the poet at the breakfast table-第66章

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Hoarse　with　its　cry　of　anguish；　yet　the　same？

No！　not　in　ages　when　the　Dreadful　Bird
Stamped　his　huge　footprints；　and　the　Fearful　Beast
Strode　with　the　flesh　about　those　fossil　bones
We　build　to　mimic　life　with　pygmy　hands；
Not　in　those　earliest　days　when　men　ran　wild
And　gashed　each　other　with　their　knives　of　stone；
When　their　low　foreheads　bulged　in　ridgy　brows
And　their　flat　hands　were　callous　in　the　palm
With　walking　in　the　fashion　of　their　sires；
Grope　as　they　might　to　find　a　cruel　god
To　work　their　will　on　such　as　human　wrath
Had　wrought　its　worst　to　torture；　and　had　left
With　rage　unsated；　white　and　stark　and　cold；
Could　hate　have　shaped　a　demon　more　malign
Than　him　the　dead　men　mummied　in　their　creed
And　taught　their　trembling　children　to　adore！
Made　in　his　image！　　Sweet　and　gracious　souls
Dear　to　my　heart　by　nature's　fondest　names；
Is　not　your　memory　still　the　precious　mould
That　lends　its　form　to　Him　who　hears　my　prayer？
Thus　only　I　behold　him；　like　to　them；
Long…suffering；　gentle；　ever　slow　to　wrath；
If　wrath　it　be　that　only　wounds　to　heal；
Ready　to　meet　the　wanderer　ere　he　reach
The　door　he　seeks；　forgetful　of　his　sin；
Longing　to　clasp　him　in　a　father's　arms；
And　seal　his　pardon　with　a　pitying　tear！

Four　gospels　tell　their　story　to　mankind；
And　none　so　full　of　soft；　caressing　words
That　bring　the　Maid　of　Bethlehem　and　her　Babe
Before　our　tear…dimmed　eyes；　as　his　who　learned
In　the　meek　service　of　his　gracious　art
The　tones　which　like　the　medicinal　balms
That　calm　the　sufferer's　anguish；　soothe　our　souls。
Oh　that　the　loving　woman；　she　who　sat
So　long　a　listener　at　her　Master's　feet；
Had　left　us　Mary's　Gospel；all　she　heard
Too　sweet；　too　subtle　for　the　ear　of　man！
Mark　how　the　tender…hearted　mothers　read
The　messages　of　love　between　the　lines
Of　the　same　page　that　loads　the　bitter　tongue
Of　him　who　deals　in　terror　as　his　trade
With　threatening　words　of　wrath　that　scorch　like　flame！
They　tell　of　angels　whispering　round　the　bed
Of　the　sweet　infant　smiling　in　its　dream；
Of　lambs　enfolded　in　the　Shepherd's　arms；
Of　Him　who　blessed　the　children；　of　the　land
Where　crystal　rivers　feed　unfading　flowers；
Of　cities　golden…paved　with　streets　of　pearl；
Of　the　white　robes　the　winged　creatures　wear；
The　crowns　and　harps　from　whose　melodious　strings
One　long；　sweet　anthem　flows　forevermore！

We　too　bad　human　mothers；　even　as　Thou；
Whom　we　have　learned　to　worship　as　remote
》From　mortal　kindred；　wast　a　cradled　babe。
The　milk　of　woman　filled　our　branching　veins；
She　lulled　us　with　her　tender　nursery…song；
And　folded　round　us　her　untiring　arms；
While　the　first　unremembered　twilight　year
Shaped　us　to　conscious　being；　still　we　feel
Her　pulses　in　our　own；too　faintly　feel；
Would　that　the　heart　of　woman　warmed　our　creeds！

Not　from　the　sad…eyed　hermit's　lonely　cell；
Not　from　the　conclave　where　the　holy　men
Glare　on　each　other；　as　with　angry　eyes
They　battle　for　God's　glory　and　their　own；
Till；　sick　of　wordy　strife；　a　show　of　hands
Fixes　the　faith　of　ages　yet　unborn；
Ah；　not　from　these　the　listening　soul　can　hear
The　Father's　voice　that　speaks　itself　divine！
Love　must　be　still　our　Master；　till　we　learn
What　he　can　teach　us　of　a　woman's　heart；
We　know　not　His；　whose　love　embraces　all。


There　are　certain　nervous　conditions　peculiar　to　women　in　which　the
common　effects　of　poetry　and　of　music　upon　their　sensibilities　are
strangely　exaggerated。　　It　was　not　perhaps　to　be　wondered　at　that
Octavia　fainted　when　Virgil　in　reading　from　his　great　poem　came　to
the　line　beginning　Tu　Marcellus　eris：　It　is　not　hard　to　believe　the
story　told　of　one　of　the　two　Davidson　sisters；　that　the　singing　of
some　of　Moore's　plaintive　melodies　would　so　impress　her　as　almost　to
take　away　the　faculties　of　sense　and　motion。　　But　there　must　have
been　some　special　cause　for　the　singular　nervous　state　into　which
this　reading　threw　the　young　girl；　our　Scheherezade。　　She　was
doubtless　tired　with　overwork　and　troubled　with　the　thought　that　she
was　not　doing　herself　justice；　and　that　she　was　doomed　to　be　the
helpless　prey　of　some　of　those　corbies　who　not　only　pick　out　corbies'
eyes；　but　find　no　other　diet　so　nutritious　and　agreeable。

