American Female Poets [an electronic edition]

BLIND!

PART I.

The hand of the operator wavered —the instrument glanced aside —in a moment she was blind for life.

—MS.

BLIND, said you? Blind for life! 'T is but a jest —no, no, it cannot be That I no more the blessed light may see! Oh, what a fearful strife Of horrid thought is raging in my mind! I did not hear aright — "for ever blind!"

Mother, you would not speak Aught but the truth to me, your stricken child; Tell me I do but dream; my brain is wild, And yet my heart is weak. Oh, mother, fold me in a close embrace, Bend down to me that dear, that gentle face.

I cannot hear your voice! Speak louder, mother. Speak to me, and say This frightful dream will quickly pass away. Have I no hope, no choice? Oh, Heaven, with light, has sound, too, from me fled! Call, shout aloud, as if to wake the dead.

Thank God! I hear you now. I hear the beating of your troubled heart, With every woe of mine it has a part; Upon my upturned brow

The hot tears fall, from those dear eyes, for me. Once more, oh is it true I may not see?

This silence chills my blood. Had you one word of comfort, all my fears Were quickly banish'd —faster still the tears, A bitter, burning flood, Fall on my face, and now one trembling word Confirms the dreadful truth my ears have heard.

Why weep you? I am calm. My wan lip quivers not, my heart is still. My swollen temples —see, they do not thrill! That word was as a charm. Tell me the worst, all, all I now can bear. I have a fearful strength —that of despair.

What is it to be blind? To be shut out for ever from the skies — To see no more the "light of loving eyes" — And, as years pass, to find My lot unvaried by one passing gleam Of the bright woodland, or the flashing stream!

To feel the breath of Spring, Yet not to view one of the tiny flowers That come from out the earth with her soft showers; To hear the bright birds sing, And feel, while listening to their joyous strain, My heart can ne'er know happiness again!

Then in the solemn night To lie alone, while all anear me sleep, And fancy fearful forms about me creep. Starting in wild affright, To know, if true, I could not have the power To ward off danger in that lonely hour.

And as my breath came thick To feel the hideous darkness round me press, Adding new terror to my loneliness; While every pulse leapt quick To clutch and grasp at the black, stifling air, Then sink in stupor from my wild despair.

It comes upon me now! I cannot breathe, my heart grows quick and chill, Oh, mother, are your arms about me still — Still o'er me do you bow? And yet I care not, better all alone, No one to heed my weakness should I moan.

Again! I will not live. Death is no worse than this eternal night — Those resting in the grave heed not the light! Small comfort can ye give. Yes, Death is welcome as my only friend, In the calm grave my sorrows will have end.

Talk not to me of hope! Have you not told me it is all in vain — That while I live I may not see again? That earth, and the broad scope Of the blue heaven —that all things glad and free Henceforth are hidden —tell of hope to me?

It is not hard to lie Calmly and silently in that long sleep; No fear can wake me from that slumber deep. So, mother —let me die; I shall be happier in the gentle rest Than living with this grief to fill my breast.

PART lI.

God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.

—Sterne.

Thank God, that yet I live. In tender mercy, heeding not the prayer I boldly uttered, in my first despair, He would not rashly give The punishment an erring spirit braved. From sudden death, in kindness, I was saved.

It was a fearful thought That this fair earth had not one pleasure left. I was at once of sight and hope bereft. My soul was not yet taught To bow submissive to the sudden stroke; Its crushing weight my heart had well-nigh broke.

Words are not that can tell The horrid thought that burned upon my brain — That came and went with madness still the same — A black and icy spell That froze my life-blood, stopped my fluttering breath, Was laid upon me —even "life in death."

Long weary months crept by, And I refused all comfort, turned aside Wishing that in my weakness I had died. I uttered no reply, But without ceasing wept, and moaned, and prayed The hand of death no longer might be stay'd.

I shunned the gaze of all. I knew that pity dwelt in every look. Pity e'en then my proud heart could not brook, Though darkness as a pall Circled me round, each mournful eye I felt That for a moment on my features dwelt.

You, dearest mother, know I shrank in sullenness from your caress. Even your kisses added to distress, For burning tears would flow As you bent o'er me, whispering "be calm, He who hath wounded holds for thee a balm."

He did not seem a friend. I deem'd in wrath the sudden blow was sent From a strong arm that never might relent. That pain alone would end With life, for, mother, then it seemed to me That long, and dreamless, would death's slumber be.

That blessed illness came. My weaken'd pulse now bounded wild and strong, While soon a raging fever burn'd along My worn, exhausted frame. And for the time all knowledge passed away, It matter'd not that hidden was the day.

The odour of sweet flowers Came stealing through the casement when I woke; When the wild fever spell at last was broke. And yet for many hours I laid in dreamy stillness, till your tone Call'd back the life that seem'd for ever flown.

You, mother, knelt in prayer. While one dear hand was resting on my head, With sobbing voice, how fervently you plead For a strong heart, to bear The parting which you feared —"Or, if she live, Comfort, oh, Father! to the stricken give.

"Take from her wandering mind The heavy load which it so long hath borne, Which even unto death her frame hath worn.

Let her in mercy find That though the Earth she may no longer see, Her spirit still can look to Heaven and Thee."

A low sob from me stole. A moment more —your arms about me wound — My head upon your breast a pillow found And through my weary soul A holy calm came stealing from on high. Your prayer was answer'd —I was not to die.

Then when the bell's faint chime Came floating gently on the burden'd air, My heart went up to God in fervent prayer. And, mother, from that time My wild thoughts left me —hope retur'd once more —I felt that happiness was yet in store.

Daily new strength was given. For the first time since darkness on me fell, I pass'd with more of joy than words can tell Under the free blue Heaven. I bathed my brow in the cool gushing spring—How much of life those bright drops seem'd to bring.

I crush'd the dewy leaves Of the pale violets, and drank their breath — Though I had heard that at each floweret's death A sister blossom grieves. I did not care to see their glorious hues, Fearing the richer perfume I might lose.

Then in the dim old wood I laid me down beneath a bending tree, And dream'd, dear mother, waking dreams of thee. I thought how just and good The power that had so gently seal'd mine eyes, Yet bade new pleasures and new hopes arise.

For now in truth I find MY FATHER his promises hath kept; He comforts those who here in sadness wept. "Eyes to the blind" Thou art, oh, God! Earth I no longer see, Yet trustfully my spirit looks to thee.