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diff --git a/12093-0.txt b/12093-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..43a30e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/12093-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,611 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12093 *** + +THE SONG OF +THE STONE WALL + + +BY +HELEN KELLER + + + + +1910 +Copyright, 1909, 1910. +_Published October, 1910_. + + + + +DEDICATION + + +When I began “The Song of the Stone Wall,” Dr. Edward Everett Hale +was still among us, and it was my intention to dedicate the poem +to him if it should be deemed worthy of publication. I fancied that +he would like it; for he loved the old walls and the traditions that +cling about them. + +As I tried to image the men who had built the walls long ago, it +seemed to me that Dr. Hale was the living embodiment of whatever was +heroic in the founders of New England. He was a great American. He +was also a great Puritan. Was not the zeal of his ancestors upon his +lips, and their courage in his heart? Had they not bequeathed to him +their torch-like faith, their patient fervor of toil and their creed +of equality? + +But his bright spirit had inherited no trace of their harshness and +gloom. The windows of his soul opened to the sunlight of a joyous +faith. His optimism and genial humor inspired gladness and good +sense in others. With an old story he prepared their minds to +receive new ideas, and with a parable he opened their hearts to +generous feelings. All men loved him because he loved them. They +knew that his heart was in their happiness, and that his humanity +embraced their sorrows. In him the weak found a friend, the +unprotected, a champion. Though a herald and proclaimer of peace, he +could fight stubbornly and passionately on the side of justice. His +was a lovable, uplifting greatness which drew all men near and ever +nearer to God and to each other. Like his ancestors, he dreamed of a +land of freedom founded on the love of God and the brotherhood of +man, a land where each man shall achieve his share of happiness and +learn the work of manhood—to rule himself and “lend a hand.” + +Thoughts like these were often in my mind as the poem grew and took +form. It is fitting, therefore, that I should dedicate it to him, +and in so doing I give expression to the love and reverence which I +have felt for him ever since he called me his little cousin, more +than twenty years ago. + +HELEN KELLER + +Wrentham, Massachusetts, +January, 1910. + + + + + +THE SONG OF +THE STONE WALL + + +Come walk with me, and I will tell +What I have read in this scroll of stone; +I will spell out this writing on hill and meadow. +It is a chronicle wrought by praying workmen, +The forefathers of our nation-- +Leagues upon leagues of sealed history awaiting an interpreter. +This is New England's tapestry of stone +Alive with memories that throb and quiver +At the core of the ages +As the prophecies of old at the heart of God’s Word. + +The walls have many things to tell me, +And the days are long. I come and listen: +My hand is upon the stones, and the tale I fain would hear +Is of the men who built the walls, +And of the God who made the stones and the workers. + +With searching feet I walk beside the wall; +I plunge and stumble over the fallen stones; +I follow the windings of the wall +Over the heaving hill, down by the meadow-brook, +Beyond the scented fields, by the marsh where rushes grow. +On I trudge through pine woods fragrant and cool +And emerge amid clustered pools and by rolling acres of rye. +The wall is builded of field-stones great and small, +Tumbled about by frost and storm, +Shaped and polished by ice and rain and sun; +Some flattened, grooved, and chiseled +By the inscrutable sculpture of the weather; +Some with clefts and rough edges harsh to the touch. +Gracious Time has glorified the wall +And covered the historian stones with a mantle of green. +Sunbeams flit and waver in the rifts, +Vanish and reappear, linger and sleep, +Conquer with radiance the obdurate angles, +Filter between the naked rents and wind-bleached jags. + +I understand the triumph and the truth +Wrought into these walls of rugged stone. +They are a miracle of patient hands, +They are a victory of suffering, a paean of pain; +All pangs of death, all