Part 14 — BLIND!

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BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.

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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!

’Tis 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—“forever 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 wo 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 banished—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 forever, 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 afright,

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 sick 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 II.

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 thoughts 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 stayed.

I shunned the gaze of all.

I knew that pity dwelt in every look.

Pity e’en then my proud breast 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 deemed 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 weakened pulse now bounded wild and strong,

While soon a raging fever burned along

My worn, exhausted frame.

And for the time all knowledge passed away.

It mattered not that hidden was the day.

—

The odor 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

Called back the life that seemed forever 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 answered—I was not to die.

Then when the bell’s faint chime

Came floating gently on the burdened air,

My heart went up to God in fervent prayer.

And, mother, from that time

My wild thoughts left me—hope returned 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 passed 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 seemed to bring.

I crushed 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 dreamed, dear mother, waking dreams of thee.

I thought how just and good

The power that had so gently sealed mine eyes,

Yet bade new pleasures and new hopes arise.

For now in truth I find

My Father all 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.