There is a Fold, once dearly bought,But opened now to all,Reaching from regions high as thought,Low as our race can fall.Far up among the sunny hills,Where breaks the earliest day;Down where the deepest shadow chillsThe wanderer's downward way;—There some have seen a Shepherd standWho guards it day and night;Mightier than all His gentle hand,His eyes the source of light.I know the feeblest that have e'erEntered those precincts blest,Find everlasting safety there,Freedom and life and rest.But I have wandered far astray,Blinded, and wearied sore;How can I find the plainest way,Or reach the nearest door?The silence with a Voice is fraught!When did I hear that tone?—Awful as thunder, soft as thought,Familiar as my own."I am the Door," those words begin—I press towards that Voice,And, ere I know it, am within,And all within rejoice.
There is a Fold, once dearly bought,But opened now to all,Reaching from regions high as thought,Low as our race can fall.
Far up among the sunny hills,Where breaks the earliest day;Down where the deepest shadow chillsThe wanderer's downward way;—
There some have seen a Shepherd standWho guards it day and night;Mightier than all His gentle hand,His eyes the source of light.
I know the feeblest that have e'erEntered those precincts blest,Find everlasting safety there,Freedom and life and rest.
But I have wandered far astray,Blinded, and wearied sore;How can I find the plainest way,Or reach the nearest door?
The silence with a Voice is fraught!When did I hear that tone?—Awful as thunder, soft as thought,Familiar as my own.
"I am the Door," those words begin—I press towards that Voice,And, ere I know it, am within,And all within rejoice.
There is a Palace vast and bright,Athwart the night's cold gloomStream its soft music and warm light—A Palace, yet a Home.The guests who are invited thereAre called therein to dwell:"Laden with sin, oppressed with care,"The calling suits me well.They say none ever knocked in vain;Yet I have often tried,And scarce have strength to try again.Will one then be denied?Again that Voice my spirit thrills,So strange, yet so well known,Divine as when it rent the hills,Yet human as my own.The golden portals softly melt,Like clouds around the sun,And where they stood, and where I knelt,Behold that matchless One!He pleads for me, He pleads with me,He hears ere I can call;Jesus! my first step is to Thee,And Thy first gift isall!
There is a Palace vast and bright,Athwart the night's cold gloomStream its soft music and warm light—A Palace, yet a Home.
The guests who are invited thereAre called therein to dwell:"Laden with sin, oppressed with care,"The calling suits me well.
They say none ever knocked in vain;Yet I have often tried,And scarce have strength to try again.Will one then be denied?
Again that Voice my spirit thrills,So strange, yet so well known,Divine as when it rent the hills,Yet human as my own.
The golden portals softly melt,Like clouds around the sun,And where they stood, and where I knelt,Behold that matchless One!
He pleads for me, He pleads with me,He hears ere I can call;Jesus! my first step is to Thee,And Thy first gift isall!
IIn a room in a stately mansion, a little babe lay in its mother's arms. All kinds of beautiful things were around, and many people passed in and out. Pictures by the first masters were on the walls; the rarest exotics filled the air with choice perfumes. The chair in which the mother sat was gilded and tapestried; the carpet her feet rested on was soft as mossy turf, and delicate as embroidery. Jewels sparkled on her dress. The windows opened on a magnificent landscape of park and lake, woodland and distant hills. But the little babe saw nothing but its mother's smile—understood nothing but that it was on its mother's knee. Its only consciousness was, "Thou and I!" and love.
In a room in a stately mansion, a little babe lay in its mother's arms. All kinds of beautiful things were around, and many people passed in and out. Pictures by the first masters were on the walls; the rarest exotics filled the air with choice perfumes. The chair in which the mother sat was gilded and tapestried; the carpet her feet rested on was soft as mossy turf, and delicate as embroidery. Jewels sparkled on her dress. The windows opened on a magnificent landscape of park and lake, woodland and distant hills. But the little babe saw nothing but its mother's smile—understood nothing but that it was on its mother's knee. Its only consciousness was, "Thou and I!" and love.
The railway train was entering a long tunnel. The babe was still on its mother's knee. The darkness grew deeper. The heavy train thundered through the hollow earth. Another met it, and rushed past with a deafening din. An older child in the carriage screamed with terror. Many of the passengers felt uneasy, and were impatient to see the light again. But the babe cared nothing for the noise or the darkness. It looked in the dim lamp-light into its mother's face, and saw her smile,and smiled again. It knew nothing of the world but "Thou and I!" and love.
The ship was tossing fearfully on the stormy sea. Every timber strained, every wave seemed as if it must engulf the vessel. The weak and timid cried out in an agony of fear. The brave and loving moved about with white, compressed lips, and contracted brows, striving now and then to say some brief re-assuring words to those for whose safety they feared. But the babe lay tranquil and happy in its mother's arms. Her breast was to it a shelter against the world. It knew nothing of danger or fear. Its world was, "Thou and I!" and love.
Years passed away, and the babe grew into a child, and the child into a man. His life was one of many vicissitudes, of passionate hopes, and bitter sorrows, and wild ambition. He worshipped the world in many forms, and wandered further and further from the Father's house, until the world which first had beguiled him with its choicest things came to feed him on its husks; and a long way off he thought of the Father and the home, and rose to return. His steps were doubtful and slow, but the heart which met him had no hesitation and no upbraidings. Then the wanderer understood the love with which he had been watched and pitied all those desolate years, the love with which he was welcomed now. The earth, and sky, and human life grew sacred and beautiful to him as they had never been, because through them all a living Presence was around him, a living heart met him; and, as of old on his mother's knee, once more, as he looked up to God his Father, his world became only "Thou and I!" and love.
His life moved rapidly on to its dark goal. He had to leave the sunshine of earth, its pleasant fields and cherished homes, and all familiar things, for ever. The light grew dimmer, and the darkness deepened. But he had no fear. In the darkness,and the bewildering rush of new experience, he was again as the babe on the mother's knee. To him there was no darkness, no confusion. He looked into his Father's face, and smiled. Life and death and earth, all he left, and all he went to, were as nothing to him then. He had nothing but that one living, loving Presence; but it was enough. Again it was "Thou and I!" and love.
And death found that childlike and angelic smile upon his lips, and left it there.
A day will come of storm, and fire, and tempest, and convulsion, when earth and heaven shall mingle and be rolled up as a scroll and pass away. But in that day what will such have to fear? Amidst all the convulsed worlds the redeemed will rest tranquil as the infant in the storm on its mother's breast. For amidst it all their eyes will rest on the Face which was bowed in death to save them, and will know no fear. It will be, "Thou and I, and Thou art love!" for ever.
