Poems (Ford)/The Bird from Paradise
THE BIRD FROM PARADISES
A LEGEND.
A LEGEND.
By a forest of the Rhineland, Many a hundred years ago,Dwelt a band of holy brothers, In an abbey dark and low;Hardened were their hands by labor, For from dawn to set of sunBusily they toiled, and scarcely Deemed with day their duty done.
Rugged was the soil, and sterile— Fern and thistle, heath and thorn,Must by patience be uprooted Ere it bore the yellow corn;Even that was often carried To the peasant's humble shed,While the acorns of the forest Served the holy monks for bread.
In that quiet, busy household There was one beloved of all—Cheerful, patient, self-denying, Ever thoughtful Brother Paul; Living not for self, but others, All his thoughts to God were given,And the beautous world around him Only raised his heart to heaven.
Gazing on the broad blue heavens, Waving woods, and flowery sod,Reading the grand book of Nature, Written by the hand of God,Oft he prayed the great All-Father In His bounty to bestowOne brief gleam of heaven's glory On His servant here below.
Thus he prayed one glorious evening In the golden summer time,Leaning on his spade to listen To the distant abbey chime;Seated on his blazing chariot, Slowly westward Day had rolled,While his wand, like that of Midas, Tinged the forest boughs with gold.
Musing on the varied beauties Spread beneath that summer sky,Suddenly a newer glory Burst upon his wondering eye:A bright bird of radiant plumage, As if bathed in morning's light, Seated on a bough beside him, Dazzled his bewildered sight.
Soon as from the abbey turret Ceased the Angelus to ring,The strange bird of dazzling beauty On Its bough began to sing.Brother Paul, entranced, stood listening; Glorious strains he oft had heard,But none like the clear, melodious Music of the stranger bird.
Such a grand, harmonious torrent Of sweet sounds had never rangOver earth since wandering angels By the streams of Eden sang;Nature held her breath to listen, Hushed the breeze the boughs among,Bade the murmuring brook be silent, While she heard that wondrous song.
Soon the beauteous songster flitted Through the woods from tree to tree,And the monk, enchanted, followed, Drinking in its melody,Cautious lest the dead leaves round him By his footsteps might be stirred,Dreading lest his very breathing Should disturb the stranger bird.
Onward, onward, through the forest, Did the glorious songster fly, Till at last its pinions rested On an oak tree towering high; There the monk, with soul enraptured, Cast himself upon the ground, While sweet song, in liquid gushes, Thrilled the listening air around.
And his soul, entranced with pleasure, Listening to that glorious strain, Sat with folded wings that never Wished to visit earth again. But at last the vision faded, Ceased the music's magic spell, And he heard the silvery chiming Of the distant abbey bell.
Starting up, he gazed around him, In the holy vesper light, But the songster's splendid pinions Flashed no longer on his sight; Then he turned his footsteps homeward, Sighing that the witching lay, Which had thrilled with joy his being, Should so soon have passed away.
But new wonders met his vision,— For where he had left at morn Broad green woods, and thorns and brambles, Now lay fields of golden corn;And the white walls of a village, With its gleaming spires in view,Stood where late the wildwood blossoms Drank the fragrant morning dew.
Wearily he sought the abbey, But its rude walls too were gone;In its place a stately mansion Reared its towers of polished stone;At its gates he stood bewildered, Looking round in pained surprise,Fearing that some evil spirit Cast a glamor o'er his eyes.
The familiar, kindly visage Of the porter was not there;A strange monk the portal opened, Viewing him with curious air;All the brothers there were strangers,— Not a face that he had knownMet his view: it seemed his brethren With their antique walls had flown.
Brother Paul, dismayed, looked round him. "Unknown brothers, speak," cried he,"Whence have come these wondrous changes And strange faces that I see? Lead me to the Abbot Anselm, Whom I left at matin hour;Over him the demon's magic Surely can have had no power."
Why those looks of blank amazement? Can he credit what he hears?"Brother, holy Father Anselm Has been dead four hundred years!"Then was rent the veil of ages From before his startled eyes—He had listened to the singing Of the bird from Paradise.
"Great All-Father," cried he, sinking On his knees, "then Thou hast givenTo Thy servant what he prayed for— Here on earth a glimpse of heaven;How enchanting was that music Which made rolling ages seemBut a few brief, sunny moments, But a transient, blissful dream.
"Now, indeed, my days are ended, And my longing soul would fainLeave its clay, that it may listen To that blessed song again.To the eye but once permitted Heaven's glories to behold, Earth, however bright and lovely, Seems a desert dark and cold."
Lord, we thank Thee that Thy mercy Holds the blue veil of the sky Over earth, Thy dazzling splendor To shut out from mortal eye; Could our pilgrim gaze but dimly Half Thy deathless glory see, Life would be a dreary burden, And content from earth would flee.