Voices for the Speechless Part 16

The farmers grew impatient, but a few Confessed their error, and would not complain, For after all, the best thing one can do When it is raining, is to let it rain.

Then they repealed the law, although they knew It would not call the dead to life again; As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate.

That year in Killingworth the Autumn came Without the light of his majestic look, The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book.

A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, Lamenting the dead children of the air!

THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS.

But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, A sight that never yet by bard was sung, As great a wonder as it would have been If some dumb animal had found a tongue!

A wagon, overarched with evergreen, Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, All full of singing birds, came down the street, Filling the air with music wild and sweet.

From all the country round these birds were brought, By order of the town, with anxious quest, And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought In woods and fields the places they loved best, Singing loud canticles, which many thought Were satires to the authorities addressed, While others, listening in green lanes, averred Such lovely music never had been heard!

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

THE MAGPIE.

"Man is unjust, but G.o.d is just; and finally justice Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal."

This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them.

"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in his left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people.

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them.

But in course of time the laws of the land were corrupted; Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a n.o.bleman's palace That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household.

She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice.

As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven."

H. W. LONGFELLOW, in _Evangeline_.

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes.

Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation; Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches.

H. W. LONGFELLOW, in _Evangeline_.

EARLY SONGS AND SOUNDS.

To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night From his watch-tower in the skies Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine; While the c.o.c.k with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin; And to the stack, or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before; Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn From the side of some h.o.a.r hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill.

JOHN MILTON.

THE SPARROW'S NOTE.

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough; I brought him home, in his nest, at even, He sings the song, but it pleases not now, For I did not bring home the river and sky; He sang to my ear, they sang to my eye.

R. W. EMERSON.

THE GLOW-WORM.

Nor crush a worm, whose useful light Might serve, however small, To show a stumbling-stone by night, And save man from a fall.

COWPER.

ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS.

Up soared the lark into the air, A shaft of song, a winged prayer, As if a soul, released from pain, Were flying back to heaven again.

St. Francis heard; it was to him An emblem of the Seraphim; The upward motion of the fire, The light, the heat, the heart's desire.

Around a.s.sisi's convent gate The birds, G.o.d's poor who cannot wait, From moor and mere and darksome wood Came flocking for their dole of food.

"O brother birds," St. Francis said, "Ye come to me and ask for bread, But not with bread alone to-day Shall ye be fed and sent away.

"Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, With manna of celestial words; Not mine, though mine they seem to be, Not mine, though they be spoken through me.

"Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise The great Creator in your lays; He giveth you your plumes of down, Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown.

"He giveth you your wings to fly And breathe a purer air on high, And careth for you everywhere, Who for yourselves so little care!"

With flutter of swift wings and songs Together rose the feathered throngs, And singing scattered far apart; Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart.

He knew not if the brotherhood His homily had understood; He only knew that to one ear The meaning of his words was clear.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

WORDSWORTH'S SKYLARK.

Ethereal Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?

Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?

Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain, ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing All independent of the leafy spring.

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of heaven and home!