Autumn was on the earthWhen Summer came to me,The Summer in the soul,And set the life-springs free.Darkness was on my life,A heavy weight of night,When the Sun arose within,And filled my heart with light.Ice lay upon my heart,Ice-fetters still and strong,When the living spring gushed forthAnd filled my soul with song.That Summer shall not fade,That Sun it setteth never;The Fountain in my heartSprings full and fresh for ever.Since I have learned Thy love,My Summer, Lord, Thou art;Summer to me, and Day,And life springs in my heart.Since I have learnedthou art,thou livest, and art Love,Art Love, and lovest me—Fearless I look above!Thy blood can cleanse from sin,Thy love casts out my fear;Heaven is no longer far,Since Thou, its Sun, art near.
Autumn was on the earthWhen Summer came to me,The Summer in the soul,And set the life-springs free.
Darkness was on my life,A heavy weight of night,When the Sun arose within,And filled my heart with light.
Ice lay upon my heart,Ice-fetters still and strong,When the living spring gushed forthAnd filled my soul with song.
That Summer shall not fade,That Sun it setteth never;The Fountain in my heartSprings full and fresh for ever.
Since I have learned Thy love,My Summer, Lord, Thou art;Summer to me, and Day,And life springs in my heart.
Since I have learnedthou art,thou livest, and art Love,Art Love, and lovest me—Fearless I look above!
Thy blood can cleanse from sin,Thy love casts out my fear;Heaven is no longer far,Since Thou, its Sun, art near.
FOOTNOTES:[4]Suggested by a passage in Sartorius' "Lehre von der heiligen Liebe," contrasting the world, "Ich und Nicht Ich," with the Christian's world, "Ich und Du."
[4]Suggested by a passage in Sartorius' "Lehre von der heiligen Liebe," contrasting the world, "Ich und Nicht Ich," with the Christian's world, "Ich und Du."
[4]Suggested by a passage in Sartorius' "Lehre von der heiligen Liebe," contrasting the world, "Ich und Nicht Ich," with the Christian's world, "Ich und Du."
What makes things musical?
TThe Sun!" said the Forest. "In the night I am still and voiceless. A weight of silence lies upon my heart. If you pass through me, the sound of your own footstep echoes fearfully, like the foot-fall of a ghost. If you speak to break the spell, the silence closes in on your words, like the ocean on a pebble you throw into it. The wind sighs far off among the branches, as if he were hushing his breath to listen. If a little bird chirps uneasily in its nest, it is silenced before you can find out whence the sound came. But the dawn breaks. Before a gray streak can be seen, my trees feel it, and quiver through every old trunk and tiny twig with joy; my birds feel it, and stir dreamily in their nests, as if they were just murmuring to each other, 'How comfortable we are!' Then the wind awakes, and tunes my trees for the concert, striking his hand across one and another, until all their varied harmonies are astir; whilst the soft, liquid rustlings of my oaks and beeches make the rich treble to the deep, plaintive tones of my pines. Then my early birds awake one by one, and answer each other in sweet responses, until the SUN rises, and the whole joyous chorus bursts into song to the organ and flute accompaniments of my evergreens and summer leaves; and in the pauses countless happy insects chirp, and buzz, and whirl with contented murmuring among myferns and flower-bells. Thesunmakes me musical," said the Forest.
The Sun!" said the Forest. "In the night I am still and voiceless. A weight of silence lies upon my heart. If you pass through me, the sound of your own footstep echoes fearfully, like the foot-fall of a ghost. If you speak to break the spell, the silence closes in on your words, like the ocean on a pebble you throw into it. The wind sighs far off among the branches, as if he were hushing his breath to listen. If a little bird chirps uneasily in its nest, it is silenced before you can find out whence the sound came. But the dawn breaks. Before a gray streak can be seen, my trees feel it, and quiver through every old trunk and tiny twig with joy; my birds feel it, and stir dreamily in their nests, as if they were just murmuring to each other, 'How comfortable we are!' Then the wind awakes, and tunes my trees for the concert, striking his hand across one and another, until all their varied harmonies are astir; whilst the soft, liquid rustlings of my oaks and beeches make the rich treble to the deep, plaintive tones of my pines. Then my early birds awake one by one, and answer each other in sweet responses, until the SUN rises, and the whole joyous chorus bursts into song to the organ and flute accompaniments of my evergreens and summer leaves; and in the pauses countless happy insects chirp, and buzz, and whirl with contented murmuring among myferns and flower-bells. Thesunmakes me musical," said the Forest.
What makes things musical?
"Storms!" said the Sea. "In calm weather I lie still and sleep, or, now and then, say a few quiet words to the beaches I ripple on, or the boats which glide through my waters. But in the tempest you learn what my voice is, when all my slumbering powers awake, and I thunder through the caverns, and rush with all my battle-music on the rocks; whilst, between the grand artillery of my breakers, the wind peals its wild trumpet-peals, and the waters rush back to my breast from the cliffs they have scaled, in torrents and cascades, like the voices of a thousand rivers. My music is battle-music.Stormsmake me musical," said the Sea.
What makes things musical?
"Action!" said the Stream. "I lay still in my mountain-cradle for a long while. It is very silent up there. Occasionally the shadow of an eagle swept across me with a wild cry; but generally, from morning till night, I knew no change save the shadows of my rocky cradle, which went round steadily with the sun; and the shadows of the clouds, which glided across me, without my ever knowing whence or whither. But the rocks and clouds are very silent. The singing-birds did not venture so high; and the insects had nothing to tempt them near me, because no honeyed flower-bells bent over me there—nothing but little mosses and gray lichens, and these, though very lovely, are quiet creatures, and make no stir. I used to find it monotonous sometimes, and longed to have power to wake the hills; and I should have found it more so, had I not felt I was growing, and should flow forth to bless the fields by-and-by. Every drop that fell into my rocky basin I welcomed; and then the spring rains came, and all my rocks sent me downlittle rills on every side, and the snows melted into my cup; and, at last, I rose beyond the rim of my dwelling, and was free. Then I danced down over the hills, and sang as I went, till all the lonely places were glad with my voice; and I tinkled over the stones like bells, and crept among my cresses like fairy flutes, and dashed over the rocks and plunged into the pools with all my endless harmonies.Actionmakes me musical," said the Stream.
What makes things musical?
"Suffering!" said the Harp-strings. "We were dull lumps of silver and copper ore in the mines; and no silence on the living, sunny earth is like the blank of voiceless ages in those dead and sunless depths. But, since then, we have passed through many fires. The hidden earth-fires underneath the mountains first moulded us, millenniums since, to ore; and then, in these last years, human hands have finished the training which makes us what we are. We have been smelted in furnaces heated seven times, till all our dross was gone; and then we have been drawn out on the rack, and hammered and fused, and, at last, stretched on these wooden frames, and drawn tighter and tighter, until we wonder at ourselves, and at the gentle hand which strikes such rich and wondrous chords and melodies from us—from us, who were once silent lumps of ore in the silent mines. Fires and blows have done it for us.Sufferinghas made us musical," said the Harp-strings.
What makes things musical?
