The Blind Boy

In dark ascent the pine-clad hillsRepose on heaven their rocky crest.Lit by the flash of falling rillsThat in the valley-shadow rest,Chafing in rainbow-spray that findsIts sunshine in the gusty winds.

Clouds folded round the topmost peaksShut out the gorges from the sun:’Tis mid-day ere the early streaksOf 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 ordainsThe sister’s eyes shall live in light:Her brother in the shade remainsWhen morning bursts upon her sight.Sister and brother, far and wideAs one they wander side by side.

When to the shore through woods and fieldsThe 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 lineWhere 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 landThat 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 dipTo list to his sweet minister,And paint his visions from her lip.He sees the waters, earth, and skiesOnly 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 dwellIn 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 triesTo find his soul within her eyes.

His hand in hers, she walks alongAnd 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 darkWe should no less its music hear:Sings not at eventide the lark?Still when the ripples pause, they fadeUpon my spirit like a shade.’

‘Yet, brother, when the river stopsAnd 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 bearsThe likeness of the wave that leaptUnseen, and broke upon their ears.‘Dear sister, tell me once againThe 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 exploresThe far-off deep; ere those quick eyesRove o’er the waters, cliffs, and skies.

‘The farthest seas bend as a bowInto the light, o’er-arching sky;There, curdled breakers row on rowWith 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 brokeThe 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 restAre ’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 runAnd 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 lightFrom 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 movesAnd 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.

‘That noise!’ said he, with lifted hand.‘The sea-gull’s scream and flapping wings,Before the wind it flies to land,And omens of a tempest brings.’She tells him how the sea-bird paleWhirls wildly on the coming gale.

‘And is the sea alone? Even nowI hear faint mutterings,—not the waves’;It seems a murmur sweeping lowAnd hurrying through the distant caves.I hear again that smothered tone,As if the sea were not alone.’

‘Heaven slopes o’er us on every side,And shuts us from the distant land.The waters only here abide,And we who sit upon the sand.A porpoise revels in the spray,And purple vapours veil the bay.

‘Come, hasten,’ cries she, ‘to the woodsWhere twisted boughs are thickly set,For soon the rain must fall in floods:Here is no shelter from the wet.While like a sea the sky upheaves,We’ll watch beneath the matted leaves.’

‘Stay, sister! Listen to that sound;—It thunders—does the flash appear?’‘It lightens now, and, whirling round,The gull dips low, as if in fear.’The boy now turns his floating eyes,Though not the way the sea-bird flies.

‘The wind is balmy on my cheek,But now I feel the rain-drop plash.Let us,’ he said, ‘the woodland seek,And hear it on the foliage dash.On the ground-ivy we shall tread,And through the grove its perfume spread.’

And so they prattle as they leaveThe sandy beach, in pensive mood,His ear turned to the billow’s heave,Her vision leaning on the wood,While, as the honeysuckle clings,About his neck her arm she flings.

Better than she the blind boy hearsThe whispers of the patient shore,While yet the wave its crest uprearsTo break once more,—and evermore.Better than she the blind boy feelsThe simple pictures she reveals.

Clapping her hands, she spies aboveRich elms, the turrets grey and old,—But love of home was only loveWhen to her darling brother told.Thus ever to his soul repliesThe infant passion of her eyes.

While they return, the dwelling near,One word must yet the sister say.She lifts her voice: ‘O brother dear,If good my eyes have been to-day,Kiss them for every new delightThat kindles in your spirit’s sight!’

Deep in his eyes the love-lights strove;He clasped her in a close embrace:—With lips that shook with grateful loveHe kissed her eyes—he kissed her face—He wept upon that tender brow;‘Dearest, the darkness leaves me now!

‘I view all beauty through your eyes;I see within, you see outside.Your love has raised me to the skies,—Once narrow,—lofty now and wide,And not, as once, of sombre hue;For I can dream the dark to blue.

‘The upward-toiling hill; the stream;The valley; the wide ocean’s sweep;All take the colours of a dream,—The glories of the land of sleep.You are my soul, my eyes, my sight;’Tis dark no more, you are my light.’