck? He has some high-bred cousins,-- His Grace the Canvas-back, My Lord the Brant,-- Anas and Anser,--both served up by dozens, At Boston's Rocher, half-way to Nahant.

As for himself, he seems alert and thriving,-- Grubs up a living somehow--what, who knows?

Crabs? mussels? weeds?--Look quick! there 's one just diving!

Flop! Splas.h.!.+ his white breast glistens--down he goes!

And while he 's under--just about a minute-- I take advantage of the fact to say His fishy carcase has no virtue in it The gunning idiot's worthless hire to pay.

Shrewd is our bird; not easy to outwit him!

Sharp is the outlook of those pin-head eyes; Still, he is mortal and a shot may hit him, One cannot always miss him if he tries.

He knows you! "sportsmen" from suburban alleys, Stretched under seaweed in the treacherous punt; Knows every lazy, s.h.i.+ftless lout that sallies Forth to waste powder--as he says, to "hunt."

I watch you with a patient satisfaction, Well pleased to discount your predestined luck; The float that figures in your sly transaction Will carry back a goose, but not a duck.

Look! there's a young one, dreaming not of danger; Sees a flat log come floating down the stream; Stares undismayed upon the harmless stranger; Ah! were all strangers harmless as they seem!

_Habet_! a leaden shower his breast has shattered; Vainly he flutters, not again to rise; His soft white plumes along the waves are scattered; Helpless the wing that braved the tempest lies.

He sees his comrades high above him flying To seek their nests among the island reeds; Strong is their flight; all lonely he is lying Washed by the crimsoned water as he bleeds.

O Thou who carest for the falling sparrow, Canst Thou the sinless sufferer's pang forget?

Or is thy dread account-book's page so narrow Its one long column scores thy creatures' debt?

Poor gentle guest, by nature kindly cherished, A world grows dark with thee in blinding death; One little gasp--thy universe has perished, Wrecked by the idle thief who stole thy breath!

Is this the whole sad story of creation, Lived by its breathing myriads o'er and o'er,-- One glimpse of day, then black annihilation,-- A sunlit pa.s.sage to a sunless sh.o.r.e?

Give back our faith, ye mystery-solving lynxes!

Robe us once more in heaven-aspiring creeds Happier was dreaming Egypt with her sphinxes, The stony convent with its cross and beads!

How often gazing where a bird reposes, Rocked on the wavelets, drifting with the tide, I lose myself in strange metempsychosis And float a sea-fowl at a sea-fowl's side;

From rain, hail, snow in feathery mantle m.u.f.fled, Clear-eyed, strong-limbed, with keenest sense to hear My mate soft murmuring, who, with plumes unruffled, Where'er I wander still is nestling near;

The great blue hollow like a garment o'er me; s.p.a.ce all unmeasured, unrecorded time; While seen with inward eye moves on before me Thought's pictured train in wordless pantomime.

A voice recalls me.--From my window turning I find myself a plumeless biped still; No beak, no claws, no sign of wings discerning,-- In fact with nothing bird-like but my quill.

ON THE THRESHOLD

INTRODUCTION TO A COLLECTION OF POEMS BYDIFFERENT AUTHORS

AN usher standing at the door I show my white rosette; A smile of welcome, nothing more, Will pay my trifling debt; Why should I bid you idly wait Like lovers at the swinging gate?

Can I forget the wedding guest?

The veteran of the sea?

In vain the listener smites his breast,-- "There was a s.h.i.+p," cries he!

Poor fasting victim, stunned and pale, He needs must listen to the tale.

He sees the gilded throng within, The sparkling goblets gleam, The music and the merry din Through every window stream, But there he s.h.i.+vers in the cold Till all the crazy dream is told.

Not mine the graybeard's glittering eye That held his captive still To hold my silent prisoners by And let me have my will; Nay, I were like the three-years' child, To think you could be so beguiled!

My verse is but the curtain's fold That hides the painted scene, The mist by morning's ray unrolled That veils the meadow's green, The cloud that needs must drift away To show the rose of opening day.

See, from the tinkling rill you hear In hollowed palm I bring These scanty drops, but ah, how near The founts that heavenward spring!

Thus, open wide the gates are thrown And founts and flowers are all your own!

TO GEORGE PEABODY

DANVERS, 1866

BANKRUPT! our pockets inside out!

Empty of words to speak his praises!

Worcester and Webster up the spout!

Dead broke of laudatory phrases!

Yet why with flowery speeches tease, With vain superlatives distress him?

Has language better words than these?

THE FRIEND OF ALL HIS RACE, G.o.d BLESS HIM!

A simple prayer--but words more sweet By human lips were never uttered, Since Adam left the country seat Where angel wings around him fluttered.

The old look on with tear-dimmed eyes, The children cl.u.s.ter to caress him, And every voice unbidden cries, THE FRIEND OF ALL HIS RACE, G.o.d BLESS HIM!