"Union!" said the Rocks. "What could be less musical than we, as we rose in bare crags from the hill-tops, or lay strewn about in huge isolated boulders in the valleys? The trees which sprang from our crevices had each its voice; the forests which clothed our sides had all these voices blended in richest harmonies when the wind touched them; the streams whichgushed from our stony hearts sang joyous carols to us all day and all night long; the grasses and wild-flowers which clasped their tiny fingers round us had each some sweet murmur of delight as the breezes played with them; but we, who ever thought there was music in us? Yet now a human hand has gathered us from moor and mountain and lonely fell, and side by side we lie and give out music to the hand that strikes us. Thus we, who had lain for centuries unconscious that there was a note of music in our hearts, answer one another in melodious tones, and combine in rich chords, just because we have been brought together.Unionmakes us musical," said the Rocks.
What makes things musical?
"Life!" said the Oak-beam in the good ship. "I know it by its loss. Once I quivered in the forest at the touch of every breeze. Every living leaf of mine had melody, and all together made a stream of many-voiced music; whilst around me were countless living trees like myself, who woke at every dawn to a chorus in the morning breeze. But since the axe was laid at our roots, all the music has gone from our branches. We are useful still, they say, in the gallant ship, and our country mentions us with honour even in death; but the music has gone from us with life for ever, and we can only groan and creak in the storms.Lifemade us musical," said the Oak-beam.
What makes creatures musical?
"Joy!" laughed the Children, and their happy laughter pealed through the sweet fresh air as they bounded over the fields, as if it had caught the most musical tones of everything musical in nature—the ripple of waves, the tinkling of brooks, the morning songs of birds. "Joymakes creatures musical," said the Children.
What makes things musical?
"Love!" said the little Thrush, as he warbled to his mateon the spring morning; and the Mother, as she sang soft lullabies to her babe. And all the Creatures said—
"Amen!Lovemakes us musical. In Storms and Sunshine, Suffering and Joy, Action, Union, Life,Loveis the music at the heart of all.Lovemakes us musical," said all the Creatures.
And from the multitude before the throne, who, through fires of Tribulation and Storms of conflict, had learned the new song, and from depths of Darkness and the silence of Isolation had been brought together in the Light of Life to sing it, floated down a soft "Amen, forGodisLove."
TThe waves were plashing against the foot of the rocks, but the cave in which the little Child lived was far above their reach; and he lay still on his little bed of dry leaves and moss, in his soft warm clothing, and kept his eyes closed. One little hand lay on his bosom, and the other was stretched out and folded close over a tiny shell; and he lay quietly, with the last soft kisses of Slumber still sealing his eyelids, and talked in his heart to the waves.
The waves were plashing against the foot of the rocks, but the cave in which the little Child lived was far above their reach; and he lay still on his little bed of dry leaves and moss, in his soft warm clothing, and kept his eyes closed. One little hand lay on his bosom, and the other was stretched out and folded close over a tiny shell; and he lay quietly, with the last soft kisses of Slumber still sealing his eyelids, and talked in his heart to the waves.
"You are awake," he murmured. "You are always awake: night and day you sing, and dance, and roll over one another in play. You do not know what it is to sleep and to dream, nor what the joy of waking is. You sing by my bed all night, and in the morning I go and thank you. But it is not you who call me to rise from my bed." And as he spoke, a sunbeam darted across the tops of the waves, and gently crept from ledge to ledge of the old gray rocks until it pressed through the leaves which drooped over the mouth of the cave,and touched the Child's eyelids. Then he sprang joyfully up, for he knew the sun was awake and was smiling on him, and had sent him this sweet morning kiss to call him.
Meantime, the little cave had burst into an illumination: long crystals like icicles glistened on the roof, and the fine sand on the floor sparkled with a thousand gems; and the Child's heart was glad, for he knew all this was to welcome him and the sun. It was all the rocks and stones could do, and the Child looked gratefully round on the clean bright sand and the rock spars.
But his eyes rested with a different feeling on the little delicate lichens which held up their tiny cups towards him in the shade, and the soft mosses which crept in as far as they could feel the sunshine, and the leaves of the trees which grew outside. For these had each a life of its own; and each tiny threadlet of moss, and each little gray lichen cup, and every one of the green leaves of the trees, trembled and fluttered with a separate joy as the sunbeams smiled on them, the dews kissed them, or the eyes of the Child rested on them.
So he left the cave, to take his morning meal on the mossy bank outside, among the trees and wild-flowers.
The cave was at an angle of the cliffs. On one side a little shingly path sloped from it to the beach where the waves broke; whilst on the other, the path lay through shrubs and grassy slopes into a valley. The trees grew thicker and thicker as the path led farther up the valley; but the Child had never wandered far on that side: he loved the open beach and the sunny waves, and every day brought so many pleasures, that the sun was sinking on the other side of the sea before his day's work was done. Often on his little bed he planned a ramble up the valley, and in his dreams wandered along beneath the thick shade; but the morning always led his steps again to the shore.
On this morning he sat on his bank. The little stream whichtrickled by the cave, and then leaped over the edge of the cliff into the sea, filled the pure white cockle shell, which was his breakfast cup; the nuts and fruits which made his little feast were spread on limpet and pearly mussel shells; and as he sat and enjoyed his simple meal, his heart thanked the trees which fed him, and the joyous little stream which gave him drink, and the sea creatures whose empty dwellings made him such dainty plates and cups, and the sun which ripened and smiled on them all. The harebells trembled on their fragile stems around him, and the violets and many other sweet flowers peeped up at him from their soft nests of leaves; and he said to the flowers, "You and I are like each other; every one has some gift and joy for us, and we have nothing to give them back but our love and our smiles; yet they are content, for we all give each other all we can."
Then the harebells trembled faster than ever, for joy to hear the Child speak, and the violets gazed into his happy eyes. They could none of them speak,—that the Child knew; but they were still, and listened, and he could interpret their looks: so they understood each other, and were all the best friends.
But the Child was eager to reach his friends and playfellows on the sea-shore. Much as he loved the trees, and flowers, and delicate mosses, and well as he understood their meek, kind, listening looks, he would soon have grown weary of their mute, quiet ways: he longed for other voices besides his own, and the rich varieties of higher life.
"Do you never wish to wander, and never long for change?" he said to them one day. "I wish I could take you with me to see some of the wonderful things there are in the world. It must be monotonous always to look on the same patch of skyand the same stems and leaves! You must not be grieved if I go."
But as he spoke a breeze shook the branches of the tree above him, and gently parting them, let in a whole train of sunbeams on the mossy bank. And the young fern leaves, and the tender green mosses, and the violets, and all the flowers with the dew-drops on them, sparkled in the sunshine, and waved to and fro in the breeze, and seemed to grow even as he looked at them. Then the Child comprehended that every creature had its own measure of gladness full, and tripped joyfully away. His little white feet made music on the shingly path as he danced down the hill. But when he reached the gleaming strip of sunny sand at the foot of the rocks, he stepped more slowly and carefully, for all around him were his playfellows, and he often found some of them in want of his help.
