The Mother's Idol Broken

Tenderly did he usher us within
The holy of holies of a Father's heart,
Where gloomed the first great sorrow still and stern-
The dark, un featured Guest — now fading slow
In hallowed, healing light.

Ah, few there be
But miss some sweetest thing Earth lifted up
In her old arms to take Heaven's blessing — pure
As white foam- spirit flashing to the Moon,
And gone as quickly from our mortal night.

Twice the Mother had dived down
Into her sea of sorrow;
O my love! O my life! my own sweet "Wife!

God send you a merry good-morrow.
Betide her weal, or betide her woe,
Her smile it was calm and fearless;
And proud were her eyes as she rose with the prize,
A pearl in her palms! my peerless!

O found you a little sea-siren,
In some perilous palace left?
Or is it a little child-angel,
Of her high-born kin bereft!
Or came she out of the Elfin-land,
By earthly love beguiled!
Or hath the sweet Spirit of Beauty
Taken shape as our starry Child!

Dear, do but look in her love-nest of sweets,
Where she lies in a smiling calm:
Wee armful of fruitage; a sheaf of ripe bliss;

On a bosom breathing balm.

Fresh as the drop of dew cradled at morn,
On leaves of a lily in blossom;
Sweet as the fragrance newly born
In a violet's virgin bosom.

II.

God's Butterfly on our love's flower alight!

It seemeth the beautiful thing,
At the first surmise of the heaven she hath left,
For the winterless world will wing.
So we fold her about with our love as 'twere
heaven,
Around her weave many a wile;
And our hearts up-leap, living fountains of joy,
In the golden dream of her smile.

in.

On my ripely rounding Rose-tree,
Dreaming of life are three flowers:
One pusheth up her ruby-rose-cup,
For the rain of God's quickening showers.
With a magical burst of beauty, one glows
Dewily dear in the sheen of love;
And one pretty Softling, our baby-bud-rose,
Lies tenderly shut in the green of love.

IV.

O FAIR befall my dainty flowers,
Summering on their stem;
Smiling up to the crowning Rose,
As she smileth down upon them.

Smiling up to their Queen in her beauty,
That smiles on each bonny breast-gem:
Blossoming, brimming with love for her
Who leans ruddy with love over them!
O fair befall my dainty flowers,
Summering on their stem!
And O the armful of rich love,
My fragrant human Roses!
Smile on them all, sweet Heaven,
And kiss my darling Roses.

There be three little maidens; three loving
maidens;

Three bonny maidens mine;
Three precious jewels are set in Life's crown,
On prayer-lifted brows to shine.
Six starry eyes, all love-luminous,
Look out of our heaven so tender;
Since the honey-moon, glowing and glorious,
. Arose in its ripening splendour.

There's Lilybell, duchess of wonderland,
With dance of life, dimples and curls;
Whose bud of a mouth into red kisses bursts
A-smile with the wanton white pearls:
And Sweetcheek, our rosily-goldening peach
On the sunniest side o' the wall,
But Marian's Mother's darling,
Marian's Idol of all.

VI.

Like the merry voice-bird that sings on the bough,
I sing, O my woman Dove,
To a nest I know in the leaves below,
Full of eyes alive with love.
Two of our little Birds wander on wings,
One can but flutter and fall;
Sing, Marian Mother's wee darling,
Marian's Idol of all.

VII.

All in our marriage garden
Grew, smiling up to God,
A bonnier flower than ever
Suckt the green warmth of the sod.
O beautiful unfathomably
Its little life unfurled;
Love's crowning sweetness was our wee
White Rose of all the world.

From out a balmy bosom,
Our bud of beauty grew;
It fed on smiles for sunshine,
And tears for daintier dew.
Aye nestling warm and tenderly,
Our leaves of love were curled
So close and close about our wee
White Rose of all the world.

Two flowers of glorious crimson
Grew with our Rose of light;
Still kept the sweet heaven-grafted slip
Her whiteness saintly white.
I' the wind of life they danced with glee,
And reddened as it whirled;
More white and wondrous grew our wee
White Rose of all the world.

With mystical faint fragrance,
Our house of life she filled —
Revealed each hour some fairy tower,
Where winged Hopes might build.
We saw — though none like us might see —
Such precious promise pearled
Upon the petals of our wee
White Rose of all the world.

