Poems (Baldwyn)/The Wandering Child

by Augusta Baldwyn

THE WANDERING CHILD.

A happy child in early May
Forth to a garden went to play;
But tempted by the beauty shown,
In the fair flowers profusely strewn,
Where a bright gushing rill sang low,
Released from its bed of snow,
He hasten'd, weary of that spot,
His father's fond commands forgot,
And pluck'd the blue-eyed violet
So bright, but with the dew-drops wet;
Then ranging farther, sought the wood
That, clad in early verdure, stood.
The stormy winter now was past,
And lovely spring had come at last;
And joyfully his heart leap'd up
To And the golden buttercup.
There fairest mosses deck'd the ground,
And many a flow'r the glad child found.
 When far and distant singing,
On the clear air of morning borne,
And mingl'd with the mellow horn,
 Came through the forest ringing!
Now freedom spoke in every sound,
And ever doth the young heart bound
To freedom's call! he quickly fled
Through paths by forest trees o'erspread,
And, where the swollen streamlet bore
Its icy masses to the shore.
He sped along with glad surprise
At each new scene that met his eyes;
Through many a brake his way did wind,
Till the dark wood was left behind.

Then open'd to his eager view
A scene of beauty strange and new,—
A swampy moorland fresh and green
Where many a roving bird was seen,
And many a flower rais'd its head
Above the verdure softly spread;
While trembling streamlets gurgling shone
Where soft the rays of morn were thrown,
And the fair heaven, without a cloud
To dim its brightness or t' enshroud
The new-clad earth, look'd down and smil'd,
And farther stray'd the wandering child.

A gentle rise, where lovely trees
Were rustling in the morning breeze,
Now stood in all its beauty fair,
And tempted him to wander there;
So from the plain he turned away
Amid the woods again to stray;
For e'en the flowers and songs of birds.
The dewy mead and lowing herds,
That he had met, could not prevail
With him to linger in the vale.
'Twas them that first at early day
Had call'd him from his home away;
But a new voice, new song, had broke,
And him from his first pleasure woke,
But as he wander'd in the wood.
So solemn in its solitude,
A darken'd cloud did seem to rise;
Its beauty faded from his eyes;
Wild rocks and briars chok'd the way,
And heavy branches hid the day;
Or blacken'd trees, half burn'd and dead.
Sway'd their dark boughs above bis head
While on the moaning, fearful air
A sound arose, and from its lair
Forth rush'd a furious beast of prey
But too intent to mark bis way!
Now wildly through each glen and brake,
Where oft leapt up the hissing snake,
On fled the weary wandering child,
No more by pleasure's voice beguil'd,
But lost among the stony wild!

Where lofty elms their branches tossed
And paths innumerable cross'd,
The swelling hills that verdant rose
Above the forest's deep repose,
He saw the wild and wreathing smoke
Of Indian tents; but rudely broke
Upon his now affrighted ears,
'Quenching all joyousness in tears,
The frantic song that loudly gave
Its echo to the mountain cave,
Proclaiming deeds of darkness done,
Or boasting mischiefs unbegun!
He turn'd to flee,—but ah! too late!
Twas vain to fly! he'd sought his fate!
The darkest Indian of them all
Held his soft trembling hands in thrall,
And bade him hasten to his tent
Where many a day must now be spent
Ah, well might Odo's heart beat fast
To find himself with strangers cast;
And well astonish'd might his eyes
Rest on the groups that round him rise!
Their wild hair streaming in the wind.
Their blankets flowing wide behind,
Their buskins dyed in many a hue
'Grotesquely shining in his view;
Their belts with many a gewgaw bound,
And hung with knives their waists surround;
And streaming in the sunny air,
With blood scarce dried, the white-man's hair!
Quick from the scene he turn'd to flee,
But found he was no longer free:
The Indian bore him to his tent,
Nor listen'd to his sad lament.
There through the long and dreary day
He wept the sunny hours away.
Ah, would that he had never stray'd
From the fair spot where first he play'd;
Ah, would, alas I that he could hear
His mother's voice fall on his ear!
But Odo wept himself to rest,—
'Twas the first time that he unhless'd
Had sought repose. At length he woke;
But tears again now freshly broke;
His blooming cheek with grief was pale,
And none did listen to his tale.