This morning the shore was strewn with many well known to him, and some strange to him; for in the night the winds and waves had played rough gambols together, and had greatly disturbed many of the peaceable little dwellers in the deep.
The first thing he met was a Sea-anemone, stranded high on the beach, folding all its pretty flower-leaves into itself, and making itself look as ugly as it could. But the Child knew it well; and he gently laid his hand on it to carry it into a safer place. The little red and green and orange ball resented his interference, rolled itself a little on one side, and tried to bury itself in the sand. The Child spoke to it in its own language, and asked how it came there. The anemone replied by a little grunt. The family were not remarkable for clear articulation, and the Child could never get much out of them; but he met with no further resistance as he placed his hand beneath it and gently carried it to a favourite pool of his among the rocks. There he laid it down near the edge, where the water was shallow, and in a few minutes it shot out all its pretty feelers and rooted itself on the rock and expanded into a floral crown—verypetal striped with rose and fawn, every petal like a little busy finger, tossing to and fro in search of food and in the enjoyment of life. Thus the anemone thanked the Child, and from all its sensitive points and its rayed lips came to him a soft chorus of sweet vibrations of pleasure.
He could not listen long, but tripped back over the rocks to the beach, treading softly over the leaves of the large brown sea-weeds, whilst their air-bladders crackled cheerily under his feet; and on his way in crossing a channel of sand, drifted up among the low rocks, he came across a little crab, whose shy spasmodic movements so amused him that he sat down on a large stone and laughed till the rocks rang again.
All the creatures always looked very grave and puzzled when the Child laughed, and the small crab did not seem at all to like it, keeping his large projecting eyes fixed on him, and trying to hide himself, as he went, under the brown leaves, but still glaring from his retreat with an expression of wounded dignity.
At length the Child recovered his speech and said, "Are you in difficulties? Can I help you?"
The crab crept out of his hiding-place on being thus courteously addressed, and planting his two fore legs round a pebble, looked up at the Child, and opened his lips so wide that all his body seemed a mouth. Then clearing his voice gravely, he said, "There is no living in the sea in these times: the winds and waves are so inconsiderate and violent, I don't know what will be the end of it. Yesterday morning I had found a most convenient apartment, well plastered and furnished, so as to suit me to perfection. I had spent hours in hunting for such an eligible lodging, and congratulated myself on being at length settled for life: when in an instant a large wave broke over me and dashed my house to pieces on the shore. I hardly escaped with my life, and my nerves are so shaken that I can scarcely think calmly—a most harassing position for a crab of my standing."
"But," said the Child, "what do you mean byfindingyour house?—most of my friends here build their own."
"That is not my profession," said the crab rather conceitedly; "none of our family were brought up to anything of the kind. Of course it is necessary that some people should be masons and carpenters, but we have all our work done for us."
"What do you do then?" asked the Child.
The crab looked a little embarrassed, but he was too well bred for this to last, so he replied rather evasively, "We eat, and drink, and observe the world; we travel, and occasionally fight, and criticise what other people do. I assure you it is no idle life: so few people understand their own business."
The Child did not altogether like the tone of the crab's conversation, and he replied rather warmly,—
"I don't know what you mean. All my friends, the cockles, the whelks, and the limpets, do their work a great deal better than I could; and I love to watch them."
"Very likely," said the crab, in a cool tone, for he was accustomed to good society; "the whelk family do indeed put their work out of hand in a masterly way; in fact we generally employ them."
"What do they do for you?" asked the Child.
"They build very commodious little residences, quite suitable for people who travel as much as we do, and then leave them to us."
"You live in empty whelk shells, then!" said the Child.
"We migrate from one such residence to another," replied the crab. "When we outgrow one, we abandon it and hunt for another; and occasionally, when we find a convenient one still tenanted, and cannot make the creature within understand our wants, especially if he begins to talk any nonsense about the rights of property and the claims of labour, we turn him out."
"That is stealing," said the Child indignantly.
"Excuse me," said the crab, "we call it conquest. We are soldiers on our own account—free companions. But I must be on my travels again. To-morrow, if you will call, we shall no doubt be able to renew our acquaintance under more agreeable circumstances."
And the Soldier-crab withdrew his long legs from the pebble, and marched away with a braggadocio air among the sea-weeds.
"I do not call you a soldier," said the Child; "you fight for no one but yourself. I call you a housebreaker and a thief;" and he rose with a flushed face slowly, and went on his way, lost in thought until he reached the little beach at the foot of the rocks. The sea had retreated whilst he had been away, and the Child soon forgot his conversation with the crab in watching the waves, dipping his feet in one, and then running away from the next.
So he played until he was tired, and then looking round he saw a lump of jelly stranded just beyond the reach of the tide.
It was clear as crystal, except a little purple colouring in rings at the edge. When the Child touched it with his foot it made a slight plaintive moan, and murmured, "I am alive; be gentle to me."
"How could I know that?" said the Child; "I would not hurt you for the world; I thought you were only a bit of something."
"If you had only seen me last evening," sighed the Medusa. "We were sailing, a fleet of us, far out in the deep sea; we thought it was to be calm, and we came up from the dark depths, to bask in the sunshine. And now I am separated from all my companions, and left to die here."
"How did you come here?" said the Child kindly; "may you not return by the same way?"
"How can I tell how I came here?" sighed the Medusa; "there was darkness, and thunder, and confusion,—waveshurling one another about, until sea and sky were all mixed, and the surface was as dark as the caves below. And I was like a bubble on the breakers, until one dashed me in beyond the reach of the others, and I am left here to die."
"You shall not die," said the Child. And gently taking up the shapeless mass in both his little hands, he carried it to the edge of a rock, which rose perpendicularly out of a deep creek, and there he threw it into the sea.
The Medusa stretched her crystal body joyously,—the receding waves bore her out to sea before she could thank the Child; but he rejoiced in her happiness, and turned back with a light heart to rest in his own little dwelling. For the sun was approaching the west, and crimson rays began to tint the upper surfaces of the waves, while their shadows became blue and dark. And as he climbed the little path, and rested on his little bed that night, he thought, "How glorious it must be far out in the deep sea!"
The next morning, when the Child came down on the beach, the sea lay calm and bright, as if the world were opening her blue eyes, and gazing full into the heavens and drinking in their smiles.
The Child found little to set right; all the creatures were so busy at their various employments that none but the waves had time to play with him; and even they crept lazily in, as if they were half asleep, and hardly took the trouble to chase him when he ran from them. So the sunshine and the quiet stole also into the merry heart of the Child, and he seated himself beside the transparent rock-pool to watch and listen.
The first thing that attracted his attention was his friend the Sea-anemone, expanding its flowery disk like a sun-flower in the crystal water, with three companions rooted to the rockbeside it. They all seemed to feel the presence of the Child, and spread themselves like flowers in the sunshine as he smiled on them. And clinging to a rock beside them a tiny star expanded itself with long petals like a daisy, silently stirring its delicate rays to and fro.