But evermore the halo
Of Angel-light increased;
Like the mystery of Moonlight,
That folds some fairy feast.
Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently,
Our darling bud up curled,
And dropt i' the Grave — God's lap — our wee
White Rose of all the world.

Our Rose was but in blossom;

Our life was but in spring;
When down the solemn midnight
We heard the Spirits sing:

" Another bud of infancy,
With holy dews im pearled;"

And in their hands they bore our wee
White Rose of all the world.

You scarce could think so small a thing
Could leave a loss so large;
Her little light such shadow fling,
From dawn to sunset's marge.
In other springs our life may be
In bannered bloom unfurled;
But never, never match our wee
White Rose of all the world.

VIII.

This is a curl of our poor " Splendid's" hair!

A sunny burst of rare and ripe young gold —
A ring of sinless gold that weds two worlds!

Our one thing left with her dear life in it.

Poor Misers! o'er it secretly we sum
Our little savings hoarded up in heaven, —
Our rich love-thoughts heart-hid to dote upon, —
And glimpse our lost heaven in a flood of tears.

A magic ring, through which fond sorrow reads
Of strange heart-histories, and conjures up
A vanisht face, with its sweet spirit-smiles,
Babe- won derings, and little tender ways.

At birth her hair was dark as it were dipt
In the death-shadow; but it rarefied
In radiance as her head rose nigher heaven,
Till she — white Glory! — lookt from a golden midst.

This is her still face as she lay in death!

Spirit-like face! set in a silver cloud,
It comes to us in silent glooms of night;
The wee wan face that gradually withdrew
And darkened into the great cloud of death.

O ye who say, " We have a Child in heaven;"
And know how far away that heaven may seem;
Who have felt that desolate isolation sharp
Defined in Death's own face; who have stood beside
The Silent River, and stretcht out pleading hands
For some sweet Babe upon the other bank,
That went forth where no human hand might lead,
And left the shut house with no light, no sound,
No answer, when the mourners wail without!
What we have known, ye know, and only know.

She came like April, who with tender grace
Smiles in Earth's face, and sets upon her breast
The bud of all her glory yet to come,
Then bursts in tears, and takes her sorrowful leave.

She brought us Eden just within the space
Of the dear depths of her large, dream-like eyes,
Then o'er the vista fell the death- veil dark.

She only caught three words of human speech:

One for her Mother, one for me, and one
She crowed with, for the fields, and open heaven.

That last she sighed with a sweet farewell pathos
A minute ere she left the house of life,
To come for kisses never any more.

Pale Blossom! how she leaned in love to us!

And how we feared a hand might reach from heaven
To pluck our sweetest flower, our loftiest flower
Of life, that sprang from lowliest root of love!

Some tender trouble in her eyes complained
Of Life's rude stream, as meek forget-me-nots
Make sweet appeal when winds and waters fret.

And oft she lookt beyond Us with sad eyes,
As for the coming of the Unseen Hand.

We saw, but feared to speak of, her strange beauty,
As some husht Bird that dares not sing i' the night,
Lest lurking foe should find its secret place,
And seize it through the dark. With twin love's
strength
All crowded in the softest nestling-touch,
We fenced her round — exchanging silent looks.
We went about the house with listening hearts,
That kept the watch for Danger's stealthiest step.
Our spirits felt the Shadow ere it fell.

Then the Physician left our door ajar
A moment, and the grim thief Death stole in.

Some Angel passing o'er life's troubled sea,
Had seen our jewel shine celestial pure,
And Death must win it for her bosom pearl.

We stood at Midnight in the Presence dread.

At midnight, when Men die, we strove with Death,
To wrench our jewel from his grasping hand.

Ere the soul loosed from its last ledge of life,
Her little face peered round with anxious eyes,
Then, seeing all the old faces, dropt content.

The mystery dilated in her look,
Which, on the darkening death -ground, faintly caught
The likeness of the Angel shining near.

Her passing soul flasht back a glimpse of bliss.

She was a Child no more, but strong and stern
As a mailed Knight that had been grappling Death.

A crown of conquest bound her baby-brow;

Her little hands could take the heirdom large;

And all her Childhood's vagrant royalty
Sat staid and calm in some eternal throne.

Love's kiss is sweet, but Death's doth make immortal.