cries of birth, +Are in the mute, moss-covered stones; +They are eloquent to my hands. +O beautiful, blind stones, inarticulate and dumb! +In the deep gloom of their hearts there is a gleam +Of the primeval sun which looked upon them +When they were begotten. +So in the heart of man shines forever +A beam from the everlasting sun of God. +Rude and unresponsive are the stones; +Yet in them divine things lie concealed; +I hear their imprisoned chant:-- + +"We are fragments of the universe, +Chips of the rock whereon God laid the foundation of the world: +Out of immemorial chaos He wrought us. +Out of the sun, out of the tempest, out of the travail of the earth + we grew. +We are wonderfully mingled of life and death; +We serve as crypts for innumerable, unnoticed, tiny forms. +We are manifestations of the Might +That rears the granite hills unto the clouds +And sows the tropic seas with coral isles. +We are shot through and through with hidden color; +A thousand hues are blended in our gray substance. +Sapphire, turquoise, ruby, opal, +Emerald, diamond, amethyst, are our sisters from the beginning, +And our brothers are iron, lead, zinc, +Copper and silver and gold. +We are the dust of continents past and to come, +We are a deathless frieze carved with man's destiny; +In us is the record sibylline of far events. +We are as old as the world, our birth was before the hills. +We are the cup that holds the sea +And the framework of the peak that parts the sky. +When Chaos shall again return, +And endless Night shall spread her wings upon a rained world, +We alone shall stand up from the shattered earth, +Indestructible, invincible witnesses of God’s eternal purpose.” + +In reflective mood by the wall I wander; +The hoary stones have set my heart astir; +My thoughts take shape and move beside me in the guise +Of the stern men who built the wall in early olden days. +One by one the melancholy phantoms go stepping from me, +And I follow them in and out among the stones. +I think of the days long gone, +Flown like birds beyond the ramparts of the world. +The patient, sturdy men who piled the stones +Have vanished, like the days, beyond the bounds +Of earth and mortal things. +From their humble, steadfast lives has sprung the greatness of my + nation. +I am bone of their bone, breath of their breath, +Their courage is in my soul. +The wall is an Iliad of granite: it chants to me +Of pilgrims of the perilous deep, +Of fearless journeyings and old forgotten things. +The blood of grim ancestors warms the fingers +That trace the letters of their story; +My pulses beat in unison with pulses that are stilled; +The fire of their zeal inspires me +In my struggle with darkness and pain. +These embossed books, unobliterated by the tears and laughter + of Time, +Are signed with the vital hands of undaunted men. +I love these monoliths, so crudely imprinted +With their stalwart, cleanly, frugal lives. + +From my seat among the stones I stretch my hand and touch +My friend the elm, urnlike, lithesome, tall. +Far above the reach of my exploring fingers +Birds are singing and winging joyously +Through leafy billows of green. +The elm-tree’s song is wondrous sweet; +The words are the ancientest language of trees-- +They tell of how earth and air and light +Are wrought anew to beauty and to fruitfulness. +I feel the glad stirrings under her rough bark; +Her living sap mounts up to bring forth leaves; +Her great limbs thrill beneath the wand of spring. + +This wall was builded in our fathers’ days-- +Valorous days when life was lusty and the land was new. +Resemble the walls the builders, buffeted, stern, and worn. +To us they left the law, +Order, simplicity, obedience, +And the wall is the bond they gave the nation +At its birth of courage and unflinching faith. +Before the epic here inscribed began, +They wrote their course upon a trackless sea. +O, tiny craft, bearing a nation’s seed! +Frail shallop, quick with unborn states! +Autumn was mellow in the fatherland when they set sail, +And winter deepened as they neared the West. +Out of the desert sea they came at last, +And their hearts warmed to see that frozen land. +O, first gray dawn that filtered through the dark! +Bleak, glorious birth-hour of our northern states! +They stood upon the shore like new created men; +On barren solitudes of sand they stood, +The