"Why are you never still?" said the Child.
"Because every movement is pleasure," it replied, "and every breath I draw is a feast. My little fingers are always making little whirlpools and drawing food into my lips."
"Are you always eating and drinking?" said the Child.
"Very often," said the sea-daisy, or anemone, not in the least abashed; "it is so pleasant." And all the anemones echoed her words.
"Sometimes we rest," she added.
"You sleep," said the Child; "then do you dream?"
"I do not exactly know what you mean," said the snaky-locked anemone, "but it is all very pleasant."
The Child was silent and watched them, and as he listened he caught the sound of a low sweet song, which issued from their lips; but not only from theirs—it was vibrating all around him, the whole air and the crystal water seemed full of soft music. And the Child sat still and listened.
As he listened and looked, wonder after wonder opened before him, as if veil after veil were removed from his eyes. He was not often so long still.
Just below where he sat a little solid sand-bridge spanned the pool. It was full of small holes; and as he looked he perceived that each hole was the entrance to a tube, and the whole bridge was built of these tubes, carefully fitted into one another and glued together.
"Who built this?" he asked.
Instantly a hundred little heads came peeping out of the entrances of the tubes. Each little head was encircled with a delicate ruffle, made not of lace but of exquisite white feathers;and from each little head, as it waved its two little feelers to and fro, came the answer—
"We built the bridge, and we live in it."
Then the Child saw that the pretty sand-bridge was also a city, and was hollowed all through into chambers—each with its beautiful happy little tenant; and he could have watched them all day, the delicate fringed heads peeping out on the clear water-world, each from its own little dwelling built by itself, whilst underneath the arch young shrimps and tiny fishes flashed to and fro.
"Do you build anything besides bridges?" he asked at length.
"Look around you," answered the hundred little busy heads in chorus. And as he looked he saw that the sides of the pool were in many places covered with similar sand-chambers. Here ran out a pier far into the crystal water, dividing it into tiny bays and creeks; there rose a toy citadel, and near it a miniature cliff with peaks; and everywhere, from tiny cliffs, and citadels, and piers, and moles, and bridges, peeped out hundreds of the same delicate little ruffled heads, like courtiers of the olden time.
The Child clapped his hands for pleasure, and longed to see the soldier-crab and make him ashamed of himself.
"But what do you do when the tide is low, and your little cities are left dry?" he asked.
"We each fill up the doorway of our chamber with a drop of water, and retire into the darkness until the next tide," replied the little courtiers.
"I like you so much," said the Child; "tell me more."
"We have many relations who dress much more magnificently than we do. Some of them have ruffs of rose-colour and crimson, and we are quite dwarfs beside them."
"Do they build cities like you?"
"They do not live in cities," was the reply. "They make their houses more like the cockles and whelks, and live apart:some fix their shelly houses flat on the rocks, some raise them high in the water so as to look around them, some build on oyster-shells far down in the deep sea; and these are the most beautiful of our race."
"I should like to see the deep sea," said the Child; "how beautiful it must be there! How can you go there?"
"We do not know," replied the heads; "we are dwellers in cities, and we are quite content where we are."
Then all the little heads vibrated joyously about, and the Child was silent and heard the sweet music again floating around him in chorus from the hundred little feathered heads.
As he sat still, a hairy little creature came sidling towards him over the rocks. Its head and legs and back were covered with hair; it looked like a miniature trunk of an old tree overgrown with moss, and the Child could not help laughing to see it waddling towards him. It was not until it came quite close that he saw it was a crab, and that what had seemed hairs were sea-weeds and plant-animals growing on its shell.
"What can you carry all that on your back for?" asked the Child, as soon as he could speak for laughing.
"I do not care in the least for it," said the crab good-naturedly. "I suppose they all enjoy it; and it makes very little difference to me as long as they do not come before my eyes."
And the hairy crab jerked itself merrily on, with the tiny forest on its back. The merry laughter of the Child rang again among the rocks, and it was some minutes before he began to look and listen again. Then he gently drew back a quantity of brown sea-weeds, which were shading his side of the pool, that he might see further into it.
Underneath the heavy brown leaves grew a tiny forest of crimson corallines, fringing the pool all around, and throwing out their delicate branches on all sides. These were motionless in the still water—a fairy forest, motionless and beautiful, as ifit had been enchanted into stone. But beneath them and among them darted and flashed countless tiny living creatures, enjoying every breath of their lives;—little shell-fish opened and shut their shells to breathe and eat; at the bottom, through the transparent water, many beautiful anemones expanded their crowns of flowers; sea-snails thrust their horns out of their pretty shells, and browsed on the green sea-herbage; star-fish spread their pointed rays, beaded with orange, and clung with their hundred little cushioned fingers to the rocks; whilst all around, from the sides, peeped the tiny heads of the dwellers in the sand cities. The little crystal pool was a world of happy living beings of many races, each race having its own work and enjoyments; and from them all floated around the Child the sweet soft song, like a sweet hymn. But there were no words.
"What are you always singing?" asked the Child.
"We do not know the words," they answered. "We wait for you to sing them to us, and then the song will be complete."
"Where can I learn them?" said the Child.
"We do not know," they answered; and the sweet music floated on, rising and falling like a joyous, solemn hymn.
"I wonder if they know the words far out in the deep sea," thought the Child.
And he went silently home to his cave.
That night the Child dreamed that he was floating in the star-light, far out on the deep sea, and strange creatures came up from the sea-caves, and looked, and looked at him, and sang of their homes among the pearls and corals, whilst he lay floating in a dream, until the moon arose and the moonbeams embraced him, and carried him softly back by a pathway of light to his own little bed in the cave. When he awoke, the moon waslooking on him from her place far up in the depths of heaven, yet touching his cheek with her silver sceptre, and the Child longed exceedingly that his dream might come true.
He soon fell asleep again; but in the morning he was full of schemes how he might sail out into the deep sea.
He knew it was of no use speaking of it to the quiet flowers; so he went down as quickly as he could to the beach to consult his friends there.
They could none of them help him. The crabs took no interest at all in the subject, and the limpets and mussels evidently thought it a very wild idea. The whelks entered a little more into it; and he could not help hoping he might fall in with another medusa. But at length, after many fruitless inquiries, the Child seated himself, rather despondingly, on his old station by the rock-pool.
There his eyes lighted on a stone covered with a number of delicate little cups, like alabaster vases, each fastened to the rock by its stem. He was beginning to move one when a small whelk shell near made a slight rattling on the rocks, and two little horns, with two black eyes at their roots, peeped out to see what was the matter.
"Take care," said the whelk, "you are disturbing my nursery."
Then the Child saw that each of the white vases was a little egg-cup carefully fastened to the rock, and he begged the whelk's pardon.
"Do you go out to sea?" he asked.
"Some of my relations do," replied the whelk; "and I myself have occasionally floated among the great waves; but it is rather dangerous."
"I would not mind the danger," said the Child, "if you would teach me how."
