Classic Poem

Her home was near an ancient wood,
Where many an oak gigantic stood;
And fragrant flowers of every hue
In that sequestered valley grew.
A church there reared its little spire,
And in their neat and plain attire,
The humble peasants would repair,
On Sabbath morn, to worship there;
And on the laughing breeze would float
The merry warblers' choral note;
When at Aurora's rosy dawn
Was decked with light the dewy lawn.
A pearly stream meandered there,
And on its verdant banks so fair,
From school released at close of day
A group of happy girls would play.
With their gay laugh the woodlands rang,
Or if some rustic air they sang,
Those rural notes of music sweet
Echo would in her tones repeat.
Amid those scenes of mirth and glee
Where was the sightless girl? was she
Blithely as others sporting there,
Or wreathing garlands for her hair?
She sat beside her cottage door,
Her brow a pensive sadness wore;
And while she listened to the song
That issued from that youthful throng,
The warm tears gushing down her cheeks
Spoke what no other language speaks;
While their young hearts were light and gay
Her hours passed heavily away;
A mental night was o'er her thrown,
She seemed dejected and alone;—
Yet no! a mother's accents dear
Oft fell upon that blind girl's ear.
While all were locked in dreamy sleep,
The mother o'er her couch would weep,
And as she knelt in silence there,
Would breathe to God her fervent prayer,
That he, all merciful and mild,
Would bless her solitary child.

'Twas eve—the summer's sun was bright,
The crescent moon unveiled her light,
And many a mild and radiant star
Its lustre spread o'er climes afar.
That mother to her throbbing breast
Her lovely daughter fondly pressed,
She on her bosom leaned her head,
And thus in mournful accents said—
“Tell me, dear mother, what is sight?—
I hear you say the stars are bright,
In yonder sky of azure hue;
Oh! that I could behold them too!
You tell me of the summer flowers
That blossom in the greenwood bowers;
Their balmy breath is sweet to me,
And shall I ne'er their beauty see?”
Here Anna paused, her mother sighed,
Then in a low, sweet voice replied:
“On earth those joys may ne'er be thine;
But why, my child, why thus repine?
'Tis thy Almighty Father's will,
Command thy murmuring heart be still;
There is a fairer world than this,
A world of never-fading bliss;
There let thy heart, thy treasure be,
And thou its purer joys shalt see.”

The summer and the autumn's past,
And wildly blows the winter blast.
'Twas midnight, nature slept profound,
Unbroken stillness reigned around,
Save in one little cottage where
Was heard a dying mother's prayer.
“O God! my helpless orphan see,
She hath no other friend but thee;
She friendless on the world is thrown,
Sightless, heart-broken, and alone.
Father, all merciful and mild,
Protect my solitary child!”
One last farewell that mother breathed,
One parting sigh her bosom heaved,
And all was over, she had fled
To mingle with the uncounted dead.

The dreary winter passed away—
The spring returned, and all was gay;
O'er hill, o'er vale, o'er verdant plain,
The warbling choir was heard again.
But not the spring's most cheerful voice
Could make that orphan's heart rejoice.
Her mother's grave was near her cot,
And Anna to that lonely spot,
Though blind, would solitary stray,
To kiss the turf that pressed her clay.
'Twas evening's melancholy hour,
Cool zephyrs fanned each passing hour;
O'er her soft lute her fingers ran,
And thus her mournful lay began;—
“Alas! how bitter is my lot,
Without a friend, without a home;
Alone, unpitied, and forgot,
A sightless orphan must I roam.
Where is that gentle mother now
Who once so fondly on me smiled?
Whose kiss I felt upon my brow,
As in her arms she clasped her child.
I could not see that angel eye,
Suffused with many a bitter tear;
But oh! her deep, heart-rending sigh,
Stole mournful on my listening ear.
I knelt beside her dying bed,
I felt her last expiring breath;
‘God guide my child,’ she faintly said,
Then closed those lovely eyes in death.
Oh! how I long to soar away
To that blessed place where she doth dwell;
To join with her the choral lay,
Angelic choirs for ever swell.”

She ceased, she heard a footstep near,
A voice broke gently on her ear.
“Maiden! I've heard thy tale of woe,
More of thy history I would know;
Oh, tell me why thy youthful brow
Is mantled o'er with sadness now?”
“Sir,” she replied, “well may I weep,
Beneath this little mound doth sleep
All that to me on earth was dear;
My mother's lifeless form lies here,
And I, her only child, am left
Of kindred and of home bereft.
But He who marks the sparrow's fall,
Will hear the helpless orphan's call;
My mother bade me trust His care,
He will not leave me to despair.”
The stranger sighed; “Dear child,” said he,
“Thou hast my warmest sympathy;
No longer friendless shalt thou roam,
I'll take thee to a happier home;
A home erected for the blind,
Where friends affectionate and kind,
Will o'er thee watch with tender care,
And wipe away the orphan's tear.”
“Forgive me, sir,” the maiden said,
As modestly she hung her head,
“I cannot bear to leave this grave,
Where friendly flowers they tell me wave;
And oh! while here I sit alone,
And listen to the wind's low moan,
Methinks my sainted mother dear,
Smiles on me from the starry sphere;
And softly then she seems to say,
My child, my darling, come away
To the bright mansion where I dwell,
And bid that world of care farewell.”
The stranger wept, his generous heart
In others' sorrows shared a part.
“Thou must not linger here,” said he,
“Haste, I entreat thee, haste with me,
Thou lone one, to that dear retreat,
Where thou a sister band shalt meet;
Yes, maiden, they are blind like thee,
And they will love thee tenderly.”

How changed that sightless orphan now,
No longer clouded is her brow;
Her buoyant step is light and free,
And none more happy is than she.
For education's glorious light
Hath chased away the mental night;
Contentment smiles upon her face,
And with delight her fingers trace
The page by inspiration given,
To guide her to a brighter heaven.
If through the past her memory stray,
Then music's sweet and charming lay
Drives each dark vision from her breast,
And lulls each heaving sigh to rest;
Her grateful lips breathe many a prayer,
For him who kindly placed her there.