conquered sea behind, the unconquered wilderness before. +Some died that year beneath the cruel cold, +And some for heartsick longing and the pang +Of homes remembered and souls torn asunder. +That spring the new-plowed field for bread of life +Bordered the new-dug acre marked for death; +Beside the springing corn they laid in the sweet, dark earth +The young man, strong and free, the maiden fair and trustful, +The little child, and the uncomplaining mother. + +Across the meadow, by the ancient pines, +Where I, the child of life that lived that spring, +Drink in the fragrances of the young year, +The field-wall meets one grimly squared and straight. +Beyond it rise the old tombs, gray and restful, +And the upright slates record the generations. +Stiffly aslant before the northern blasts, +Like the steadfast, angular beliefs +Of those whom they commemorate, the headstones stand, +Cemented deep with moss and invisible roots. +The rude inscriptions charged with faith and love, +Graceless as Death himself, yet sweet as Death, +Are half erased by the impartial storms. +As children lisping words which move to laughter +Are themselves poems of unconscious melody, +So the old gravestones with their crabbed muse +Are beautiful for their halting words of faith, +Their groping love that had no gift of song. +But all the broken tragedy of life +And all the yearning mystery of death +Are celebrated in sweet epitaphs of vines and violets. +Close by the wall a peristyle of pines +Sings requiem to all the dead that sleep. + +Beyond the village churchyard, still and calm, +Steeped in the sweetness of eternal morn, +The wall runs down in crumbling cadence +Beside the brook which plays +Through the land like a silver harp. +A wind of ancient romance blows across the field, +A sweet disturbance thrills the air; +The silken skirts of Spring go rustling by, +And the earth is astir with joy. +Up the hill, romping and shaking their golden heads, +Come the little children of the wood. +From ecstasy to ecstasy the year mounts upward. +Up from the south come the odor-laden winds, +Angels and ministers of life, +Dropping seeds of fruitfulness +Into the bosoms of flowers. +Elusive, alluring secrets hide in wood and hedge +Like the first thoughts of love +In the breast of a maiden; +The witchery of love is in rock and tree. +Across the pasture, star-sown with daisies, +I see a young girl--the spirit of spring she seems, +Sister of the winds that run through the rippling daisies. +Sweet and clear her voice calls father and brother, +And one whose name her shy lips will not utter. +But a chorus of leaves and grasses speaks her heart +And tells his name: the birches flutter by the wall; +The wild cherry-tree shakes its plumy head +And whispers his name; the maple +Opens its rosy lips and murmurs his name; +The marsh-marigold sends the rumor +Down the winding stream, and the blue flag +Spread the gossip to the lilies in the lake: +All Nature’s eyes and tongues conspire +In the unfolding of the tale +That Adam and Eve beneath the blossoming rose-tree +Told each other in the Garden of Eden. +Once more the wind blows from the walls, +And I behold a fair young mother; +She stands at the lilac-shaded door +With her baby at her breast; +She looks across the twilit fields and smiles +And whispers to her child: “Thy father comes!” + +Life triumphed over many-weaponed Death. +Sorrow and toil and the wilderness thwarted their stout invasion; +But with the ship that sailed again went no retreating soul! +Stubborn, unvanquished, clinging to the skirts of Hope, +They kept their narrow foothold on the land, +And the ship sailed home for more. +With yearlong striving they fought their way into the forest; +Their axes echoed where I sit, a score of miles from the sea. +Slowly, slowly the wilderness yielded +To smiling grass-plots and clearings of yellow corn; +And while the logs of their cabins were still moist +With odorous sap, they set upon the hill +The shrine of liberty for man’s mind, +And by it the shrine of liberty for man’s soul, +The school-house and the church. + +The apple-tree by the wall sheds its blossom about me-- +A shower of petals of light upon darkness. +From Nature’s brimming cup I drink a thousand scents; +At noon the wizard sun stirs the hot soil under the pines. +I take the top stone of the wall in my