The whelk had no idea how to teach any one, so the subject dropped.
In a few minutes, as the Child was gazing idly over the rocks, he observed on the top of one of them a number of little shells opening and shutting under the shallow water, whilst through the openings little feathery heads kept darting in and out.
"Are you limpets?" he asked.
"No connection," was the reply.
"Oh, I thought you were limpet shells broken and mended," said the Child. "Are you related to the builders of the sand-bridges?"
"Not at all," answered the feathery heads. "We are Balanuses. In our youth we were great voyagers, and floated about on the waves. But now we have grown wiser. We have thrown off our legs and eyes, and built ourselves these little chambers with folding-doors, and are settled down respectably for life."
The Child could scarcely help laughing at the idea of any one finding it a comfort to throw away his legs and eyes; but he thought it would not be respectful towards elderly gentlemen, who had seen so much of the world, so he said, as gravely as he could, "Was it not pleasant dancing about among the great waves?"
"Very well for young people," was the answer, "or for those who cannot provide for themselves otherwise; but to have a drawing-room with folding-doors, and stay at home when it is dry, or feel about when it is wet, just as one likes, is quite a different thing."
And the little heads swayed about so happily, making tiny whirlpools to suck in their food, that the Child had no doubt they were as happy as they could be, and wisely resolved to be the same.
So the thin cloud of discontent was blown away, though not the desire to see the far-off wonders; and as he sat and watched in happy silence, the soft music of the living creatures againbroke on his ear. And as he looked and listened, new wonders burst on him, new doors of beauty kept springing open in the fairy palace of the rock-pool. Hairy stems of the large brown sea-weeds blossomed, as he looked, into a thousand little living stars, vibrating their sensitive rays to and fro in the crystal water. The scales which spotted them proved to be a honeycomb of countless cells, every one of which had its little living busy tenant; and a tiny withered-looking stalk, with knobs at the end of the branches, suddenly shot out from each little knob numbers of busy little fingers, feeling in all directions for food,—whilst through all flowed the sweet solemn song, so that the Child lingered in happy wonder until the little creeks grew invisible in the shade and the water plashed with a cold sound. The little rock-borers kindled their bluish-white lamps, in the depths of their tiny caves, to light him home; and when he reached the mossy bank, the glow-worms were awaiting him with their rows of coloured lamps, illuminating the mossy bank as for a festival; and the rock-pools shone like steel mirrors, with a cold gray light, among the dark rocks. Then he returned to his cave.
But still the longing grew within him to learn the words of the Song, and he thought, "I wonder if they could teach it me far out on the deep sea?"
His friends and playfellows on the shore saw his thoughtful looks, for they all looked to him and loved him as their joy and crown, their darling and their little King; and they often consulted together how they could give him his wish.
One calm bright morning, when the Child had been busy rendering services to many of his sea friends, who had lost their way or had been roughly treated by the waves, he came to rest himselfby the rock-pool. There a great surprise and delight awaited him. A large volute, nearly related to some of his friends the whelks, had entangled his shell among some long fronds of floating sea-weed: with him were swimming two creatures, very beautiful, but strangers to the Child, and the whole formed a little fairy raft, ready to take him out to the deep sea!
He understood it at once; his face flushed crimson with pleasure and gratitude, and for a moment his voice was choked so that he could not speak, for he thought, "Now I shall learn the words of the Song."
Then he clapped his hands and laughed aloud for joy, and thanked all the creatures, and seated himself on the sea-weed, buoyed up by its air-bladders, with one hand clasped round the volute, and the other laid on the strange spiral shell.
Thousands of the sand-borers of the sabella family thrust out their feathered heads to see him start, the hairy crab and many of his brothers glared after him with their eager eyes, and even the rock-borers—the hard-working pholases—crept out to the mouth of their dens to watch him.
"I shall soon come back to you," said the Child; "and then we will sing the Song together."
So the shell-fish plied their oars, and the other transparent creature spread its sail, and they and the Child floated away together.
The Child wished to know something of his new companions before he lost sight of all his old friends, so he politely asked them who they were.
One of them had a crystal body spotted with dark blue, from which many little fingers shot down into the water and played about like oars, whilst above rose a lovely little transparent sail, catching the breeze.
"Are you a medusa?" asked the Child.
"That is my family name," said the little boatman; "my own name is Velella."
"And you?" said the Child, turning to the other stranger, whose head came far out of his sculptured spiral shell, whilst a hundred delicate feelers played around it in the waves, "I never saw any one like you before."
"I am a nautilus," said the beautiful stranger. "Our family is one of the oldest in the world. We are nearly the last of our race. The days of our glory are well-nigh over, and we sail about here and there, a feeble and dwarfish race, where our ancestors reigned supreme and unrivalled."
The Child wondered at these words, and could scarcely make out their meaning; he had not dreamt about any world but the one he lived in, or any days before those which rose and set on him; all around him seemed so infinite and inexhaustible. And now the stranger, beautiful creature! spoke to him from the entrance of a dim and wonderful world, of which he knew nothing. So the Child sat silent, with endless wonder in his earnest blue eyes, and looked for the first time on the vision of the Past.
Then the Nautilus went on:—
"There was, they say, a time, before the mountains were uncovered, or one of the trees you know had blossomed, when there was nothing more beautiful or wiser than we in the world; and we dived into the sea caves, and floated about in the boundless waste of waters beneath the sun, and the moon, and the stars. Some of our race, who lived and reigned then, have perished for ever, and their burial-places form the foundation of your earth. If you wander inland among the hills, it is said, you find everywhere the tombs of our ancestors carved in imperishable stone."
"Are you unhappy," asked the Child, "since your family are so fallen?"
"I have lost nothing," said the nautilus. "We have all of us our cup of life filled to the brim with happiness."
"Who fills it?" said the Child with a look of awe.
"We do not know," said the nautilus; "but it is always full."
The Child pressed his hand on his eyebrows,—it seemed too great and difficult for him to understand; and then the thought crossed him that the nautilus might have learned the words of the Song from his ancestors who lived so very long ago, and he sat still and listened.
So they floated out of sight of land into the deep sea, and, mingled with the quiet plash of the waves, came from around and beneath the old sweet solemn Song. But it was always without words.
It was delightful to float about thus over the deep sea,—to be rocked up and down on the great waves. There were no breakers, no foam—only the constant heaving and rocking of the blue waves, with their emerald lights and purple shadows. And the Child shut his eyes and listened, with one hand round a horn of the volute shell, and the other laid on the Nautilus, whilst the Velella unfurled her sail before them in the sunshine; and he thought his dream had come true.
When he looked around again, numbers of strange and beautiful creatures were floating around him, just below the surface of the water. Among them was a large crystal umbrella fringed with delicate fringes, with a quatre-foil of crimson in the centre, and numbers of small feelers flashing to and fro in the clear sea underneath.
