The double night

Front matter

aass_JESj4ii

Book

AND OTHER POEMS.

Introduction

The poems of Morrison Heady possess an almost unique interest. They are the work of a man, who, bhnd and deaf, has cultivated the muse in the gloom of a *' Double Night" ; the work of a patient, cheerful, undaunted thinker, who, amidst darkness, has seen with the "inward eye"; amidst silence has heard with the *'inv/ard ear." Isolated thus on the very threshold of life, Mr. Heady has, notwithstanding, maintained the keenest interest in literature, science and affairs. He has led a singularly active and rational life. He has studied closely, affectionately, the books accessible to him ; he has developed remarkable manual skill, perfecting several contrivances adapted to the use of the blind ; he has kept in close touch with a large circle of friends, and, with rare sagacity and good fortune, succeeded in retaining his own youthful freshness of spirit by attaching to himself many of the ** rising generation."

Morrison Heady was born in 1829, in Spencer county, Kentucky, where he has spent most of his life. He met, in childhood and youth, with several serious accidents, resulting in total blindness at six-

Vi INTRODUCTION.

teen, and in gradually increasing deafness, becoming complete at forty. From that time he could be communicated with only by means of a glove, upon which were printed the letters of the alphabet. At fifty an operation restored a bare gleam of vision, enabling him to find his way by dayHght.

Before his blindness he had received the bare rudiments of an English education in the country schools of that day. Later he spent a year at the Kentucky Institute for the Blind, and fourteen months at the Ohio Institute, leaving the latter when about twenty years of age. Meanwhile he had applied himself earnestly to the study of music. His mental activity seems to have been stimulated by his deprivations. He read eagerly everything printed in raised type, and, until he lost his hearing, extended his knowledge of books with the aid of friends who enjoyed reading aloud to him.

Of the poems in this volume, most were written after Mr. Heady 's fortieth year. I have said they are almost unique in interest ; nor do I use this term simply because their author is blind and deaf. They contain one of the most elaborate experiments in hexameter yet made by an English poet, and that, too, by an English poet entirely ignorant of the classic models. The grammarian, Noble Butler, once congratulated Mr. Heady on this fact, on the ground that a knowledge of Homeric and Virgilian hexameter could not but impede an English poet. Whether fortunate or unfortunate in this respect, Mr.

INTRODUCTION. vil

Heady may have done something toward setthng the question of the possibility of the verse in Enghsh. When he began his experiments with it he was under the influence of Longfellow ; but he soon perceived that Longfellow could not be his guide, and struck out boldly for himself. He discarded wholly the idea of quantity, and based his line on accent and syllabic, number. In a few places he has even ventured on a decided innovation in the shape of a foot of one syllable — a strong monosyllabic word, followed by a marked pause, as in the latter of the two following lines :

*• Hymnings Immortal, to which the numberless hearts of the living Throb, throb throb, and measure the music forever."

Besides the present volume, Mr. Heady has pubhshed " Burl," a vigorous story of pioneer life in Kentucky, which will be re-issued if the demand for another edition prove sufficiently strong. He is the author, also, of "The Farmer Boy," a life of Washington, widely circulated thirty years ago ; and has written several unpublished stories for children. It seems to me well worth while, in these days, to bring into notice a life thus spent. The spectacle of a strong man, shut off by tragic mischance from almost every path of usefulness, accepting his grim fate with buoyant good humor, and triumphing over darkness and loneliness — such a spectacle is, I say, both rare and inspiring. There is no note of despair viii INTRODUCTION.

in his verse ; no trace of disappointment in his bearing. I think of him when I read that noble sonnet of Marston's:

" Sharp was the bread of my soul's nourishing Which fate allowed, and bitter was the spring Of which I drank and maddened, even as they Who, wild with thirst at sea, will not delay, But drink the brine and die of its sharp sting. Not gentle was my war with chance ; and yet I borrowed no man's sword ; alone I drew And gave my slain fit burial out of view. In secret places I and sorrow met. So, when you count my sins, do not forget To say I taxed not any one of you."

Abraham Flexner.

Louisville, December 21, 1900.

Contents

Thr Double Night : Page

I. Darkness 1

II. Silence 5

I. ]v\rkness

There is a harp that once with dirges thrilled,

But now hangs hushed in leaden slumbers, Save when the hand by grief untimely chilled,

Steals o'er its chords in faltering numbers. It hangs in halls where shades of sorrow dwell, Where echoless silence tolls the passing bell. Where shadowless darkness weaves the shrouding spell

Of dead delights and long-gone years. Go bring it me, sweet friend, whoe'er thou art — The sweeter still, if blithe — and ere we part, A tale I'll weave, so sad 'twill wring thy heart

Of all its pity, all its tears.

