# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/Opinions of the Uneducated Deaf and Dumb

OPINIONS OF THE UNEDUCATED DEAF AND DUMB.
"I thought the sun was a soldier, and that he governed over all mankind every day.—I was much troubled at the heat of the sun. I told my sister that he was cruel to us.—I believed that he was very artful.
———When I was walking alone, the half-moon followed me, and I did not wish her to come.—I thought that I was deaf and dumb,—and she was very curious.—When I went to my chamber, I extinguished my candle, and was afraid of her. I shut the windows all night, because I disliked to be seen by her.—I was very anxious to find refuge.—I advised her not to follow me, but she was still obstinate.———There were many stars in the sky which were very pleasant. Why did they stay there?—I talked with my soul.—I went out of the house and contemplated that they had large parties pleasantly in the evening.—They were riding, while they held their beautiful candles in their hands.—Eighth Report of the American Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb.
And didst thou fear the queen of night?
 Poor mute and musing child!—
 She who with silver light
 Gladdens the loneliest wild?—
Her, the stern savage marks serene,
 Chequering his clay-built cabin scene,—
 Her, the polar natives bless,
 Bowing low in gentleness
To bathe in liquid beam their rayless night,
 Her, the lone sailor, while his watch he keeps,  Hails, as her fair lamp gilds the troubled deeps,
Cresting each snowy wave that o'er its fellow sweeps;
 Even the lost maniac loves her light,  Murmuring to her with fixed eye
 Wild symphonies he knows not why.—
 Sad was thy fate, my child, to see
In nature's gentlest friend, a foe severe to thee.
 Seem'd she with keen intent,
 And glance too rudely bent,
 Thy secret wo to spy?—
 Haunting thy hermit path
For what thou fain would'st hide from every eye,
 Thy bosom's burden and thy Maker's wrath?—
 The ear in durance bound,—
 The lip divorced from sound,
 Seem'd to thy innocent mind, a cause of blame,
 A strange, peculiar, deprecated shame;
 Nature's unkindness, thou didst meekly deem
Thy blemish and thy crime, which marr'd thy peaceful dream.
 To thee, the sun was as a warrior bold,
 Terrific, pitiless, of sway severe,
 With fiery armour, and a car of gold,
 Tyrant of this lower sphere.—
And when with toil his head declines,
And at his western gate his crimson banner shines,
Thou thought'st some conflagrated city drank
The lightning of his ire, and into ashes shrank.
 Thou could'st not hear the sound
 From the moss-sprinkled ground,
 Where every tender leaflet tells the whispering gale
 He is my sire;
 From lowly vale
 Up to his throne of fire
 Each timid bud that blows,
 The humblest violet and the palest rose
 Fondly left the grateful eye,
 Glittering with dewy tears, or bright with rainbow die.
Thou knew'st not that the drooping plant revives
At his paternal smile, and in his mercy lives,
Nor that the earth, her vernal warmth restored, Blossoms at his embrace, and hails her genial lord.
Thou with the sparkling stars did'st converse hold,
 Which to thy wondering sight,
 Were as gay creatures form'd of earthly mould
 Who revel through the sleepless night,
 Each holding to her sister's eye
 Her flambeau bright,
 And riding joyous through the sky
 On steeds of light;—
 Till creeping dawn like beldame grey,
 Dimm'd their zones, and roused the day.
Being of lonely thought!—The world to thee
 Was a deep maze,—and all things moving on
 In darkness and in mystery.—But He
 Who made these beauteous forms which fade anon,
What was He?—From thy brow the roses fled
 At that eternal question, fathomless and dread.—
 Yet childhood's bliss was in thine eye,
 And over thy features gay would rove
 That eloquent sensibility
 Which wakens love.
 A mother's fond caress,
 A sister's tenderness,
 Bade through thy breast full tides of pleasure run;
 A father's prayer would bless
 His dear and voiceless one,—
 Yet pensive bending o'er thy sleeping bed
 For thee, their mingled tears in sympathy were shed.
 Oh! snatch'd from ignorance and pain,
 And taught with seraph eye
 At yon unmeasured orbs to gaze,
 And trace amid their quenchless blaze
 Thy own high destiny;
 Forever bless the hands that burst thy chain,
And led thy doubtful steps to Learning's hallow'd fane.
 Though from thy guarded portal press
 No word of gratitude or tenderness,
 In the starting tear,—the glowing cheek
 With tuneful tongue the soul can speak,
 Her tone is in the sigh,  Her language in the eye,
 Her voice of harmony, a life of praise,
Well understood by Him who notes our secret ways.