hands +And the sun in my heart; +I feel the rippling land extend to right and left, +Bearing up a receptive surface to my uncertain feet; +I clamber up the hill and beyond the grassy sweep; +I encounter a chaos of tumbled rocks. +Piles of shadow they seem, huddling close to the land. +Here they are scattered like sheep, +Or like great birds at rest, +There a huge block juts from the giant wave of the hill. +At the foot of the aged pines the maiden’s moccasins +Track the sod like the noiseless sandals of Spring. +Out of chinks in the wall delicate grasses wave, +As beauty grew out of the crannies of these hard souls. + +Joyously, gratefully, after their long wrestling +With the bitter cold and the harsh white winter, +They heard the step of Spring on the edge of melting snow-drifts; +Gladly, with courage that flashed from their life-beaten souls, +As the fire-sparks fly from the hammered stone, +They hailed the fragrant arbutus; +Its sweetness trailed beside the path that they cut through the + forest, +And they gave it the name of their ship Mayflower. + Beauty was at their feet, and their eyes beheld it; +The earth cried out for labor, and they gave it. +But ever as they saw the budding spring, +Ever as they cleared the stubborn field, +Ever as they piled the heavy stones, +In mystic vision they saw, the eternal spring; +They raised their hardened hands above the earth, +And beheld the walls that are not built of stone, +The portals opened by angels whose garments are of light; +And beyond the radiant walls of living stones +They dreamed vast meadows and hills of fadeless green. + +In the old house across the road +With weather-beaten front, like the furrowed face of an old man, +The lights are out forever, the windows are broken, +And the oaken posts are warped; +The storms beat into the rooms as the passion of the world +Racked and buffeted those who once dwelt in them. +The psalm and the morning prayer are silent. +But the walls remain visible witnesses of faith +That knew no wavering or shadow of turning. +They have withstood sun and northern blast, +They have outlasted the unceasing strife +Of forces leagued to tear them down. +Under the stars and the clouds, under the summer sun, +Beaten by rain and wind, covered with tender vines, +The walls stand symbols of a granite race, +The measure and translation of olden times. + +In the rough epic of their life, their toil, their creeds, +Their psalms, their prayers, what stirring tales +Of days that were their past had they to tell +Their children to keep the new faith burning? +Tales of grandsires in the fatherland +Whose faith was seven times tried in fiery furnaces,-- +Of Rowland Taylor who kissed the stake, +And stood with hands folded and eyes steadfastly turned +To the sky, and smiled upon the flames; +Of Latimer, and of Cranmer who for cowardice heroically atoned-- +Who thrust his right hand into the fire +Because it had broken plight with his heart +And written against the voice of his conviction. +With such memories they exalted and cherished +The heroism of their tried souls, +And ours are wrung with doubt and self-distrust! + +I am kneeling on the odorous earth; +The sweet, shy feet of Spring come tripping o’er the land, +Winter is fled to the hills, leaving snowy wreaths +On apple-tree, meadow, and marsh. +The walls are astir; little waves of blue +Run through my fingers murmuring: +“We follow the winds and the snow!” +Their heart is a cup of gold. +Soft whispers of showers and flowers +Are mingled in the spring song of the walls. +Hark to the songs that go singing like the wind +Through the chinks of the wall and thrill the heart +And quicken it with passionate response! +The walls sing the song of wild bird, the hoof-beat of deer, +The murmur of pine and cedar, the ripple of many streams; +Crows are calling from the Druidical wood; +The morning mist still haunts the meadows +Like the ghosts of the wall builders. + +As I listen, methinks I hear the bitter plaint +Of the passing of a haughty race, +The wronged, friendly, childlike, peaceable tribes, +The swarthy archers of the wilderness, +The red men to whom Nature opened all her secrets, +Who knew the haunts of bird and fish, +The hidden virtue of herb and root; +All the travail of man and beast they knew-- +Birth and death, heat and cold, +Hunger and thirst, love and