2 THE DOUBLE NIGHTo

As filful shadows round me gather fast,

And solemn watch my thoughts are holding, Comes Memory, Panoramlst of the Past,

The rising morn of life unfolding. Now fade from view all living toil and strife, Time past is now my present ; death, my life ;

All that exists is obsolete ; While o'er my soul there steals the pensive glow Of sainted joys that young years only know, And past scenes, looming dimly, rise and throw

Their lengthening shadows at my feet.

I see a morn, domed in by pictured skies. And spread with blossoms of a thousand dyes;

The dew is on Its budding pleasures. The gladsome early sunlight on it lies. And to it from this dark my pent soul flies

As misers nightly to their treasures.

Another day. In sable vesture clad,

AH drear with newborn pleasures blighted. Comes blindly groping through the twilight sad,

Like one in moonless mists benighted. Oh, day unhappy, could oblivion roll Its slumberous billows o'er my shrinking soul,

Scarce could I thee e'en then forget, For life, bereft of light, no memory needs To tell of night that ne'er to morning leads,

Of day that Is forever set.

THE DOUBLE NIGHTo 3

From yonder sky the noonward sun was torn

Ere day-dawn's rosy hues had banished, As starless midnight blotted out the morn

Ere childhood's dewy joys had vanished. No slow-paced twilight ushered in the night ; A spangled web, the heavens were swept from sight ;

The full moon fled and never waned; And all of earth that's beautiful and fair Became as shadows in the empty air —

A boundless, blackened blank remained !

I heard the gates of night, with sullen jar,

Close on the cheerful day forever. Hope from my sky sank like the Evening-star,

Which finds in darkness, zenith never: Scarce could she more, where night held boundless

swa)', Than through departed, vouch returning day

And shapes of beauty, grace and bloom, And fair-formed joys that once around me danced Bewildered grew where sunbeams never glanced,

And lost their way in that wide gloom.

Pensylla, many and fair have been the }'ears Since last the starred expanse of heaven,

The sweet ascent of morn through smiles and tears, The soft descent of pensive even.

Or sight of hill and plain, in green arrayed,

Vernal resplendence, or autumnal shade. Or winter's sheen or summer's blaze,

Or those fair works that trophy man's abode,

Or him oft called the image of his God,

Shone on my rapt and wondering gaze.

Look, gentle guide ! thou seest the imperial sun

Forth sending far his ambient glory, O'er laughing fields and frowning highlands dun,

O'er glancing streams and woodlands hoary. In orient clouds he steeps his amber hair; With beams far slanting through the flaming air, Bids earth, with all her hymning sound, declare

The praise of everlasting light. On my bared head I feel his pitying ray ; He loves to shine on my benighted way ; But, ah, Pensylla ! me he brings no day.

Nor yet his setting, deeper nigHt.

Prime gift of God, that veil'st His sovereign throne,

And dost of Him in sense remind me. Blest light of heaven, why hast thou from me flown?

To these sad shades, why hast resigned me ? On pinions of surpassing beauty borne, When nature hails the glad advance of morn,

In thine unsullied loveliness Thou comest, but to my darkened eyes in vain ; My night, e'en in the noon of thy domain, Yields not to thee, since joy of thine again

Can ne'er my dayless being bless.

II. Silence

Next, Silence, fit companion of the Night,

In depths more lone my being steeping. Like the felt presence of an unseen sprite,

With muffled tread, comes creeping, creeping. Before me close her smothering curtain swings, And o'er my life a cumbering shadow flings,

Sinking with pitiless weight, and slow. To shroud the last sweet glimpse of Earth and Man, And set my limits to the narrow span

Of but an arm's length here below.

Oh, whither shall I fly, this stroke to shun ?

Where turn me, this side death and heaven? Almost I would my course on earth were run,

And all to Night and vSilence given ! I turn to man : can he but wnth me mourn ? Alike we're helpless, and, as sea-waifs borne,

We to a common haven float.

To Him, th' All-seeing and All-hearing One, Behold, I turn ! More hid than He there's none,

More silent none, none more remote !

Alas ! Pensylla, stay that gentle tear ! Now nearer come, I fain thy voice would hear — Like music when the soul is dreaming.