Within the tent upon the ground,
Where a bright fire-light shone around
Sat the dark Indian, while his wife
Drew forth the broad and glitt'ring knife,
And severed from the tent's long pole,
While her dark glance at Odo stole,
The fresh-slain venison that hung there,
And quickly did their meal prepare.
Now as its smoking fumes did rise,
And the warm corn-cakes met his eyes,
Poor Odo felt that hunger press'd,
Nor scorn'd to be the Indian's guest.

The supper o'er, the Indian drew
A deerskin forth, soft dress'd and new,
And bade young Odo seek his bed
On the hard ground, and o'er him spread
The coverlet strange, and bade him sleep;
But the strange voice so sad and deep
Long rested mournful in his ears,
And his sad fate drew forth new tears.
Twice in the long and dismal night
The boy gaz'd on the flick'ring light
Of the wild flame that o'er the smoke
Shot forth, and him from slumber woke.
There sat the Indian chieftain still,
He saw wild rage his dark eyes fill,
And heard the anguish he suppress'd
Speak in the groans that fill'd his breast.
But when the morning lit the sky
His dark wife woke the weary boy,
And Odo started to behold
As her strong hand began to fold
The tent's damp cov'ring, loosen'd now,
The frown that darken'd o'er her brow.
One moment only could he gaze
On hate so deep! the awful blaze
That shot from her malignant eyes
Awoke his terror and surprise.
No time was given,—he was call'd;
He from that woman shrunk appall'd,
And hasten'd to the chieftain's side,
He with some food the boy suppli'd.
The tents were now remov'd, and all
Mov'd on at their stern chieftain's call.
The morning sun shone on the hill,
And soft the murm'ring of a rill
Where he had stray'd was faintly heard,
And in each tree some joyous bird
Awoke the echoes soft and shrill.
Ah, well might grief young Odo fill!
He now must leave that lovely vale,
His parents must his loss bewail.
No more in freedom true to roam,
He leaves his own calm, happy home!

O'er rugged mountains cold and bare,
The briar alone found refuge there;
O'er rocks where wolves alone were heard,
Or the loud shriek of some fierce bird;
Through stony brake and stormy wild
They led the weary wand'ring child.
The sunshine fell, but mists conceal'd
The horrors it had else reveal'd;
And gloomy caves and dark rocks bare
Loud echo'd thunders rolling there;
While crashing ice loud roar'd around,
A deep, harsh, melancholy sound.
But from the snowy heights now pass'd,
They to the vale descend at last,
And, where a sunny mountain flood
Sings in the dreary solitude,
They swift its winding course pursue
To a calm spot with verdure new.

The noon was come, and they must rest;
'Twas by a small lake's smiling breast,
Where forest trees their boughs entwine
And shelter many a flower and vine,
While many a cliff* and shadowy brake
Rise shelt'ring o'er the silent lake.
There soft the light of summer skies
In the pure sleeping water lies,
And never o'er the crystal wave
Does stormy tempest rise or rave.
The roving bird's swift passing wing
Alone its shadow e'er doth fling,
And summer showers descend to bless,
And robe anew the wilderness.
But from this fair and smiling scene,
So lovely in its spring-time green,
The chieftain turn'd and sadly bade
Young Odo seek the distant shade.

Where pines and cedars interwove
And form'd a deep and shadowy grove,
And dark rocks rose above the shore
Of a deep stream unseen before,
They quickly found a safe retreat
From wearying noise and noon-tide heat,
And, while they listen'd to the wave
That, roar'd within the mountain cave,
A cavern deep that open'd wide
To the dark stream and echoing tide,
The Indian pointed to a grave
Beside the melancholy wave,
And, deeply sighing, turn'd away,
But bidding Odo near it stray.

Where deepest shadows clad the wood
The Indian for a moment stood,
Then his strange weapons wildly shook,
And rush'd across the roaring brook,
That, leaping from the hill beyond,
Sought the calm lake or woodland pond.

Now left alone, young Odo wept,
As near the lonely grave he crept,
The thought of death or coming ill
Would still his breast with terror fill;
But in the low and mournful air
He heard a tone that spoke of prayer;
For he had heard of God who made
The lovely sunshine and the shade,
Nor doubted in this lonely spot
The wandering child was unforgot;
And thus with humble prayer sincere,
And seal'd with the repentant tear,
He meekly bow'd: oh, would that he
Were succor'd in captivity!

