Classic Poem

BY WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER

The day was well nigh o'er;
The sun, near the horizon, dimly shone;
And the long shadows of the trees, before
My grassy couch were thrown.
The scene was one I'd witnessed, many a time,
In the green summer of my boyhood's prime;
And now, in early manhood's ripening day,
Drunk with its beauty, in its heart I lay;
Striving, with necromantic art, to cast
The courses of Life's future from its past;
Then questioning Reason of the spirit's birth,
Essence, and union with this moulded earth;
Anon up-borne, on Fancy's airy pinions,
Far from this world's turmoil, and sordid man's dominions.

Suddenly on my ear,
Rang, full and deep,
Joyous, and musical, and clear,
A sound, which made my father-heart to leap,
And sent the quick blood to my cheek and brow,
Which with the recollection warm e'en now.
Soon ceased the thrilling tone;
And with it pass'd my wild and dreamy train
Of thought — and in the deepening shade again
I lay alone:
So slight a touch can jar the spirit's springs,
And check the boldest flight of Fancy's wandering wings!

Eve came on gently: and her step was seen
Stirring the blossoms on the velvet green,
And warning home the laden bee,
Yet laboring busily.
The while, her soft
And delicate fingers pluck'd the leaves aloft,
And whirled them round and round
In eddies to the ground,
Where I, an humble man, with kingly wreaths was crown'd.

Once more that sweet voice rang upon my ear,
But blent with other sounds, as clear
And musical as it:
A childish jest — and then a shout
From one, or two, or three, rang out,
Full, free, and wild —
And then a fit
Of childish laughter rent the dewy air!
And now my eyes a glimpse caught of the fair
And lovely ONE : it was my own dear child!
She and her little friends, hard at their play,
Upon the grassy slope, that softly stretch'd away.
Again — again —
From the descending plain,
Up rise those gleeful notes: but chief that voice
Which first broke on my car,
And made my heart rejoice,
Ascends, full, strong, and clear —
Approaching nigh, and nigher,
As the strain grows high, and higher;
Then, like a water-circle, flowing
Away to every point, and growing
Fainter, and fainter, till the last tones die,
Lost, as far-journeying birds fade in the purple sky.

Bonnets were in the air,
And bonnet-ribands scattered on the ground;
Small shoes and pantalettes lay thick around,
And tiny feet were bare;
And frocks were soiled, and aprons rent;
But still they kept their frolic mood,
And laugh'd and romp'd; and when I went
And closer by them stood,
How hard each little elf did try
To win the most of my regard;
Now gazing anxious in my eyes,
And striving still more hard;
The spirit, so it seem'd to me,
The same in the great world we see,
Spurring the warrior on to victory,
And urging on the bard:
Each had success as much at heart,
As he who plays in war or polities his part.

" My child! — my child! "
She comes to me:
Her cheeks are flush'd, her hair is wild,
Her pulse is bounding free:
With laugh and shout she comes — but see!
Half way she stops, as still as death;
Her look is sad — she hardly draws a breath.
" My child! my own dear child!
Tell me, what aileth thee? "
" Father! " — she pointed to the moon,
On the horizon's shatter'd bound —
'T was rising, full and round.
" Father! I 'm coming soon. "
Her other hand now pointed to the West,
Where the dim sun was sinking to his rest.
" Father! are those the eyes of God
Looking upon us here? "
Her knee bent slowly to the dewy sod —
And then came tear on tear:
A gush of mingled feeling — wonder, and joy, and fear.