ISOBEL'S CHILD

 " So find we profit,

By losing of our prayers."

 Shakespeare.

TO rest the weary nurse has gone; An eight-day watch had she, Rocking 'neath the sun and moon The baby on her knee: Till Isobel its mother said "The fever waneth-wend to bed-And mine the watch shall be."

Wearily the nurse did throw Her pallet in the darkest place Of that sick room, and dreamed. And as the gusty wind did blow The night-lamp's flame across her face, In her dream the poplars seemed, The dark tall poplars on the hill, To clasp the sun in a weird constraint Till his rays dropped from him, pined and still As blossoms in frost: And he waned faint

To the colour of moonlight which doth pass Over the dank ridged churchyard grass! The poplars held the sun, and he The eyes of the nurse that they should not see, Not for a moment the babe on her knee, Though she shuddered to feel that it grew to be chill And lay too heavily.

She only dreamed: for all the while 'Twas Lady Isobel that kept The little baby; and it slept Fast, warm, as if its mother's smile, Full of love's unmeted weight, And red as rose of Harpocrate Dropt upon its eyelids, pressed Lid to cheek in that sweet rest!

And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well-She knew not that she smiled! Against the lattice, dull and wild, Drive the heavy droning drops, Drop by drop, the sound being one-As momently time's segments fall O' the ear of God who hears through all, Eternity's unbroken monotone. And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well-She knew not that she smiled!

The wind in intermission stops Down in the beachen wood, Then crieth aloud Self-stung, self-driven, And riseth upward to its tops, Stiffening erect the branches bowed; Dilating with a tempest-soul Of gathored sound, the trees that break Through their own outline with dark hands, and roll A shadow, massive as a cloud,

Vocal as thunder-clouds in heaven, Across the castle lake. And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well; She knew not that she smiled

She knew not that the storm was wild. Through that uproar she could not hear The castle clock which struck anear-She heard the low, light breathing of her child.

O sight for wondering look! While th' external nature broke Into such abandonment; While the very mist, heart-rent By the lightning and the shadow, Shed distortedly above Sloping hill and lake and meadow, Seemed as they all did move Against nature, with a din-A sense of silence seemed to come From things without, and enter in The human creature's room.

So motionless she sate, The babe asleep upon her knces, You might have dreamed their souls had gone Away to things inanimate, To work in such, to live a life and moan; And that their bodies had ta'en back, In mystic change, all silences That cross the sky in cloudy rack, Or haply dwell beneath ath the ground In waters safe from their own sound.

Only she wore The deepening smile I named before, And that a deepening love expressed-And who at once can love and rest?

In sooth the smile that then was keeping

Watch upon the baby sleeping,

Floated with its tender light

Downward from the dropped eyes, Upward from the lips apart, Over cheeks when had grown white With an eight-day weeping. All smiles come in such a wise, Where tears shall fall, or have of old-Like northern lights that shoot athwart The heavens to token cold!

Motionless she sate:

The hair had fallen by its weight On either side the smile, and lay Very blackly on the arm Where the baby nestled warm; Pale as baby carved in stone And seen by glimpses of the moon

In a dark cathedral aisle! But, through the storm, no moonbeam fell Upon the child of Isobel-I ween you saw it by the ray Alone of her still smile.

'Tis aye a solemn thing to me To look upon a babe that sleeps-Wearing in its spirit-deeps The unrevealed mystery Of its Adam's taint and woe, Which, when they revealed be, Will not let it slumber so: Lying new in life beneath The shadow of the coming death, With that soft, low, quiet breath,

As if it felt the sun! Knowing all things by their blooms, Not their roots; yea, sun and sky, Only by the warmth that comes Out of each; earth, only by The pleasant hues that o'er it run; And human love, by drops of sweet White nourishment still hanging round The little mouth so slumber-bound.

