The Lily of the Valley, XXV–XLVII

Meantime her grandsire day by day Was hungered, hopeless though he smiled, For he would hide his pains away From her, the watchful, loving child. She saw him sink upon his bed Not by the kindly raven fed.

Again through brake and bush she flew; Beyond the wood there lay the field And paths unknown broke on her view; Must she to childish terror yield? She looked at heaven and saw its scope, Taught by her mother there was hope.

And then she to her mother said, ‘Can God the prophet’s raven spare? For grandsire lies upon his bed, And cannot earn his daily fare. All father’s work he leaves undone, And says I soon shall be alone.’

Then she went on and seemed to tread The buoyant air that past her blew, But cast her looks about in dread, As o’er the footless path she flew. At last she stayed to breathe her fear,— All was so strange, and no one near.

And then she to her father said, ‘Can God the prophet’s raven spare? For grandsire lies upon his bed, And cannot earn his daily fare. He leaves the work you left undone, And says I soon shall be alone.’

Her slackening pace now plainly told The way was long for timid feet. She felt her heart no longer bold: Oft she looked back her wood to greet. Her wood from sight a moment gone, She felt herself indeed alone.

She stood where hills and valleys blend; One struggle more, and heaven seemed nigh. Beyond where fields and woods ascend, She saw a mansion towering high, A noble lady’s home, that seemed To her the heaven of which she dreamed.

‘Could I,’ she thought, ‘that hill ascend, Then should I see the lady’s face. She lives above, where troubles end, And I have found her heavenly place. God gives her plenty for the poor, Who come home laden from her door.’

She looked till flashed across her dreams A sight that all her spirit fired; A form behind the window gleams,— Could it be she so long desired? Through windows in that stately pile, She thought she saw a human smile.

And then she to the lady said, ‘Can God the prophet’s raven spare? For grandsire lies upon his bed, And cannot earn his daily fare. All father’s work he leaves undone, And says I soon shall be alone.’

The mansion stood against the sun: There long she looked for her reply. The ball of fire whose course had run, Filled with its red the western sky, ’Twas awful to her childish sight: She turned her troubled steps for flight.

Dared she but enter at the gate To reach that mansion vast and fair, Then could she all her tale relate To that sweet lady dwelling there. But all her little courage fled: With fainting steps she homeward sped.

First slowly, then with swifter pace, She outran terror at her heels, As if to win with Death the race, Whose shroud now brushing by she feels. She starts at every rugged bank, For with the sun her spirit sank.

The orb, yet vast beyond the height, Had set more early in the wood; But o’er the trees the lingering light Spread floating in a rosy flood. The birds sank one by one to rest, As pale and paler grew the west.

She spied her cot, O vision sweet! A rushlight through the lattice flamed, And threw its radiance at her feet, As it the grudging twilight shamed. Through diamond panes a glimpse to catch, She held her finger on the latch.

No sound, no breath she heard above, Where grandsire in the garret lay. But one was there whose looks of love, ‘Poor little orphan,’ seemed to say. She knew the chaplain’s kindly face; The bearer of the lady’s grace.

‘Where hast thou been, my darling maid? Reply to one who likes thee well.’ ‘To fetch the raven home,’ she said; ‘And him my grandsire’s wants to tell. I stood beneath the raven-tree And found no bird to succour me.’

‘Why call the raven to thy door, Thy little heart’s distress to share?’ ‘Because,’ said she, ‘the sire is poor, And has not earned his daily fare. All father’s work he leaves undone, And says I soon shall be alone.’

‘To kiss thee, child, he would have stayed, For oft he called thee to his side. Where didst thou wander, little maid?’ ‘I went across the world so wide. I looked at heaven and saw its scope, Taught by my mother there was hope.

‘I looked for mother in the sky: She taught me there my wants to tell; I looked for father standing by, For both among the happy dwell; I cried to them with heart of care, Can God the prophet’s raven spare?

‘Then I came nigh a stately pile, Where those who ask seek not in vain. I looked, and saw a human smile, And thought a lady looked again. Through windows I beheld her face, As she looked from her heavenly place.

‘And then I to the lady said, “Can God the prophet’s raven spare? For grandsire lies upon his bed, And has not earned his daily fare. My father’s work he leaves undone, And says I soon shall be alone.”’

‘Thou art not all alone, my child; Thy griefs that righteous lady hears: She loves a spirit undefiled; Her heart is open to thy tears. Thy father’s work at last is done, And thou shalt never be alone.’