The Mornings came, with glory-garland on,
To deck heaven's azure tent with hangings brave;

Birds, brooks, and bees were singing in the sun,
Earth's blithe heart breathing bloom into her face,
The flowers all crowding up like Memories
Of lovelier life in some forgotten world,
Or dreams of peace and beauty yet to come.

The soft south-breezes rockt the baby-buds
In fondling arms upon a balmy breast;

And all was gay as universal life
Swam down the stream that glads the City of God.

But we lay dark where Death had struck us down
With that stern blow which made us bleed within,
And bow while the Inevitable went by.

And there our Darling lay in coffined calm;
Beyond the breakers and the moaning now!
And o'er her flowed the white, eternal peace:
The breathing miracle into silence passed:
Never to stretch wee hands, with her dear smile
As soft as light-fall on unfolding flowers;
Never to wake us crying in the night:
Our little hindering thing for ever gone,
In tearful quiet now we might toil on.
All dim the living lustres motion makes!

No life-dew in the sweet cups of her eyes!
Nought there of our poor " Splendid" but her brow.

A young Immortal came to us disguised,
And in the joy-dance dropt her mask, and fled.

The world went lightly by and heeded not
Our death-white windows blinded to the sun;

The hearts that ached within; the measureless loss;

The Idol broken; our first tryst with Death.

O Life, how strange thy face behind the veil!

And stranger yet will thy strange mystery seem,
When we awake in death and tell our Dream.

'Tis hard to solve the secret of the Sphinx!

We had a little gold Love garnered up,
To bravely robe our Babe: the Mother's half
Was turned to mourning-raiment for her dead:

Mine bought the first land we called ours — Her grave.

We were as treasure-seekers in the earth,
When lo, a death's-head on a sudden stares.

Clad all in spirit-beauty forth she went;

Her budding spring of life in tiny leaf;

Her gracious gold of babe- virginity
Unminted in the image of our world;

Her faint dawn whitened in the perfect day.

Our early wede away went back to God,
Bearing her life-scroll folded, without stain,
And only three words written on it — two
Our names! Ah, may they plead for us in heaven!

Very softly hold the Kose,
On thy happy breast that blows!

Thus from out my heart there sprang a flower of ten-
der pride.

All too wild my passion burned:
For the cooling dews it yearned:

In my hot hands droopt my gentle flower and died.

Be thy glory meekly worn:

Fairest fruit is lowliest borne:

Mine grew high as Life could climb, and arms could
reach above.

O, so proudly heaved my breast;

All the world should see how blest j
And the seeing Heavens took my lifted love.

There is her nest where balmily smiled
Our Babe, as we leaned above;
Or her pleading face asked for the tenderest place
In all our world of love.
Very silent and empty now! yet we feel
It rock; and a tiny footfall
Comes over the floor in the thrilling night-hush,
And our hearts leap up for the call
Of our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

Last night, with hands to cracking claspt
In the furnace-fire of my heart,
Sitting, I saw the dead world
All into spirit-life start
At the mystic touch of the white Moonlight.

My spirit arose likewise,
And wandered away to the Graveyard,
Where, a jewel in Death's hand, lies
Our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

Slowly, slowly rose the dead,
All in their robes of white!
Weirdly, weirdly rose the dead,
Up in the silent night!
Like lilies for God, from the dark grave-bed,
They grew in a glory- rain;
And the crowned Darling of Heaven, at the head
Of all that glorified train,
Was our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

In my dream I stood at the death- door dark,
Alone and tremblingly,
Till a Shining One came in a crescent bark,
Moonlike, o'er a purple sea.
She smiled as to say that she knew the way,
And at some secret sign,
A memory of the old life stirred,
And I knew that Angel mine!
Our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

XI.

Within a mile of Edinburgh Town
We laid our little darling down;
Our first seed in God's acre sown!

So sweet a place! Death looks beguiled
Of half his gloom; or sure he smiled
To win our wondrous spirit-child.

God giveth His Beloved sleep
So calm, within its silence deep,
As Angel-guards the watch did keep.

The City looketh solemn and sweet;
It bares a gentle brow, to greet
The mourners mourning at its feet.

The sea of human life breaks round
This shore of death, with softened sound:
Wild-flowers climb each mossy mound
To place in resting hands their palm,
And breathe their beauty, bloom, and balm;

Folding the dead in fragrant calm.