All which broken sentiency Will gather and unite, and climb To an immortality Good or evil, each sublime, Through life and death to life again! O little lids, now closed fast,

Must ye learn to drop at last

Our large and burning tears? O warm, quick body, must thou lie, When is done the round of years, Bare of all the joy and pain? Dust in dust, thy place upgiving

To creeping worms in sentient living?

O small frail being, wilt thou stand At God's right hand,-Lifting up those sleeping eyes, Dilated by sublimest destinies, In endless waking? Thrones and Seraphira, Through the long ranks of their solemnities, Sunning thee with calm looks of Heaven's surprise-Thy look alone on Him?-

Or else, self-willed to the Godless place (God keep thy will!), feel thine own energies, Cold, strong, objèetless, like a dead man's clasp, The sleepless deathless life within thee, grasp? While myriad faces, like one changeless face, With foe not love's, shall glass thee everywhere, And overcome thee with thine own despair?

More soft, less solemn images Drifted o'er the lady's heart, Silently as snow: She had seen eight days depart Hour by hour, on bended knees, With pale-wrung hands and prayings low And broken-through which came the sound Of tears that fell against the ground, Making sad stops: "Dear Lord, dear Lord!" She aye had prayed (the heavenly word, Broken by an earthly sigh!) "Thou, who didst not erst deny The mother-joy to Mary mild, Blessed in the blessöd child, Hearkening in meek babyhood Her cradle-hymn, albeit used To all that music interfused In breasts of angels high and good! Oh, take not, Lord, my babe away-Oh, take not to thy songful heaven, The pretty baby thou hast given; Or ere that I have seen him play Around his father's knees, and known That he knew how my love hath gone

From all the world to him. And how that I shall shiver, dim In the sunshine, thinking e'er

The grave-grass keeps it from his fair Still cheeks! and feel at every tread His little body which is dead And hidden in the turfy fold, Doth make the whole warm earth a-cold! O God, I am so young, so young-I am not used to tears at nights Instead of slumber-nor to prayer With shaken lips and hands out-wrung: Thou knowest all my prayings were 1 bless thee, God, for past delights-Thank God!' d! I am not used to bear Hard thoughts of death. The earth doth cover No face from me of friend or lover: And must the first who teacheth me The form of shrouds and funerals, be Mine own first-born beloved? he Who taught me first this mother-love? Dear Lord, who spreadest out above Thy loving, pierced hands to meet All lifted hearts with blessings sweet, -Pierce not my heart, my tender heart, Thou madest tender! Thou who art So happy in thy heaven alway, Take not mine only bliss away!"

She so had prayed! And God, who hears Through seraph-songs the sound of tears, From that beloved babe had ta'en The fever and the beating pain. And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well-She knew not that she smiled! Until the pleasant gradual thought Which near her heart, the smile, cnwrought, Soon strong enough her lips to reach, Now soft and slow, itself did seem To float along a blessed dream,

Beyond it, into speech!-

"I prayed for thee, my little child, And God hath heard my prayer! And when thy babyhood is gone, We two together will kneel down

Upon His earth, which will be fair To both of us not covering theo: And give Him thankful praise."

The rain drives dull and wild! Against the lattice it drives.

"I thank Him now, that I can think Of those same future days, Nor from the harmless image shrink Of what I there might see-Strange babies on their mothers' knee, Whose innocent, soft faces might From off mine eyelids strike the light, With looks not meant for me!"

A sound from sound outlives-Know ye the wind from the rain?

"But now, together, baby mine, We turn this hope of ours again To sun's 'neath which we shall entwine Our spirits, and so teach each other The blessed loves of child and mother!-Two human loves make one divine,"

A sound from sound outlives-Know ye the rain from the thunder?

"My little child, what wilt thou choose? What gladness, from the gladnesses Futurity is spreading under Thy gladsome sight? Beneath the trees, Wilt thou sit all day and lose Thy spirit with the river, seen Intermittently between The winding beechen alleys? Like a shepherd keeping sheep, Thou, with only thoughts to ke Which no bound will overpass, And which are innocent as those That feed upon the dewy grass Among Arcadian valleys?" keep

The large white owl that with age is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow, Is carried away in a gust of wind! His wings could bear him not as fast As he goeth now the lattice past-He is borne by the winds! the rains do follow! His white wings to the blast ast outflowing, He hooteth in going, And in the lightnings coldly glitter His round unblinking eyes!

