Voices for the Speechless Part 14

PEGASUS IN POUND.

Once into a quiet village, Without haste and without heed, In the golden prime of morning, Strayed the poet's winged steed.

It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing From its belfry gaunt and grim; 'Twas the daily call to labor, Not a triumph meant for him.

Not the less he saw the landscape, In its gleaming vapor veiled; Not the less he breathed the odors That the dying leaves exhaled.

Thus, upon the village common, By the school-boys he was found; And the wise men, in their wisdom, Put him straightway into pound.

Then the sombre village crier, Ringing loud his brazen bell, Wandered down the street proclaiming: There was an estray to sell.

And the curious country people, Rich and poor, and young and old, Came in haste to see the wondrous Winged steed with mane of gold.

Thus the day pa.s.sed, and the evening Fell, with vapors cold and dim; But it brought no food nor shelter, Brought no straw nor stall, for him.

Patiently, and still expectant, Looked he through the wooden bars, Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape.

Saw the tranquil, patient stars;

Till at length the bell at midnight Sounded from its dark abode, And, from out a neighboring farm-yard, Loud the c.o.c.k Alectryon crowed.

Then, with nostrils wide distended, Breaking from his iron chain, And unfolding far his pinions, To those stars he soared again.

On the morrow, when the village Woke to all its toil and care, Lo! the strange steed had departed, And they knew not when nor where.

But they found, upon the greensward Where his struggling hoofs had trod, Pure and bright, a fountain flowing From the hoof-marks in the sod.

From that hour, the fount unfailing Gladdens the whole region round, Strengthening all who drink its waters, While it soothes them with its sound.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

THE HORSE.

Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey; it is a theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all; 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us and unknown), to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at him.

_Henry V._ Act 3, Sec. 7.

FROM "THE FORAY."

Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe Gray!

There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh; Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain.

WALTER SCOTT.

ON LANDSEER'S PICTURE, "WAITING FOR MASTER."

The proud steed bends his stately neck And patient waits his master's word, While Fido listens for his step, Welcome, whenever heard.

King Charlie shakes his curly ears, Secure his home, no harm he fears; Above the peaceful pigeons coo Their happy hymn, the long day through.

What means this scene of quiet joy, This peaceful scene without alloy!

Kind words, kind care, and tender thought This picture beautiful have wrought.

Its lesson tells of care for all G.o.d's creatures, whether great or small, And they who love "the least of these,"

Are sure a loving G.o.d to please.

_Our Dumb Animals._

THE BIRDS.

THE WATERFOWL.

Whither, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-- The desert and illimitable air,-- Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Some o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone--the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form--yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.

He, who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright.

W. C. BRYANT.

SEA FOWL.

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.

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,