hate; +For these are the unchanging things writ in the imperishable book of + life +That man suckled at the breast of woman must know. + +In the dim sanctuary of the pines +The winds murmur their mysteries through dusky aisles-- +Secrets of earth’s renewal and the endless cycle of life. +Living things are afoot among the grasses; +The closed fingers of the ferns unfold, +New bees explore new flowers, and the brook +Pours virgin waters from the rushing founts of May. +In the old walls there are sinister voices-- +The groans of women charged with witchcraft. +I see a lone, gray, haggard woman standing at bay, +Helpless against her grim, sin-darkened judges. +Terror blanches her lips and makes her confess +Bonds with demons that her heart knows not. +Satan sits by the judgment-seat and laughs. +The gray walls, broken, weatherworn oracles, +Sing that she was once a girl of love and laughter, +Then a fair mother with lullabies on her lips, +Caresses in her eyes, who spent her days +In weaving warmth to keep her brood against the winter cold. +And in her tongue was the law of kindness; +For her God was the Lord Jehovah. +Enemies uprose and swore her accused, +Laid at her door the writhing forms of little children, +And she could but answer: “The Evil One +Torments them in my shape.” +She stood amazed before the tribunal of her church +And heard the gate of God’s house closed against her. +Oh, shuddering silence of the throng, +And fearful the words spoken from the judgment-seat! +She raised her white head and clasped her wrinkled hands: +“Pity me, Lord, pity my anguish! +Nor, since Thou art a just and terrible God, +Forget to visit thy wrath upon these people; +For they have sworn away the life of Thy servant +Who hath lived long in the land keeping Thy commandments. +I am old, Lord, and betrayed; +By neighbor and kin am I betrayed; +A Judas kiss hath marked me for a witch. +Possessed of a devil? Here be a legion of devils! +Smite them, O God, yea, utterly destroy them that persecute the innocent.” +Before this mother in Israel the judges cowered; +But still they suffered her to die. +Through the tragic, guilty walls I hear the sighs +Of desolate women and penitent, remorseful men. + +Sing of happier themes, O many-voiced epic, +Sing how the ages, like thrifty husbandmen, winnow the creeds of + men, +And leave only faith and love and truth. +Sing of the Puritan’s nobler nature, +Fathomless as the forests he felled, +Irresistible as the winds that blow. +His trenchant conviction was but the somber bulwark +Which guarded his pure ideal. +Resolute by the communion board he stood, +And after solemn prayer solemnly cancelled +And abolished the divine right of kings +And declared the holy rights of man. +Prophet and toiler, yearning for other worlds, yet wise in this; +Scornful of earthly empire and brooding on death, +Yet wrestling life out of the wilderness +And laying stone on stone the foundation of a temporal state! +I see him standing at his cabin-door at eventide +With dreaming, fearless eyes gazing at sunset hills; +In his prophetic sight Liberty, like a bride, +Hasteth to meet her lord, the westward-going man! +Even as he saw the citadel of Heaven, +He beheld an earthly state divinely fair and just. +Mystic and statesman, maker of homes, +Strengthened by the primal law of toil, +And schooled by monarch-made injustices, +He carried the covenant of liberty with fire and sword, +And laid a rich state on frugality! +Many republics have sprung into being, +Full-grown, equipped with theories forged in reason; +All, all have fallen in a single night; +But to the wise, fire-hardened Puritan +Democracy was not a blaze of glory +To crackle for an hour and be quenched out +By the first gust that blows across the world. +I see him standing at his cabin-door, +And all his dreams are true as when he dreamed them; +But only shall they be fulfilled if we +Are mindful of the toil that gave him power, +Are brave to dare a wilderness of wrong; +So long shall Nature nourish us and Spring +Throw riches in the lap of man +As we beget no wasteful, weak-handed generations, +But bend us to the fruitful earth in toil. +Beyond the wall a new-plowed field lies steaming in the sun, +And down the road a merry group of children +Run toward the village school. + +Hear, O hear! In the historian walls +Rises the beat and the