I gained, and failed. One day could ride and walk, The next would find me prostrate: while a flock Of ghostly thoughts, like phantom birds, would flit About the chambers of my heart, or sit, Pale spectres of the past, with folded wings, Perched, silently, upon the voiceless strings, That once resounded to Hope's happy lays.
So passed the ever-changing April days.
When May came, lightsome footed, o'er the lea, Accompanied by kind Aunt Ruth and Roy, I bade farewell to home with secret joy, And turned my wan face eastward to the sea.
Roy planned our route of travel: for all lands Were one to him. Or Egypt's burning sands, Or Alps of Switzerland, or stately Rome, All were familiar as the fields of home.
There was a year of wand'ring to and fro, Like restless spirits; scaling mountain heights; Dwelling among the countless, rare delights Of lands historic; turning dusty pages, Stamped with the tragedies of mighty ages Gazing upon the scenes of bloody acts, Of kings long buried--bare, unvarnished facts, Surpassing wildest fictions of the brain; Rubbing against all people, high and low, And by this contact feeling Self to grow Smaller and less important, and the vein Of human kindness deeper, seeing God, Unto the humble delver of the sod, And to the ruling monarch on the throne, Has given hope, ambition, joy, and pain, And that all hearts have feelings like our own.
There is no school that disciplines the mind, And broadens thought, like contact with mankind.
The college-prisoned graybeard, who has burned The midnight lamp, and book-bound knowledge learned, Till sciences or classics hold no lore He has not conned and studied, o'er and o'er, Is but a babe in wisdom, when compared With some unlettered wand'rer, who has shared The hospitalities of every land; Felt touch of brother in each proffered hand; Made man his study, and the world his college, And gained this grand epitome of knowledge:
Each human being has a heart and soul, And self is but an atom of the whole.
I hold he is best learned and most wise Who best and most can love and sympathize.
Book-wisdom makes us vain and self-contained; Our banded minds go round in little grooves; But constant friction with the world removes These iron foes to freedom, and we rise To grander heights, and, all untrammelled, find A better atmosphere and clearer skies; And through its broadened realm, no longer chained, Thought travels freely, leaving Self behind.
Where'er we chanced to wander or to roam, Glad letters came from Helen; happy things, Like little birds that followed on swift wings, Bringing their tender messages from home.
Her days were poems, beautiful, complete.
The rhythm perfect, and the burden sweet.
She was so happy--happy, and so blest.
My heart had found contentment in that year.
With health restored, my life seemed full of cheer The heart of youth turns ever to the light; Sorrow and gloom may curtain it like night, But, in its very anguish and unrest, It beats and tears the pall-like folds away, And finds again the sunlight of the day.
And yet, despite the changes without measure, Despite sight-seeing, round on round of pleasure; Despite new friends, new suitors, still my heart Was conscious of a something lacking, where Love once had dwelt, and afterward despair.
Now love was buried; and despair had flown Before the healthful zephyrs that had blown From heights serene and lofty; and the place Where both had dwelt was empty, voiceless space.
And so I took my long-loved study, art, The dreary vacuum in my life to fill, And worked, and laboured, with a right good will.
Aunt Ruth and I took rooms in Rome; while Roy Lingered in Scotland, with his new-found joy.
A dainty little lassie, Grace Kildare, Had snared him in her flossy, flaxen hair, And made him captive.
We were thrown, by chance, In contact with her people while in France The previous season: she was wholly sweet And fair and gentle; so naive, and yet So womanly, she was at once the pet Of all our party; and, ere many days, Won by her fresh face, and her artless ways, Roy fell a helpless captive at her feet.
Her home was in the Highlands; and she came Of good old stock, of fair untarnished fame.
Through all these months Roy had been true as steel; And by his every action made me feel He was my friend and brother, and no more, The same big-souled and trusty friend of yore.
Yet, in my secret heart, I wished I knew Whether the love he felt one time was dead, Or only hidden, for my sake, from view.
So when he came to me one day, and said, The velvet blackness of his eyes ashine With light of love and triumph: "Cousin, mine, Congratulate me! She whom I adore Has pledged to me the promise of her hand; Her heart I have already," I was glad With double gladness, for it freed my mind Of fear that he, in secret, might be sad.
From March till June had left her moons behind, And merged her rose-red beauty in July, There was no message from my native land.
Then came a few brief lines, by Vivian penned:
Death had been near to Helen, but passed by; The danger was now over. God was kind;
The mother and the child were both alive; No other child was ever known to thrive As throve this one, nurse had been heard to say.
The infant was a wonder, every way.
And, at command of Helen, he would send A lock of baby's golden hair to me.
