Poems (Welby)/The Blind Girl's Lament
THE BLIND GIRL'S LAMENT.
I sit beneath the grape-vine, that o'ercreepeth The humble arch above our cottage door, While on its purple clusters softly sleepeth The holy radiance that the moonbeams pour; The joyous song-bird in the starlight singeth Unto the dreaming buds its vesper hymn, But not a single ray of gladness springeth Within my heart—alas! my eye is dim.
I know the hour when silent-footed even Puts on her shadowy mantle light and fair,When, as she waves her wand o'er earth and heaven, The stars float up within the soft blue air; 'T is then I fling aside my long loose tresses Unto the kisses of the wanton wind,And strive to sing and smile, but ah! there presses A gloomy pall upon me—I am blind.
O! could I steal forth, when the daylight fadeth From rock and tree, to greet the summer eves, To watch the primrose, that from sunlight shadeth Its golden cup, unfold its twilight leaves, To lay my warm brow to the breeze that wooeth The wild sea-ripples to the sounding shore—The soft south breeze that perfume round us streweth— But ah! 't is vain—my eye is shaded o'er.
My little sister often softy layeth Her velvet cheek to mine, and bids me go Where the young moss-rose its soft bloom displayeth, And the wild daisies in their brightness glow; I hear her small feet as she lightly dances Like a winged fairy o'er the emerald grass, She thinks not of her sister's clouded glances, For where she trips the blind girl may not pass.
When my young brother in his beauty boundeth Up with the lark to greet the morning sky, While through the forest-aisles his laugh resoundeth, The tear drops gather to my darkened eye; And when, with rosy cheek and bright eye burning, He seeks my side in all his boyish glee,My heart is troubled with a secret yearning To meet his glance—but ah! I cannot see.
My meek fond mother tells me I am brighter Than the sweet flowers she twines amid my hair; She thinks her praise will make my spirit lighter, But O! I pine not to be bright or fair; I may be lovelier than the violet flower, That shines, they say, beneath its broad leaves hid, But beauty is to me a worthless dower. While darkly rolls mine eye beneath its lid.
I cannot gaze upon their pleasant faces, Where the soft light of beauty ever beams, Yet on my mind their fair forms Fancy traces, And their deep looks pierce through my nightly dreams; I feel my mother's soft eye as it flashes Like a lone star that looks down from the sky, Trembling so softly 'neath its silky lashes, Yet, when I wake, 't is with a darkened eye.
Ah! little know they of the dreamy sadness That shadows o'er my spirit's viewless urn,For they can look out on the free world's gladness, Where blossoms blow, and stars shoot out and burn, While I must sit, a fair yet darkened flower, Amid the bright band gathered round our hearth,The only sad thing in our sweet home bower— O! for one glance upon the fresh green earth!