The Blind Boy, I–XXIV

In dark ascent the pine-clad hills Repose on heaven their rocky crest. Lit by the flash of falling rills That in the valley-shadow rest, Chafing in rainbow-spray that finds Its sunshine in the gusty winds.

Clouds folded round the topmost peaks Shut out the gorges from the sun: ’Tis mid-day ere the early streaks Of sunshine down the valley run; But where the opening cliffs expand, The early sea-light breaks on land.

Before the sun, like golden shields, The clouds a lustre shed around; Wild shadows gambol o’er the fields; Tame shadows stretch upon the ground. Towards noon the great rock-shadow moves, And takes slow leave of all it loves.

The beam-shot clouds dissolve apace; Stray shades that linger like a scroll, Draw nearer to their craggy base, And in clefts and caverns roll; The light falls down the rocky piles; The vale a lake of glory smiles.

There dwell two orphans: Heaven ordains The sister’s eyes shall live in light: Her brother in the shade remains When morning bursts upon her sight. Sister and brother, far and wide As one they wander side by side.

When to the shore through woods and fields The brother has a wish to stray, The sister takes the hand he yields; She by fond habit leads the way. Skipping along, oft face to face, Her hand directs his timid pace.

The plains that strike the grey-white line Where earth’s dim curve in distance fades; The streams that near the dwelling shine; The quiet meads; the rustling glades; The sand-dunes waiting on the shore, The sister’s eyes for him explore.

’Tis all his own, but her loved hand, Her gentle voice, her sayings dear, Are choicer gifts than all the land That he inherits far and near, For all his light is in her mind,— The path he loses she can find.

At early morn, embraced by her, He sits within the shadow’s dip To list to his sweet minister, And paint his visions from her lip. He sees the waters, earth, and skies Only through her enchanted eyes.

Her eyes are bright, his now are blind; All he once saw has passed away, But her fond visions fill his mind, And there disclose the dawn of day. Her morning breaks upon his night, Enlivened by her spirit’s light.

She tells him how the mountains swell, How rocks and forests touch the skies; He tells her how the shadows dwell In purple dimness on his eyes, Whose tremulous orbs the while he lifts, As round his smile their spirit drifts.

More close around his heart to wind, She shuts her eyes in childish glee, ‘To share,’ she says, ‘his peace of mind; To sit beneath his shadow-tree.’ So, half in play, the sister tries To find his soul within her eyes.

His hand in hers, she walks along And leads him by the river’s brink; She stays to catch the water’s song, Closing her eyes with him to think. His ear, more watchful than her own, Had caught the ocean’s distant moan.

‘The river’s flow is bright and clear,’ The blind boy said, ‘and were it dark We should no less its music hear: Sings not at eventide the lark? Still when the ripples pause, they fade Upon my spirit like a shade.’

‘Yet, brother, when the river stops And in the quiet bay is hushed, E’en though its gentle murmur drops, ’Tis bright as when by us it rushed; Not like a shade, when heard no more, Except beneath the wooded shore.’

Now the resounding beach, wave-swept, Greets them; now silence softly bears The likeness of the wave that leapt Unseen, and broke upon their ears. ‘Dear sister, tell me once again The wonders of the sea’s domain!’

Down the moist sands she guides his way, And gazes on the lonesome shores, Where desultory waves at play, Enthral her looks ere she explores The far-off deep; ere those quick eyes Rove o’er the waters, cliffs, and skies.

‘The farthest seas bend as a bow Into the light, o’er-arching sky; There, curdled breakers row on row With scarce a motion, distant lie; Or if one vanish from the rest, It shows again its snowy crest.

‘But nearer, midway toward the sands, I see long lines of billows creep; One stops and into froth expands, Then fades away upon the deep; Close to the shore the waves contend, And shouting reach the journey’s end.’

While her bright tones upon him broke The curtain from his soul was drawn; His spirit quickened as she spoke,— Then flashed as at a sudden dawn, With visions of a world once known, That for the moment seemed his own.

‘O tell me of the changing sky, Sunless once more!’ ‘’Neath lovely blue,’ The sister says, ‘the clouds float by, Of orange, white, and inky hue. The shifting waves that cannot rest Are ’neath the gusty breezes pressed.

‘A cloud is loosened from the sun; The sea’s sky-blue now skims the green, Chasing the billows as they run And drip their foam in troughs between. Oh, could you see them as they roar, Scooping away the glistening shore!’

‘The waves,’ he said, ‘before me fall, And memories of a long-lost light From far-off mornings on me call, And what I hear comes into sight. The beauteous skies flash back again, But, ah! the light will not remain!’

Awhile he pauses; as he stops, Her little hand the sister moves And pebbles on the water drops, As it runs up the sandy grooves, Or to her ear a shell applies, With parted lips and dreaming eyes.