Like music dropping from a far-off sphere, Heard by the good, when Hfe's end draweth near,

It faintly comes, a spirit's seeming. The sounds that once entranced me, ear and soul — The voice of winds and waves, the thunder's roll,

The steed's proud neigh, and lamb's meek plaint, The hum of bees, the vesper hymn of birds. The rural harmony of flocks and herds, The song of joy, or praise, and man's sweet words,

Come to me fainter, yet more faint.

Was my poor soul to God's great works so dull

That they from her must hide forever ? Earth too replete with joy, too beautiful

For me, ingrate, that we must sever? By blossom-scented airs that round mc blow, By transient showers, the sun's impassioned glow, And smell of woods and fields, alone I know

Of spring's approach, and summer's bloom ; And by the air, with frost-nipped foliage sweet, By noontide beams, low-slanting, scant of heat, By icy winds, encumbering snow, and sleet,

Of autumn's blight, and winter's gloom.

As at the entrance of an untrod cave,

I shrink — so hushed the shades, and somber.

This death of sense makes life a breathing grave, A vital death, a waking slumber !

'Tis as the lieht itself of God were fled

THE DOUBLE NIGHT.

And things of lite took shadow from the dead,

Nor hope of change, one ray I find ! Yet must submit, though fled fore'er the light. Though utter silence bring me double night,

Though to my insulated mind.

Her richest pages knowledge ne'er unfold, And human face I ne'er again behold

Yet must submit, must be resigned !

III. To The Shades

To thee, blind Milton, solemn son of night, Great exiled one from day's dominion bright,

Whose genius, steeped in truth and glory, Like some wide orb of new-created light, Rose on the world, bewildering mortal's sight,

I'll sing, till earth's young hills grow hoary ! For what of joy I've found in life's dark way, And what of excellence attain I may,

Some part is due thy wondrous rhyme, Which sang the triumphs of Eternal Truth, Revealed blest glimpses of immortal youth,

Of Heaven, ere angels sang of time, Of light that o'er the embryon tumult broke, Of earth, when mid the sinking stars she woke, Till man, as if from heaven a seraph spoke,

Entranced, hung on thy strains sublime.

Day shuts on earth his one all-piercing eye,

That Night, her azure lids unsealing, May ope her thousand in a loftier sky,

God's higher mysteries revealing. Thus, when thy day from thee its light withdrew, And o'er thee night its rueful shadows threw,

And ** from the cheerful ways of men " Thou wert cut off, thy mind, thick set with eyes. As night with stars, pierced thy enshrouded skies.

And proving most illumined then, When darkest seeming, soared on star-eyed wings Higher than night, to see and tell of things

Invisible to mortal ken.

O'er earth thy numbers shall not cease to roll

Till man, to live, who to them hearkened ; Thy fame, no less immortal than thy soul.

Shall shine when yon proud sun is darkened. Thee now, methinks, I see, O bard divine ! Where ripen no fair joys that are not thine, And God's full love is pleased on thee to shine,

Still by the sacred Muses fired. And starred among the angelic minstrel band, The epic lyre thou sway'st with sovereign hand, While seraphs, e'en enraptured round thee stand

As one, like them, by God inspired.

Sublime Beethoven, wizard king of sound, Once exiled from thy realm, but not discrowned, E'en now my soul, in memory thrilling,

By thy surpassing strains, is oft spellbound, As through the hush of years they still resound,

With music weird my spent ear filling, When Silence clasped thee in her dismal spell. And earth-born Music sang her sad farewell.

Thy mighty genius, as in scorn, Arose in silent majesty to dwell, Where from symphonic spheres thou heardst to swell,

As on celestial breezes borne, Sounds heard by mortals only in their dreams, Which, at thy bidding, wrought a thousand themes, And, pouring down in rich, pellucid streams,

Filled organ grand and resonant horn ; With rarest sweetness touched each dulcet string. Made martial bugle and bold clarion ring. Soft flute provoked, like the lone bird of spring,

Fo warble lays of love forlorn ; Woke shrilly reed to many a pastoral note, Thrilled witching lyre, and lips melodious smote. Till earth, in tuneful ether, seemed to float,

As when first sang the stars of morn ! Till wondering angels were entranced to chime, With harp and choral tongue, thy strain sublime. And bear thy soul beyond the reach of time,

Heaven^s halls harmonious to adorn.

Ah me! could I through '' drop serene" thus scan Celestial things, else hid from mortal man, I'd deem this night a day supernal !

Could music breathed from some far singing sphere, Float nightly down, and thrill my stricken ear, I'd pray this hush might be eternal!