As on the grave he bow'd his head,
He heard no sound or echoing tread;
But, as sweet peace came down to bless
The wanderer in the wilderness,
He raised his eye to the calm heaven,
Assured that he was now forgiven.
But who was there? Ah, not alone
He knelt upon the cold rough stone,
The rock o'er which the waters gave
Their sighing echoes to the grave.
The chief, with mournful mien, bent there;
He'd heard the wanderer's simple prayer,
And fearful of the Power who gave
Strength to the feeble now would save!
Yes, he had sought the cavern's side,
With many a sacrifice suppli'd,
And from its depths had turn'd to aim
The death which dark revenge would claim
But from his dark and fiery eyes
Shot forth a savage's surprise
To see the youthful stranger bent.
He came to witness his intent,
Softly his stealthy steps drew near,
And his dark soul awoke to fear,
As gentle words of trust and love
Rose to the God who dwells above.
But when he heard the earnest prayer
That he were blest if he would spare
The wand'ring child,—oh, then his soul
Its anguish could no more control.
'There lies mine own, my only child!
The only one who on me smil'd,
The only one who ever woke
Joy in my heart. The white-man broke
The only flower which bloom'd for me
And left me but a blasted tree.
He came courag'ously to bear
The arrows he could well prepare.
Pride ever shone in his bright eye
To see by them the white-man die.
Twas on a dark and stormy night,
But fires made the prairie bright,
And the bold travellers who fought
Quick found the death they rashly sought.
But one escap'd, and as he fled
He met my boy and shot him dead.'

A solemn silence reign'd around;
The chieftain rais'd him from the ground,
And leap'd with Odo o'er the brook,
And to the cave his way he took.
Oh, what a fearful scene was there!
Skulls strew'd the rock, and children's hair
Hung streaming in the gloomy wild;—
Deep horror struck the wand'ring child.
The Indian stamp'd, and quickly bore
Young Odo to the grave once more,
He drew his arrow from the bow
And plac'd it on the mound so low,
Then struck the wood,—it snapp'd in two,
And held it up to Odo's view,
Then bade him take the sever'd wood;
The sign was quickly understood.

The Indian's whistle now arose,
And broke the forest's deep repose,
And quickly from the shad'wy brake
The loud, wild answ'ring echo spake.
And soon to him a steed was brought,
But lately on the prairie caught,
And mounting it the chieftain bore
Young Odo through the woods once more.
The quiet moonbeams brightly shone
As by the streams they rode alone,
And now with confidence possess'd
The boy slept on the Indian's breast.

But oh, the power that ensnares,
To home and safety seldom bears
The lonely one whose heart would break,
Rememb'ring all he could forsake
The quiet moonbeams brightly shone
As by the streams they rode alone,
And fear and terror left the mind
To peace and confidence consign'd.
He slept,—awak'ning to the sound
Of dance and music all around.
The moon had set, that heavenly light,
That oft reproaches us in sight;
The glare of lamps and gilded hall
Surprising on his senses fall;
And crowding round the simple boy
Young faces wear the smile of joy,
Fruits of delicious flavour come
And wine destroys the thoughts of home.

Pleasure and mirth have reach'd their height
When faithful Thomas comes in sight,
And fear and shame make Odo flee,
"What can this fellow want with me?"
Another when he came address'd
And call'd him too his honor'd guest.
And well he knew the youths around
Would laugh at him so strangely found;
So stealing from the hall alone,
No guide, no moonlight for him shone,
His head all dizzy too, he strays,
Unmindful of the dangerous ways.

Oh, luckless hour! while moonlight sleeps,
The robber from his forest creeps,
And on the dark and silent way
Watches his victim to betray.
Ah, night! while silently above
The clouds may dim the smile of love,
The love that light proclaims to-day
Expanding flowers around our way;
How many a scene of sadness bears
To heaven its hopeful silent prayers!
(And sorrow's night must linger yet,
Nor with the early morning set.)
How many hearts obtain no rest,
But weep their anguish on thy breast!
How many a spirit, worn with grief,
To friendship looks with kind relief,
And human suff'ring smiles again
When art can mitigate its pain!

The lovely Mary, long laid low,
A victim to the pangs of woe,
We may not ask her grief to know.
The heart must suffer and be still.
A purpose strong and iron will,
Not human pride but Christian trust,
Lifts up the spirit from the dust.
Oh, in the first wild gush of grief,
No human aid affords relief;
The storm must fall, the trusting heart
From ev'ry joy and hope must part;
Till on the ruins of the past
A stronger hope is built at last.
Yet sometimes in the vale of woe
The stream of joy again will flow;
Like a fair stream, that, hid awhile
By gloomy rocks, again will smile,
And, joyful at its freedom, leap,
With merry noise, adown the steep!