"Do you not know me?" it said. "I am the medusa you saved when wrecked on your shore; and these are some of my relations gathered to welcome you amongst us." And as she spoke, the little fleet formed in order around him to do him honour; and they sang, "Stay with us, and be our little King!"
Some spread their fairy transparent canopies, and shook all their delicate fringes for joy; some flashed about little streamers—golden, and rose, and opal-green—like flags on a festival;some spread sunny sails, like the Velella; some tiny crystal globes darted in and out among the rest, near the surface; and farther down in the clear water, as far as the child's eyes could penetrate, the same living crystal globes, and canopies, and balloons, flashed to and fro.
One little creature, however, delighted the Child beyond all the rest. It was a tiny crystal globe, not larger than a hazel-nut, divided by eight exquisite ribs. Each rib was formed of countless crystal plates like the plates of a paddle-wheel, and each tiny plate was incessantly vibrating up and down, carrying the restless little creature hither and thither as it pleased, and making it flash with their ceaseless movement like a balloon of sunbeams; while from underneath shot two delicate threads fringed with many branching fibres, which were for ever curving and waving about.
"What is your name?" asked the Child. "Why are you never still?"
"I am the Beroe," said the little balloon; "and those threads are my fishing lines."
Thus the day wore away: the sweet hymn floated through the silence until the Child was nearly wearied out with pleasure; and the Nautilus, and the Velella, and the Volute turned their course homeward.
The gold, and emerald, and rose had faded from the sea before the little party reached the shore; but then in the darkness began the greatest sight of the day.
It was a festival on the sea; and everywhere, as far as the Child's sight could reach, the waters were one illumination. Every one of the little crystal fleet of medusæ who had shone by day in the sunlight now lighted its own tiny sun. All around the Child floated canopies, and balloons, and globes, and boats of living fire, lamps of all forms and colours flashing, gleaming, shining steadily with a soft radiance, lighting the sea fathoms down; opal, and ruby, and emerald, and amber,falling around the fairy raft in foam-flakes of fire as they glided silently through the waves. And everywhere through the silence and the night the happy living creatures sang as they shone that old sweet solemn Song. So they reached the little creek by the rock-pool, and the Child's old friends were many of them awake to welcome him home; but he was wearied out with enjoyment, and tripped as fast as he could up to his little bed in the cave. There he lay down and fell asleep with his heart full of love and gratitude to all the creatures; but he had not yet learned the words of the Song.
Sunbeam after sunbeam peeped into the cave the next morning, but could not wake the Child, until at length they poured in in a flood, and the little sleeper's eyes unclosed to see every nook and corner of his dwelling lighted up, and every projecting ledge, and point, and stalactite flashing back the rays. Then he rubbed his eyes, and rose, and went out to take his breakfast on the mossy bank, feeling still half in a dream. The birds had finished their morning songs; the flowers had drunk in their breakfast of dew-drops, and were standing upright in the full daylight; everything seemed so busy and wide awake that the Child would have had to take his breakfast alone had it not been for a sober bee, which kept buzzing in and out of the blossoms, and a blue butterfly which fluttered silently around them, now and then poising on the open disk of a flower which scarcely bent beneath its weight.
The Child sat watching them in silence, until, through the silvery tinkling of the stream and the rustling of the wind, he caught for the first time near his cave the sound of soft familiar music floating around. It was the sweet solemn Song to which he had listened in the rock-pools and far out on the deep sea.Then he thought, "I wonder if they know the words far away in the depths of the wood."
He turned from the sea, and followed the stream with his eyes until the sparkling waters were lost in the shade of the trees and the long grass. Along the green glade which bordered the brook the sunshine lay in broad patches, so that the wood looked less dim and dark, and more inviting than he had ever seen it before: and he said to the butterfly, "Where do you live?"
The blue fairy creature drew its tube out of the nectar-cup of the flower it was sipping from, and fluttering its brilliant wings, said, "My home is everywhere where the flowers grow and the sun shines; and at night I fold my wings together and go to roost on some flower-cup which has feasted me in the day. I do not think whence I come or whither I go: I knew enough once of what it was to stay at home, in those dark days when I crept along the cold earth and was entombed in my hard mummy-case; now I am free of air and sky—a citizen of the heavens, and every breath is a joy, and every sunbeam a home."
"Then you cannot guide me into the wood," said the Child; and the butterfly fluttered and soared away till it lost itself in a sunbeam.
"But I can," said the busy sober bee, seated on a flower, which rocked to and fro beneath the weight of his little solid body; "I shall soon be going home to our village, and you can follow me."
The Child waited patiently until his new friend had filled his little basket with bread, made of the yellow flower-dust, and then joyfully obeyed the busy little workman's signal, and followed him into the wood.
As they went, the bee chatted in a grave and pleasant way about his relations and acquaintances,—about his cousin the carpenter who carved her nest in wood, and lined it with roseleaves; and his cousin the mason, who built her little dwelling with many chambers, of grains of sand cemented together and plastered over. He had also many wonderful stories about that part of their race who lived in cities and villages, each city with its queen and royal family, its busy labourers, confectioners, bakers, builders, nurses of the royal children, and body-guard of the queen. And they were constantly meeting friends and acquaintances, with whom the bee would stop and buzz a little politics, or discuss the last news from court.
The Child was greatly delighted with all he heard of this busy happy people; and when at length the bee stopped at his native village, he gladly accepted the invitation of the hospitable little negro inhabitants, who thronged around him, to share their mid-day meal. For here also he was no stranger,—every creature welcomed him, and was eager to render loving homage to their little king.
Thus the hours passed swiftly on. Squirrels darted up the trees, and there sat waving their long bushy tails, cracking nuts between their paws, and peeping at the Child with their quick twinkling eyes. Field-mice crept out of their holes in the mossy banks, and gazed on him with their grave whiskered faces; tiny ants bustled to and fro, too busy to attend to anything but housing their winter stores; butterflies in their rich brocades, and insects with lustrous wings, fluttered joyously around him; whilst all the flowers laid their crowns at his feet in their silent love. But more than all, the Child delighted in the birds. They perched around him, hidden among the leafy branches, and poured forth their happy songs; they hopped about on the grass close to him, turning their pretty heads from side to side, and looking up at him with their bright eyes full of trust.
At length, as he was rambling among the thick trees, feeling his way through the long grass, his hand unexpectedly rested on something soft and downy, from which issued a low plaintivechirp. Instantly he drew back, and held aside the grass to see what it could be. There, couching among the thick stems, he descried a little bird sitting patiently on her nest, spreading her wings over her brood. She looked up timidly in his face, but did not stir.
"Were you not afraid I might hurt you?" said the Child. "Why do you sit still?"
"If I flew away, who would take care of my little ones?" said the mother.
Then the Child's heart comprehended something of what is meant by a mother's love, and he stooped down and tenderly stroked the soft head and breast of the mother-bird; but the tears gathered in his eyes as he looked at her, and a strange feeling of loneliness and want crept over him.
