Poems (Hinxman)/The Dutch Skater
THE DUTCH SKATER.
Now straight in course as star that shoots
By night down autumn skies serene,
Now like a swallow at its play,
With many a wheel and bend around
Sharp jutting points of meadow ground
From which the splintered willows lean,
Or brown banks shaggy with old roots,
The maiden takes her homeward way;
Her young face glows, her eye is bright,
Her limbs are full of one delight,
From parted lips the happy breath
Before her floats in silvery wreath;
She meets the wind in joy and pride
Like one that swims against the tide;
She meets the wind—abroad she flings
Her heart and soul upon its wings.
By night down autumn skies serene,
Now like a swallow at its play,
With many a wheel and bend around
Sharp jutting points of meadow ground
From which the splintered willows lean,
Or brown banks shaggy with old roots,
The maiden takes her homeward way;
Her young face glows, her eye is bright,
Her limbs are full of one delight,
From parted lips the happy breath
Before her floats in silvery wreath;
She meets the wind in joy and pride
Like one that swims against the tide;
She meets the wind—abroad she flings
Her heart and soul upon its wings.
Before her shine the yellow skies,
Cheerful and cold;—against their light
Gaunt windmills here and there arise,
And here and there a thin beam slants
On stone-walled tracts of fallow ground,
On far-off dam's long level height,—
And here and there through lonely knot
Of elm-trees shows the farmer's roof,
And here and there in sheltered nook
The patient cattle drawn aloof
Turn after her their listless eyes.
She hears afar the whistling boy,
The barking dogs, the village bell:
All comes alike to her—all well,
A swelling of that bounteous flood
Of strength, of freedom, of delight,
That thrills her soul, that speeds her blood.
O listen! a strange under-sound!
Again;—it spreads, it gathers round!
One waver, one quick glance of fear,
And sudden as a helpless bird
That drops death-smitten in its flight,
Her form is lost in mid career.
Cheerful and cold;—against their light
Gaunt windmills here and there arise,
And here and there a thin beam slants
On stone-walled tracts of fallow ground,
On far-off dam's long level height,—
And here and there through lonely knot
Of elm-trees shows the farmer's roof,
And here and there in sheltered nook
The patient cattle drawn aloof
Turn after her their listless eyes.
She hears afar the whistling boy,
The barking dogs, the village bell:
All comes alike to her—all well,
A swelling of that bounteous flood
Of strength, of freedom, of delight,
That thrills her soul, that speeds her blood.
O listen! a strange under-sound!
Again;—it spreads, it gathers round!
One waver, one quick glance of fear,
And sudden as a helpless bird
That drops death-smitten in its flight,
Her form is lost in mid career.
Not long thy pangs endure, O child,
Some moments of a frantic strife,—
Some moments of blank terror wild
In darkness and bewilderment;
A moment when across her brain
The record of her little life
Swift as a lightning flash is sent,—
A moment when like life itself
Her home is pictured on her mind,—
She sees her father grave and kind,
His plate pushed from him, and the book
Spread out before him on the board:
The grandame in her snowy cap,
And fair-haired Aennchen in her nook,
The porringer upon her lap;—
The flickering hearth-fire, the long shelf
Rich with its well-prized porcelain hoard,
And, shining in that firelight dim,
The polished oak frames on the wall.
She sees them for a moment all:
It parts,—it shifts,—new visions swim
Around and on her!—deep blue sky,
And sunny grass, and waving trees,
The gusts of music eddying by.
Where wakes the truth? where ends the dream?
O, happier now than when the breeze
Blew o'er thee, and the sunset shone
Before thee, on the frozen stream!
And happier shalt thou be anon,
When, landed on the heavenly shores
And met by shining, singing bands,
Thou movest up with eager pace,
For there, beside the radiant doors,
With the old smile upon her face,
Thy long-lost mother waiting stands.
Some moments of a frantic strife,—
Some moments of blank terror wild
In darkness and bewilderment;
A moment when across her brain
The record of her little life
Swift as a lightning flash is sent,—
A moment when like life itself
Her home is pictured on her mind,—
She sees her father grave and kind,
His plate pushed from him, and the book
Spread out before him on the board:
The grandame in her snowy cap,
And fair-haired Aennchen in her nook,
The porringer upon her lap;—
The flickering hearth-fire, the long shelf
Rich with its well-prized porcelain hoard,
And, shining in that firelight dim,
The polished oak frames on the wall.
She sees them for a moment all:
It parts,—it shifts,—new visions swim
Around and on her!—deep blue sky,
And sunny grass, and waving trees,
The gusts of music eddying by.
Where wakes the truth? where ends the dream?
O, happier now than when the breeze
Blew o'er thee, and the sunset shone
Before thee, on the frozen stream!
And happier shalt thou be anon,
When, landed on the heavenly shores
And met by shining, singing bands,
Thou movest up with eager pace,
For there, beside the radiant doors,
With the old smile upon her face,
Thy long-lost mother waiting stands.
April 5. 1849.