Then the fair life's replenish'd stream
Sparkles beneath each sunny beam!
And echoing music points the way
Where happiness was wont to stray!
That blissful hour came to her:—
But we our tale must not defer.
The manly, true, and faithful heart
Conferring joy, was call'd to part
When midnight stole upon the hour
Steeping in tears love's fadeless flower.

'Twas night indeed; the wailing wind
Betoken'd storms that stray'd behind;
And gloomy horror reign'd around
Unbroken by a sight or sound.
His heart beat high with love's true bliss;
Has life a happier hour than this,
When trust and hope and love bloom fair
Undinm'd by sorrow or by care!
And song broke forth, a gentle strain,
Befitting him who meets again
The heart that ever was so true,—
Though crush'd, it beats for him anew.
But scowling on the youthful form
A spirit fiercer than the storm
Led by the voice of human bliss
Aim'd the death-blow—he did not miss.

Senseless he laid, to wake and hear
A youthful voice fall on his ear.
'Twas Odo's; but before he spoke,
The day, 'mid stormy vapours, broke.
He bade him seek his father's hall
To let him know what did befall
His nightly journey; then too weak
The name so faintly breath'd to speak,
He pointed to his bleeding breast,
Where Mary's picture still did rest;
All else the ruthless robber found,
(One golden coin was on the ground,)
And Odo quickly understood,
And wip'd away the soil of blood.

Swift Odo sped, but on his sight
Forth came the robber in his flight;
And quickly armed troops were seen
Issuing beyond the village green,
Soon, soon they close their spreading wing
And Odo struggling with them bring!
The roar of fire-arms when allay'd,
The robber in his flight display'd.
Alas, the words of Odo fall
Like snow upon a stony wall!
He views in deep and speechless grief
The dead; the murderer is the chief!
And hurried through the prison-gate
He wildly mourns his own sad fate.
While speaking there his innocence,
All scorn his words as weak pretence.
The lovely portrait met his eyes,
And horror mingl'd with surprise
As now he found his mantle gone,
The Indian garb his only one.
Twas as he slept the change was made,
Who doubts th' accomplice thus array'd.

Oh, Odo weep! thy father's power
Alone can soothe this direful hour.
A weary slumber came at last
When day to night had long been past,
And, bending o'er his prostrate form,
Wearied with travelling in the storm,
A pitying brother gently view'd
The prison'd youth and cell so rude.
Oh, whence doth come this manly form
Defying terror and the storm?
But mostly leaving all most dear
The wand'ring child to find and cheer?
See honor waits him; this he leaves,
The sad tale of the lost receives;
He leaves the halls when triumph reigns,
His name with prison'd ones he stains;
Acknowledges the tie which heaven
Mysteriously has form'd and given,
And feels that power is ne'er so great
As when it grasps the arm of fate,
When magnanimously it spurns
Its own high interest, when it turns
That heavy door, the captive's gate,
Rejoicing it is not too late!

Time speeds away. The judgment hour
To some with dark despair must low'r;
But trust and hope with heaven-lit smile
In the dark cell the hours beguile,
And oh, the hour at last must come
To him a happy summons home.
Why should he fear? his brother pleads,
And for his pardon intercedes;
The price is paid by that kind hand,
(For courts from all a price demand,)
He in his judge his Father sees;
Justice can list to Mercy's pleas!

Oh, Odo, wandering child, rejoice!
From hence obey thy parents' voice.
See how afar thy steps have stray'd
From the fair spot where first thou play'd;
See how e'en death and sin beset
Our way when we our home forget.
And weep that thou didst bring the brave
A sword that laid him in his grave.
And Mary, gentle maiden, weeps,
And life long a sad vigil keeps.

And still abroad the evil power
Is busy now, as in that hour.
Oh, Father! shield us evermore;
Let us thy wisdom e'er adore,
Lest, wandering children, we shall stray,
And lose our heavenly home and way.
When'er we stray, may thy dear Son
Bring us to thee, and every one
Receive with gratitude the pray'r,
His intercession, till we there,
In heaven, the spirit's home, find rest,
And be with thee forever blest.