The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1857-05-09
5rlcft poetrp.
From the Christian Observer.
THE IDIOT GIRL.
BY REV. r. HEMrSTEAD.

BY REV. r. HEMrSTEAD.
Golforth into the sunshine,
Beneath the joyous sky,
And turn along the flowery earth
Thy dull unhecding eye;
Go listen to the CHANGING birds,
The murmur of the tree,
And watch the huncysucklc bend
Beneath the glossy bee:
Stand where the lakeiet's lucid tides
Before the brcezcs curl
But what are wood, or flower. or sorg,
The flush of Spring, the vocal throng
of bird and bee, the moan along
The hoary pInes-Mhat can they be,
What can they speak or sing to thee,
Poor little idiot girl!
o! fcarfully, unequally,
Our weary life is bound
In darkness and in tears, and wrapt
In mystery profound.
The hand that arms the earthquake,
The hand that pours the sea,
And paints the llly-cups, hath dealt,
Oh darkly dealt with thee.
Earth bears upoE her bosom
Full many u mournful place,
From which hath passed into the dark
Each human form and face:
But what are saddest ruins,
Ofpalace, hearth, or hall,
The shadow and the mould that creep
Along the crannied wall:
What are the desolations
or real or royal fame,
The columns crushed, the temple hurled
Along The desert plain
What are they to the heavy doom
one human soul that chains
In eudleSs exile from the flowers,
And Summers green domains I
And shuts thee from the clouds and leaves
The wavclets crystal curl,
The blaze and majesty Of thought
Poor moaning idiot girl!
Thy dumb eyes turn upon the flowers,
And Oh the plying sky;
But plying skies aud weeping flowers
For thee have no reply;
Forever moaning, moaning,
Like one in numbing pam;
Like him who in his slunber secs
Warm blood drops round him rain,
And feels the rcd hot murder blots
Burn deeper in his brain;
o, moaning still. as if the soul
Were waiting for the doom
That locks it from the world embrace
And from the pleasant bloom;
Now idly lolling in thy chair,
Now up at aid til, d. or,
While from thy unimpassioncd lips,
or speech thy only store,
And sadder than throng h Anoulderng halls
The vy's funeral tone,
Comes evcrInore the same. the same,
That low, complaining moan.
And ever at thy side is seen,
TO ward thy steps from i'll,
a sable little negro girl,
For eye. and word, and will,
Now up she steps, and throus h the rooms,
Now out into the sun,
She of the dark, unlovcly brow,
And thou, the stricken one.
How much hath God denied thee,
That others feel or know,
OF human warnings, fears and hopes,
Earth rapture and It's woe
The first faint violet ut the drlls,
The langu .gc Of the waves.
The tre.crags Of the sunset-land,
The moss upon the gra7cS;
Those deep mysterious melodies
That steal across the soul,
And through ITS high. invisible halls,
In wall Of ptran roll;
The hill, of The Hereafter,
The glory of that SEA,
BY death unlocked to man-all these
Are hidden things to thee
How wide and glorious realm
Lies cold to thee, and dead,
With not rose iiom all its lowers
Along thy path TO shed!
The world Of pure affection,
Ineltahle serene,
Where woman's softer spirit rcigns,
The crowned and ,jewcll,d queen,
And proudly rules her little realm
Some strong and loyal hcart;--
But what is Loves green world to thee
All prisoncd as thou art
The right through lonely hours to watch
The dying eye and how,
And know that there is standing nigh
One mighticr than thou:
The sweet and anxious warnings,
The strange unbiddrn fears
That fall to "woman's weary lot,
The yigis and the tears;
o what are these TO thcc-thc rust
That cats the sword, the broken trust,
The awful Powers, that into dust
Love, glory, empire hun
pity thee, God pity thee,
Poor moaning idiot girl!
LlTCIIFIELD, Conn.