It was too late for him to return to his little cave that evening, so he gathered some dry leaves, and laid himself down by the side of the mother-bird and her brood.
As he lay there, the birds were finishing their evening song, and all around arose a flood of soft melody, filling the air, and wandering in and out among the trees, and ferns, and flowers. Sometimes it seemed to the Child as if the beautiful music were forming itself into a Name; but he listened and listened until he fell asleep, and still the Song was without words.
Before the night passed away the Child awoke, and started up on his feet, to convince himself he was not still dreaming. Whenever he awoke in his own little cave, the waves were heaving and breaking against the rocks far below; he felt there was something awake beside himself, and he was not alone; and so, after listening a few minutes to the ceaseless song, he fell peacefully asleep again. But here in the wood all was so still.The bees were fast asleep hanging to their combs; not a field-mouse nor a squirrel was stirring near him; even the winds seemed to have fallen asleep among the branches, and the birds rested in their warm nests. Only now and then a little bird gave a slight dreamy stir and chirp, as if it were talking in its sleep; or a large moth would whiz past him, and be out of hearing in a moment. The Child could not bear to feel so silent and alone amidst the multitude of living creatures, and yet he shrank from the sound of his own voice; so he crept noiselessly on to where the moonbeams broke through an opening in the trees. When he reached the clear space, he found the trees there began to be scattered thinly about, whilst the little stream flowed silently through the open glade among the silvery ferns. It was pleasant to stand again under the open sky; and as he stood still, he caught the sound of waters falling in the distance. It reminded him of his own home by the sea, only the rush was constant,—not rising and falling like the organ-swell of the waves. The Child followed the sound, till he reached a waterfall gleaming like a white robe in the moonlight. He watched it a long time with wondering delight, to see the silvery waters ever the same, yet ever new; always leaping after each other with such a startled joy over the edge of the rocks, and always sinking with such content into the deep dark pool beneath, again to set out on a new journey among the sand and pebbles.
The Child knew the way they would have to go among the thick trees into the wood, and he thought of the surprise and delight it would be to them to lose themselves among their companions in the boundless sea, and be changed into waves, the homes of countless happy living creatures.
So the Child's heart followed the little stream until his feet followed his heart, and he climbed in the moonlight up the rocks by the side of the waterfall. Many tough old ferns and young saplings held out their hands to help him up, and so hereached the top and stood on the open plain above. There, as far as he could see, the little stream gleamed and sparkled in the moonbeams, until it was lost in the shadow of the great hills beyond. Above those hills rose mountains with snowy brows open to the moon; and when the Child looked on the other side, his eye was lost in the thick shadows of the wood, where so many living creatures were quietly sleeping.
The song of the earth was hushed; but as the Child looked up into the heavens, the same song seemed to flow down to him from above. And as he listened, the moon went down behind the mountains, and the silvery veil of moonbeams grew so dim that star after star began to peep through it on the Child. These grew brighter and brighter as they and the Child looked into each other's eyes; and more and more came forth, till the heavens were full of millions of happy stars. Every moment the firmament seemed to become deeper and fuller, and the Child's heart grew fuller of joy. For from every star came a separate tone of music, and once more the music seemed almost to form itself into a Name. But the Child could not catch what it was; and he clasped his hands, and, looking up, said to the stars, "You are so far off, I cannot hear what you are singing, but I am sure you know the words of the Song. Bend down to me, happy stars, and tell me the words, that I may sing with you."
The stars answered the Child by a richer and deeper peal of music. But still there were no words, till they hid themselves again in the gray of morning.
Then the child seated himself among the ferns; his fair head sank on his bosom, and he fell asleep.
But in his sleep he was still looking up into the heavens; and there, where the stars had been, he saw white robes floating like moonlit clouds, and human faces like his own looking down on him with tender love, and he heard them sing with human voices the old sweet solemn Song; but it had new tones in it,sweeter than any he had ever heard before, and there were words: but the words were in a language the Child did not know, and in his dream he wept bitterly to hear such sweet songs, so full of love and joy, and not to know what they meant.
But from above the singers came a Voice sweeter and more tender than any of theirs, yet mighty as the sound of many waters, and it said to him, "Weep not: thou also shalt learn the Song."
Then he remembered the mother bird on her nest, and it seemed to him as if something like a mother's love were brooding over him in the heavens. So the Child awoke with a new joy in his heart. He was sure that Voice must have spoken the truth, and with a light and buoyant heart he retraced his steps through the wood beside the stream till he reached his own little cave and the sea-shore. There all his old friends were in a flutter of delight to see him back again. The flowers looked so glad that they almost spoke; the cockles dived into the sand and up again as if they were playing at hide-and-seek; the sand-borers fluttered their feathered heads, and the anemones spread all their living petals; the crabs performed all sorts of ridiculous gambols; the little shrimps darted in and out among the crimson copses of coralline and the tufts of glittering green sea-weed; tiny silver fish shot under the sand arches, their black silver-rimmed eyes watching the Child. Corynes stretched out their little fingers, plant animals rang their delicate bells of glass-thread, and even the sleepy brown and crimson sponges were more active than usual in making their tiny whirlpools.
And the Child said to all of them, "I do not know the Song yet, but I shall know it by-and-by, and then we will sing it together."
After this the Child would often stand gazing out over the sea or into the heavens. He felt as if he were always on the pointof finding something, yet all his seeking was full of hope and without disquiet; for after that dream he never doubted that one day he should learn the words of the Song.
One morning, as he was looking out over the sea, watching the dimpling and sparkling of the laughing waves, and dreaming about his dream, he descried something dark rising and falling on the waters. As he watched it, it came nearer, and he perceived that it was a little round wooden box; and to his great delight he saw that the advancing tide would soon lay it at his feet. He could not wait until it reached the dry beach, but plashed through the waves, caught it in his arms, and carried it in triumph to the shingly ridge above the sands. There he seated himself to examine his treasure: he could not help in some way connecting it with his dream; he thought the sweet Singers must have sent it him from the sky. The little box had something of the shape of the shells of his friends of the sabella family, and it sounded hollow, but it was closed at both ends with a flat piece of wood. At first he could find no way of opening it; so he began to admire the beautiful flowers and fruits and leaves which were carved in wreaths and garlands round the tube. The fruits and flowers were strange to the Child, and he wondered if they were like those which grew in the home of the sweet Singers.
At length as he turned the tube over and over a little muffled voice came to him from inside and said, "Put me into the sea again until to-morrow morning, and I will open the box for you."
"Who are you?" asked the Child.
"I am a teredo," replied the little muffled voice. "I have been very busy for some days boring through the hinge of this strange box, and in a few hours I shall quite have finished my work, if you will throw me into the sea, so that I may have something to drink; for I can assure you people who work as hard as I do get very thirsty."
So the Child took the box to his rock-pool, and laid it on aledge beneath the water, where he thought it would be safe from being washed away by the next tide. He could not bear to lose sight of his new treasure; he did not know what might be inside.