tumult of the struggle for freedom. +Sacred, blood-stained walls, your peaceful front +Sheltered the fateful fires of Lexington; +Builded to fence green fields and keep the herds at pasture, +Ye became the frowning breastworks of stern battle; +Lowly boundaries of the freeman’s farm, +Ye grew the rampart of a land at war; +And still ye cross the centuries +Between the ages of monarchs and the age +When farmers in their fields are kings. +From the Revolution the young Republic emerged, +She mounted up as on the wings of the eagle, +She ran and was not weary, and all the children of the world +Joined her and followed her shining path. +But ever as she ran, above her lifted head +Darkened the monster cloud of slavery. +Hark! In the walls, amid voices of prayer and of triumph, +I hear the clank of manacles and the ominous mutterings of bondsmen! +At Gettysburg, our Golgotha, the sons of the fathers +Poured their blood to wash out a nation’s shame. +Cleansed by tribulation and atonement, +The broken nation rose from her knees, +And with hope reborn in her heart set forth again +Upon the open road to ideal democracy. + +Sing, walls, in lightning words that shall cause the world to + vibrate, +Of the democracy to come, +Of the swift, teeming, confident thing! +We are part of it--the wonder and the terror and the glory! +Fearless we rush forward to meet the years, +The years that come flying towards us +With wings outspread, agleam on the horizon of time! + +O eloquent, sane walls, instinct with a new faith, +Ye are barbarous, in congruous, but great with the greatness of + reality. +Walls wrought in unfaltering effort, +Sing of our prosperity, the joyous harvest +Of the labor of lusty toilers. +Down through the years comes the ring of their victorious axes: +“Ye are titans of the forest, but we are stronger; +Ye are strong with the strength of mighty winds, +But we are strong with the unconquerable strength of souls!” +Still the young race, unassailable, inviolate, +Shakes the solitudes with the strokes of creation; +Doubly strong we renew the valorous days, +And like a measureless sea we overflow +The fresh green, benevolent West, +The buoyant, fruitful West that dares and sings! +Pure, dew-dripping walls that guard +The quiet, lovable, fertile fields, +Sing praises to Him who from the mossy rocks +Can bid the fountains leap in thirsty lands. +I walk beside the stones through the young grain, +Through waves of wheat that billow about my knees. +The walls contest the onward march of the wheat; +But the wheat is charged with the life of the world; +Its force is irresistible; onward it sweeps, +An engulfing tide, over all the land, +Till hill and valley, field and plain +Are flooded with its green felicity! +Out of the moist earth it has sprung; +In the gracious amplitudes of her bosom it was nurtured, +And in it is wrought the miracle of life. + +Sing, prophetic, mystic walls, of the dreams of the builders; +Sing in thundering tones that shall thrill us +To try our dull discontent, our barren wisdom +Against their propagating, unquenchable, questionless visions. +Sing in renerving refrain of the resolute men, +Each a Lincoln in his smoldering patience, +Each a Luther in his fearless faith, +Who made a breach in the wall of darkness +And let the hosts of liberty march through. + +Calm, eternal walls, tranquil, mature, +Which old voices, old songs, old kisses cover, +As mosses and lichens cover your ancient stones, +Teach me the secret of your serene repose; +Tell of the greater things to be, +When love and wisdom are the only creed, +And law and right are one. +Sing that the Lord cometh, the Lord cometh, +The fountain-head and spring of life! +Sing, steady, exultant walls, in strains hallowed and touched with + fire, +Sing that the Lord shall build us all together. +As living stones build us, cemented together. +May He who knoweth every pleasant thing +That our sires forewent to teach the peoples law and truth, +Who counted every stone blessed by their consecrated hands, +Grant that we remain liberty-loving, substantial, elemental, +And that faith, the rock not fashioned of human hands, +Be the stability of our triumphant, toiling days. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Song of the Stone Wall, by Helen Keller + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12093 *** |