"Or, baby, wilt thou think it fitter To be e cloquent and wise? One upon whose lips the air Turns to solemn verities, For men to breathe anew, and win A deeper-seated life within? Wilt be a philosopher, By whose voice the earth and skies Shall speak to the unborn? Or a poet, broadly spreading The golden immortalities Of his own soul on natures lorn And poor of such; them all to guard From their decay? beneath his treading, Earth's flowers being streaked by hues of Eden; And stars, drawn downward wn downward by his his looks To shine more brightly in his books?"

The tame hawk in the castle-yard, How it screams to the lightning, with its wet Jagged plumes o'erhanging the parapet! And at the lady's door the hound Beateth with a crying sound!

"But, O my babe, thy lids are laid Close, fast upon thy check! And not a dream of power and sheen Can make a passage up between: betv Thy heart is of thy mother's made, -Thy looks are very meek! And it will be their chosen place To rest on some beloved face,

As these on thine and let the noise Of the whole world go on, nor mar The tender silence of thy joys;

And when the silentnesses are Too tender for themselves, the same Yearning for sound, to look above, And utter their one meaning, LOVE, -That He may hear His name!"

No wind-no rain-no thunder! The waters dropped not slowly, The thunder was not spent, The wind died not away! No wind-no rain-no thunder! Their noises dropped asunder From th' earth and firmament, Abrupt and echoless, As ripe fruits on the ground, unshaken wholly-As life in death! And like a stroke the sudden silentness Sudden and solemn fell, It starts the shut heart of Isobel, As tempests could not, from its dreams! Against the door doth pant the breath Of the hound whose cry is still-And she uplifts the lidded gleams Of her clear eyes, and see the moon Looking out of heaven alone Upon the poplared hill! Seeming a calm of God, made visible That men might find it fair!

The moonlight on the baby's face Falleth clear and cold.

The mother's looks are falling there-Because the beauty of the skies, Have not power long to hold Our loving human eyes!

We still revert to this dark place, And weep our natures into light!

The moonlight on the baby's face Cold and clear remaineth!

The mother's looks do shrink away, The mother's looks return to stay, As charmed by what paineth. Is it dream or is it sight? Hath the change upon the wild Elements, that signs the night, Passed upon the child? It is not dream, but sight!-

The babe hath awakened from sleep, And toward the gaze of its mother, Bent over it, turned another! Not the baby-looks that go Unaimingly to and fro; But an earnest gazing deep, Such as soul gives soul at length, When through work and wail of years, It hath won a solemn strength, And mourneth as it wears! A strong man could not brook With pulse unstirred by fears, To meet that baby's look O'erglazed by manhood's tears-The tears of the man full grown, With the power to wring our own (The silent power), that lie In the eyes of all undefiled Of a little three months' child! To see that babe-brow, wrought By witnessings of thought, And the small soft mouth unweaned (By mother's kiss o'erleaned To put the sound of loving Where no sound else was moving, Except the speechless cry), Carved to mind's expression,

Shaped to articulation-Yea! speaking words-yea! naming woe In tones that with it strangely went, Because so baby-innocent, As the child spake to the mother so!-

"O mother, mother, loose thy prayer! Christ's name hath made it strong!

It bindeth me, it holdeth me With its most loving cruelty, From floating my new soul along The blessed heavenly air! It bindeth me, it holdeth me In all this dark, upon this dull Low earth, by only weepers trod!-It bindeth me, it holdeth me!-Mine angel looketh sorrowful Upon the face of God.*

"Mother, mother! can I dream Beneath your earthly trees? I had a vision and a gleam -I heard a sound more sweet than these When lifted by the wind! Did you see the Dove, with wings Overdropt with glisterings From a sunless light behind, Falling on mine heart from sky, Soft as mother's kiss, until I seemed to leap, and yet was still? Saw you how his love-large eye Lookëd on me mystie calms, Until the power of his divine Vision was indrawn to mine?

