Poems by William Dean Howells Part 14

The children sit by the fireside With their little faces in bloom; And behind, the lily-pale mother, Looking out of the gloom,

Flushes in cheek and forehead With a light and sudden start; But the father sits there silent, From the firelight apart.

"Now, what dost thou see in the embers?

Tell it to me, my child,"

Whispers the lily-pale mother To her daughter sweet and mild.

"O, I see a sky and a moon In the coals and ashes there, And under, two are walking In a garden of flowers so fair.

"A lady gay, and her lover, Talking with low-voiced words, Not to waken the dreaming flowers And the sleepy little birds."

Back in the gloom the mother Shrinks with a sudden sigh.

"Now, what dost thou see in the embers?"

Cries the father to the boy.

"O, I see a wedding-procession Go in at the church's door,-- Ladies in silk and knights in steel,-- A hundred of them, and more.

"The bride's face is as white as a lily, And the groom's head is white as snow; And without, with plumes and tapers, A funeral paces slow."

Loudly then laughed the father, And shouted again for cheer, And called to the drowsy housemaid To fetch him a pipe and beer.

AVERY.

[NIAGARA, 1853.]

I.

All night long they heard in the houses beside the sh.o.r.e, Heard, or seemed to hear, through the mult.i.tudinous roar, Out of the h.e.l.l of the rapids as 'twere a lost soul's cries,-- Heard and could not believe; and the morning mocked their eyes, Showing, where wildest and fiercest the waters leaped up and ran Raving round him and past, the visage of a man Clinging, or seeming to cling, to the trunk of a tree that, caught Fast in the rocks below, scarce out of the surges raught.

Was it a life, could it be, to yon slender hope that clung?

Shrill, above all the tumult the answering terror rung.

II.

Under the weltering rapids a boat from the bridge is drowned, Over the rocks the lines of another are tangled and wound; And the long, fateful hours of the morning have wasted soon, As it had been in some blessed trance, and now it is noon.

Hurry, now with the raft! But O, build it strong and stanch, And to the lines and treacherous rocks look well as you launch!

Over the foamy tops of the waves, and their foam-sprent sides, Over the hidden reefs, and through the embattled tides, Onward rushes the raft, with many a lurch and leap,-- Lord! if it strike him loose from the hold he scarce can keep!

No! through all peril unharmed, it reaches him harmless at last, And to its proven strength he lashes his weakness fast.

Now, for the sh.o.r.e! But steady, steady, my men, and slow; Taut, now, the quivering lines; now slack; and so, let her go!

Thronging the sh.o.r.es around stand the pitying mult.i.tude; Wan as his own are their looks, and a nightmare seems to brood Heavy upon them, and heavy the silence hangs on all, Save for the rapids' plunge, and the thunder of the fall.

But on a sudden thrills from the people still and pale, Chorussing his unheard despair, a desperate wail: Caught on a lurking point of rock it sways and swings, Sport of the pitiless waters, the raft to which he clings.

III.

All the long afternoon it idly swings and sways; And on the sh.o.r.e the crowd lifts up its hands and prays: Lifts to heaven and wrings the hands so helpless to save, Prays for the mercy of G.o.d on him whom the rock and the wave Battle for, fettered betwixt them, and who, amidst their strife, Struggles to help his helpers, and fights so hard for his life,-- Tugging at rope and at reef, while men weep and women swoon.

Priceless second by second, so wastes the afternoon, And it is sunset now; and another boat and the last Down to him from the bridge through the rapids has safely pa.s.sed.

IV.

Wild through the crowd comes flying a man that nothing can stay, Maddening against the gate that is locked athwart his way.

"No! we keep the bridge for them that can help him. You, Tell us, who are you?" "His brother!" "G.o.d help you both! Pa.s.s through."

Wild, with wide arms of imploring he calls aloud to him, Unto the face of his brother, scarce seen in the distance dim; But in the roar of the rapids his fluttering words are lost As in a wind of autumn the leaves of autumn are tossed.

And from the bridge he sees his brother sever the rope Holding him to the raft, and rise secure in his hope; Sees all as in a dream the terrible pageantry,-- Populous sh.o.r.es, the woods, the sky, the birds flying free; Sees, then, the form,--that, spent with effort and fasting and fear, Flings itself feebly and fails of the boat that is lying so near,-- Caught in the long-baffled clutch of the rapids, and rolled and hurled Headlong on to the cataract's brink, and out of the world.

BOPEEP: A PASTORAL.

"O, to what uses shall we put The wildweed flower that simply blows?

And is there any moral shut Within the bosom of the rose?"

TENNYSON.

I.

She lies upon the soft, enamoured gra.s.s, I' the wooing shelter of an apple-tree, And at her feet the tranced brook is gla.s.s, And in the blossoms over her the bee Hangs charmed of his sordid industry; For love of her the light wind will not pa.s.s.

II.

Her golden hair, blown over her red lips, That seem two rose-leaves softly breathed apart, Athwart her rounded throat like suns.h.i.+ne slips; Her small hand, resting on her beating heart, The crook that tells her peaceful shepherd-art Scarce keeps with light and tremulous finger-tips.

III.

She is as fair as any shepherdess That ever was in mask or Christmas scene: Bright silver spangles hath she on her dress, And of her red-heeled shoes appears the sheen; And she hath ribbons of such blue or green As best suits pastoral people's comeliness.

IV.

She sleeps, and it is in the month of May, And the whole land is full of the delight Of music and sweet scents; and all the day The sun is gold; the moon is pearl all night, And like a paradise the world is bright, And like a young girl's hopes the world is gay.

V.

So waned the hours; and while her beauteous sleep Was blest with many a happy dream of Love, Untended still, her silly, vagrant sheep Afar from that young shepherdess did rove, Along the vales and through the gossip grove, O'er daisied meads and up the thymy steep.

VI.

Then (for it happens oft when harm is nigh, Our dreams grow haggard till at last we wake) She thought that from the little runnel by There crept upon a sudden forth a snake, And stung her hand, and fled into the brake; Whereat she sprang up with a bitter cry,

VII.

And wildly over all that place did look, And could not spy her ingrate, wanton flock,-- Not there among tall gra.s.ses by the brook, Not there behind the mossy-bearded rock; And pitiless Echo answered with a mock When she did sorrow that she was forsook.

VIII.

Alas! the scattered sheep might not be found, And long and loud that gentle maid did weep, Till in her blurred sight the hills went round, And, circling far, field, wood, and stream did sweep; And on the ground the miserable Bopeep Fell and forgot her troubles in a swound.