Papers from Overlook-House

So as we tell you of the child, there needs
No voice to say, and such the woman was.

One day she sought her father in the field,
Just before sunset, ready for his home.
And as they reached the rocks along the shore,
Where the road turns, to meet the deep ravine,
Nigh unto Farley, a faint cry for help
Rang in their ears. It was a manly voice
Grieving through pain. They turned aside, and found
A stranger, who had fallen, as he leapt
From out his boat. His fallen gun and dress
Proclaimed the sportsman. Aid was soon at hand,
And in their dwelling he found friends, and care.

Days past. His mother came, and soon she found
He spake to Ellen, Ellen unto him;
As they spake not to others. And it seemed,
Such a perpetual reference in his talk,
As if he had not now a single thought,
Which had not been compared with thought of hers.

At first her pride was moved. And while she stood
Irresolute, the spell was fixed: as when
The power of spring thaws winter to itself.
She knew her son was worthy: and she knew
Here, in the wide-world must he seek a wife.
And in due time she was his fair-haired wife.

They had a rural home across the stream.
Their lights at night answered the cheerful light
Of her paternal home. Their winter's fires
Mingled their gleam upon the dark night wave,
Or on the ice. By summer's winds her voice
Was wafted o'er the waters, as she sang:
And loving hearers blessed her in their hearts.

Oh! what a joy, when in her arms they placed
Her son – ah doomed to be her only born!
Her cup of happiness seemed now so full.
And then the Father, knowing all to come,
Gave her more grace, and so she loved him more,
And had no Idol. But, as days rolled on
Such sorrow came, I scarce can tell the tale.
She saw her husband's manly strength all gone.

There was a withering tree, in the spring time,
Which on the lawn, seemed struggling to assume
The Autumn's hues amid the world's full green.
He faintly smiled, and said, "So do I fade."
Soon it was dead. He lingered slowly on.
Hopes came: hopes faded. From the early world
'Tis the same story. It was well for her,
In this her sorrow, she had learned to weep
In days of bliss, as she had read the page
Which tells of Jesus bearing his own cross.

His mother came, but Ellen was repelled
By the stern brow of one who met the shock
And would not quail. That hard and iron will
Was so unlike her firmness. She was one
Who had ruled abjects. Sorrow seemed a wrong.

The parting time drew near. And then as one
Who asked as one gives law. "This little boy
Should dwell with me. Thereby shall he attain
All discipline to form the noble man.
Even as I made his Father what he was,
So will I now, again, care for the child.
Let him with me. And he shall often come
And visit you. This surely will be wise."
We need not say that Ellen too was firm.

A mother's love! In all the world a power,
To educate as this! Could any wealth
Of other learning recompense this loss!
Would this stern woman ripen in his heart
Fruits, that angelic eyes beheld with joy?
"When the boy grew, at times she'd gladly send
With thanks, the child to all this proffered care."
But now – to send him now! Why at the thought
A darkness gathered over all the world.
From all things came a voice, "All, all alone,
The husband is not – the child far away."

There was strange meaning in the angry eye;
A strange defiance, and an unknown threat,
Enmity and a triumph. As if a triumph gained.
A nation crushed, her husband's mother looked,
No flush was on her face – her voice the same.

Coldly she said, farewell. And Ellen held
The child with firmer grasp, when she was gone.
Then she had sorrow that they thus should part;
For she felt all the reverence death made due,
And also mourned rejection of her love.

As the child slept one night, watched by his nurse,
She crossed the river on the bridge of logs,
To reach her parents. Under the bright stars