A softer shadow Grief might wear;
And old Heartache come gather there
The peace that falleth after prayer.

Poor heart, that danced among the vines
All reeling-ripe with sweet love- wines,
Thou walk'st with Death among the pines!

Lorn Mother, at the dark grave-door,
She kneeleth, pleading o'er and o'er,
But it is shut for evermore.

Blind, blind! She feels, but cannot read
Aright; then leans as she would feed
The dear dead lips that never heed.

The spirit of life may leap above,
But in that grave her prisoned dove
Lies, cold to th' warm embrace of love,
And dark, tho' all the world is bright;
And lonely, with a City in sight;
And desolate in the rainy night.

Ah, God! when in the glad life-cup
The face of Death swims darkly up;
The crowning flower is sure to droop.

And so we laid our darling down,
When Summer's cheek grew ripely brown,
And still, tho' grief hath milder grown,
Unto the Stranger's land we cleave,
Like some poor Birds that grieve and grieve,
Round the robbed nest, and cannot leave.

XII.

AH, the sweet Dream, the singing Dream, that sang
We knew not what, so sweet the melody!
Made dim woe glimmer golden while we slept;
And when we woke the lulling Dream was gone.

We who had glowed like Angels in the sun,
With life so lighted by her loveliness:
We let her down into the drowning Dark,
Sailing the awful Sea in our World-bark.

God's messenger of death seems blindly stern:
And 'tis so hard to leave a little babe
Within the Grave's cold arms, alone! while Sorrow
Comes Home and chills the nest her sweet life
warmed.

So little to the world! but what a world
Of difference in our little world of home!
This stillness where the sweet Bird chirpt to us;
This good-night-parting and morn-greeting loss.

And yet perchance the kind dark- Angel drew
Her in the secret shadow of his cloud,
Out of our warm and golden air, to hide
Her from some fearful Fate far-hurrying up.

XIII.

TO-DAY, when winds of winter blow,
And Nature sits in dream of snow,
With Ugolino-look of woe:

Wife from the window came to me,
Now leaves were fallen she could see
That wee grave in the Cemet'ry.

With wintriness all life did ache
For that dead darling's sainted sake;
And lips might kiss, but hearts would quake.

Ho, ye who pass her narrow house,
By which the dark Leith sea-ward flows;

O clasp your pretty darlings close;

And if some tender bud of light
Is drooping, as the snowdrop white,
With looks that weird wild heartstrings smite;

Think of our babe will never wake,
And fold your own till fond hearts ache,
Sweet souls, for little Marian's sake.

XIV.

O HAPPY tree;

Green and fragrant tree;
Spring with budding jewels deckt it like a Bride!

All so fair it bloomed,
And the summer air perfumed;
Golden autumn fruitage smiled in crowns of pride.

O human tree;

Waesome wailing tree;
In the winter wind how ifc rocks! how it grieves!

On a little low grave-mound,
All its bravery lies discrowned:
O'er its fallen fruit it heapt the withered leaves.

XV.

" PRETTY flowers on Baby's head;
Who'll cry flowers when Baby's dead?"
Singing hearts oft questioned,
In the sweetest summer fled.

Marian, Marian.

Tearful words, how lightly said!
Mournfully remembered,
Now the sweet new year hath spread
Blossom-life on Baby's bed.

Marian, Marian.

Tender emerald, white and red,
Flowers of her beauty bred:
Breathing all of her that's dead,
Cry, " We crown her Baby-head!"

Marian, Marian.

" Who'll cry flowers when Baby's dead? "
Praying looks to heaven are led,
And it smiles as tho' it said,
" Early her sweet fame hither sped."

Marian, Marian.

" Faith, look up and firmly tread;
Poor Bereaved, be comforted;
I will nurse the Child instead;
My Flowers garland Baby's head."

Marian, Marian.

God's un guessed reply is read:
Tears that came not, tears that pled
Crying darkly, here are shed:
Soft rest you, Darling! dead
Marian, Marian.

XVI.

Our leaves are shaken from the tree,
Our hopes laid low,
That after our Spring-nurslings, we
May long to go.

The warm love-nest our little Doves leave
With helpless moan,
As they for us at heart would grieve
In heaven — alone!

The tender Shepherd beckoningly
Our Lambs doth hold,
That we may take our own when He
Makes up the fold.