"Oh, the dream within the dream! I saw celestial places even. Oh, the high and vista'd palms, Making finites of delight Through the heavenly infinite-Lifting up their green still tops To the heaven of Heaven! Oh, the sweet life-tree that drops Shade like light across the river Glorified in its for ever Flowing from the Throne! Oh, the the shining holiness Of the thousand, thousand faces

"For I say unto you that in Heaven their angels do always behold the face of My Father which is in Heaven" (Matt. xviii. 10).

God-sunned by the throned ONE! Overspread with such a love, That though I saw them turned above, Each, loving, seemed for also me! And, oh, th Unspeakable! the HE, -The manifest in secrecies, Yet of mine own heart partaker! With the overcoming look Of one who hath been once forsook, And blesseth the forsaker! Mother, mother, let me go Toward the face that looketh so! Through the mystic, living Four Whose are inward, outward eyes Dark with light of mysteries, And the restless evermore "Holy, holy," through the crowned Stately elders, white around, -Through the sworded Seraphim-Suffer me to go to Him!

"Is your wisdom very wise, Mother, on the narrow earth? Very happy, very worth That I should stay to learn? Are these air-corrupting sighs Fashioned by unlearned breath? Do the students' lamps that burn All night, illumine death? Mother, albeit this be so, Loose thy prayer and let me go Where that bright chief angel stands Apart from all his brother bands, Too glad for smiling! having bent In angelic wilderment O'er the depths of God, and brought Reeling, thence, one only thought To fill his whole eternity! He the teacher is for me;-He can teach what I would know-Mother, mother, let me go!-

"Can your poet make an Eden No winter will undo?

And light a starry fire, in heeding His hearth's is burning too? Drown in music the music the earth's din?-And keep his own wild soul within The law of his own harmony? Mother! albeit this be so, Let me to mine Heavën go! A little harp me waits thereby-A harp whose strings are golden all, And tuned to music spherical, Hanging on the green life-tree, Where no willows ever be. Shall I miss that harp of mine? Mother, no! the Eye divine Turned upon it, makes it shine-And when I touch it, poems sweet Like separate souls shall fly from it, Each to an immortal fytte! We shall all be poets there, Gazing on the chiefest Fair!

"And love! earth's love! and can we love Fixedly where all things move? Can the sinning love each other? Mother, mother, I tremble in thy close close embrace-I feel thy tears adown my face-Thy prayers do keep me out of bliss-O dreary earthly love! Loose thy prayer, and let me go To the place that loving is, Yet not sad! and when is given Escape to thee from this below, Thou shalt see me that I wait For thee at the happy gate; And silence shall be up in hea ven To hear our meeting kiss!"

ng The nurse wakes in the morning sun, And starts to see beside her bed, The lady, with a grandeur spread Like pathos, o'er her face; as one God-satisfied and earth-undone!-The babe upon her arm was dead!

And the nurse could utter forth no cry, -She was awed by the calm in the mother's eye.

Wake, nurse!" the lady said: "We are waking he and I-I, on earth, and he, in sky! And thou must help me to o'erlay With garment white, this little clay Which needs no more our lullaby.

"I changed the cruel prayer I made, And bowed my meekened face, and prayed That God would do His will! and thus He did it, nurse! He parted us. His sun is showing on mine arm, The dead calm face: and I am calm,

"This earthly noise is too anear, Too loud, and will not let me hear The harp new stricken! Death will soon Make silence!"

And a sense of tune, A satisfied love, meanwhile, Most like the lost one's living smile, Sang on within her soul!

Oh ye! Earth's tender-hearted! may ye be Made confident, to yield your love To the so Named, who throned above Shall all its ends fulfil; Breaking the narrow prayers that may Befit your narrow hearts, away In His broad, loving will!