Whatever　the　cause　may　have　been；　her　heart　heaved　tumultuously；　her
color　came　and　went；　and　though　she　managed　to　avoid　a　scene　by　the
exercise　of　all　her　self…control；　I　watched　her　very　anxiously；　for　I
was　afraid　she　would　have　had　a　hysteric　turn；　or　in　one　of　her
pallid　moments　that　she　would　have　fainted　and　fallen　like　one　dead
before　us。

I　was　very　glad；　therefore；　when　evening　came；　to　find　that　she　was
going　out　for　a　lesson　on　the　stars。　　I　knew　the　open　air　was　what
she　needed；　and　I　thought　the　walk　would　do　her　good；　whether　she
made　any　new　astronomical　acquisitions　or　not。

It　was　now　late　in　the　autumn；　and　the　trees　were　pretty　nearly
stripped　of　their　leaves。There　was　no　place　so　favorable　as　the
Common　for　the　study　of　the　heavens。　　The　skies　were　brilliant　with
stars；　and　the　air　was　just　keen　enough　to　remind　our　young　friends
that　the　cold　season　was　at　hand。　　They　wandered　round　for　a　while；
and　at　last　found　themselves　under　the　Great　Elm；　drawn　thither；　no
doubt；　by　the　magnetism　it　is　so　well　known　to　exert　over　the　natives
of　its　own　soil　and　those　who　have　often　been　under　the　shadow　of　its
outstretched　arms。　　The　venerable　survivor　of　its　contemporaries　that
flourished　in　the　days　when　Blackstone　rode　beneath　it　on　his　bull
was　now　a　good　deal　broken　by　age；　yet　not　without　marks　of　lusty
vitality。　　It　had　been　wrenched　and　twisted　and　battered　by　so　many
scores　of　winters　that　some　of　its　limbs　were　crippled　and　many　of
its　joints　were　shaky；　and　but　for　the　support　of　the　iron　braces
that　lent　their　strong　sinews　to　its　more　infirm　members　it　would
have　gone　to　pieces　in　the　first　strenuous　northeaster　or　the　first
sudden　and　violent　gale　from　the　southwest。　　But　there　it　stood；　and
there　it　stands　as　yet；though　its　obituary　was　long　ago　written
after　one　of　the　terrible　storms　that　tore　its　branches；leafing　out
hopefully　in　April　as　if　it　were　trying　in　its　dumb　language　to　lisp
〃Our　Father；〃　and　dropping　its　slender　burden　of　foliage　in　October
as　softly　as　if　it　were　whispering　Amen！

Not　far　from　the　ancient　and　monumental　tree　lay　a　small　sheet　of
water；　once　agile　with　life　and　vocal　with　evening　melodies；　but　now
stirred　only　by　the　swallow　as　he　dips　his　wing；　or　by　the　morning
bath　of　the　English　sparrows；　those　high…headed；　thick…bodied；　full…
feeding；　hot…tempered　little　John　Bulls　that　keep　up　such　a　swashing
and　swabbing　and　spattering　round　all　the　water　basins；　one　might
think　from　the　fuss　they　make　about　it　that　a　bird　never　took　a　bath
here　before；　and　that　they　were　the　missionaries　of　ablution　to　the
unwashed　Western　world。

There　are　those　who　speak　lightly　of　this　small　aqueous　expanse；　the
eye　of　the　sacred　enclosure；　which　has　looked　unwinking　on　the　happy
faces　of　so　many　natives　and　the　curious　features　of　so　many
strangers。　　The　music　of　its　twilight　minstrels　has　long　ceased；　but
their　memory　lingers　like　an　echo　in　the　name　it　bears。　　Cherish　it；
inhabitants　of　the　two…hilled　city；　once　three…hilled；　ye　who　have
said　to　the　mountain；　〃Remove　hence；〃　and　turned　the　sea　into　dry
land！　　May　no　contractor　fill　his　pockets　by　undertaking　to　fill
thee；　thou　granite　girdled　lakelet；　or　drain　the　civic　purse　by
drawing　off　thy　waters！　　For　art　thou　not　the　Palladium　of　our　Troy？
Didst　thou　not；　like　the　Divine　image　which　was　the　safeguard　of
Ilium；　fall　from　the　skies；　and　if　the　Trojan　could　look　with　pride
upon　the　heaven…descended　form　of　the　Goddess　of　Wisdom；　cannot　he
who　dwells　by　thy　shining　oval　look　in　that　mirror　and　contemplate
Himself；the　Native　of　Boston。

There　must　be　some　fatality　which　carries　our　young　men　and　maidens
in　the　direction　of　the　Common　when　they　have　anything　very
particular　to　exchange　their　views　about。　　At　any　rate　I　remember　two
of　our　young　friends　brought　up　here　a　good　many　years　ago；　and　I
understand　that　there　is　one　path　across　the　enclosure　which　a　young
man　must　not　ask　a　young　woman　to　take　with　h