BETA

Photograph of the Comet Donati. Full-page frontispiece.
A portrait of Caroline Herschel is contained within an oval border; the border is decorated with faint stars. Her name is written below the portrait in cursive. Extending from the right of the portrait is a scroll that has the title, “Caroline Herschel.”, written across it. The word “by” extends from the bottom of the scroll; the rest of the byline, “Harriet Prescott Spofford”, is printed below. 1/3 page.

Caroline Herschel.

By
Harriet Prescott Spofford.
Often when I sat there, knitting at my
stocking,1
Voices chimed about me, singing as I wrought,2
Soft the slender needles, clicking, interlocking,3
Marked the measure, kept the tune of my sweet
thought ;4
Tunes my father’s violin breathed for us at
even,5
Tunes the darling Dietrich’s tiny bow caressed,6
Tunes that in my brother’s soul, as stars do up in
heaven,7
Bloomed to lovely being and hung serenely
blest.8
Often as I sat there, a silent child, unnoted,9
No one heedful either of my joy or pang,10
In my thought I warbled, clearly and full-throated,11
Faces thronging round me listening as I sang ;12
Faces like the great rose Dante saw in dreaming,13
Full of joy and wonder all the rapturous throng,14
Not because of me, indeed, in any seeming,15
For the voice was but the breath of the dear
song.16
Six and ninety years, I count ; and yet the
blushing17
Faces are before me, smiling their applause,18
Still I hear those clapping hands like great seas
rushing—19
For my brother said it should be, and it was.20
For my brother Wilhelm never once forsook me,21
Thought of me when rapt among his melodies,22
Over many waters came at last and took me23
Over windy ways and white and rushing seas.24
Knew I naught thereafter but that I stood there
singing,25
Blessed and unconscious as the cherubim,26
All my happy heart into his music flinging,27
I was nothing, nothing, but a voice for him !28
When he hushed the singing, since the stars were
waiting,29
Could I let him tread those mysteries alone ?30
Night by night beside him, slumber still belating,31
Did I serve him wholly, strength and will his
own.32
Night by night beside him, no matter what the
weather,33
Though the ink froze fairly in the horn I held,34
Something of the strain those stars once sang
together35
Catching, as the great glass searched those deeps
of eld.36
Music of the choral spheres better worth than
singing,37
Measured flight of constellations shining hoar,38
Voice of heavenly order from vast of space out-
ringing—39
When I heard its murmur once I sang no more,40
What was I that I should share those mighty
wonders ?41
’Twas my brother’s right to roam through
heaven’s high hall ;42
He was master of those sweet and silver thunders,43
I his hand, his pen, his swift-obeying thrall !44
Into strangest mazes of signs and symbols hasting,45
Infinite numbers the familiars of my notes,46
In those regions where stupendous lines go wasting47
Through the eternities that are their asymptotes.48
Every conscious power to that new learning giving,49
Lost, indeed, too deeply to be proud or glad,50
Haply, I forgot in those days I was living,51
I but breathed to do the work my brother bade.52
Whiteness of a bride among her gauzes gleaming,53
Lustres like the stars in Berenice’s hair,54
Vesture of the Northern Light about her stream-
ing—155
What was I that this last marvel spoke me fair ?56
“ Since to serve another you have fondly given57
All you are and hope,” she seemed to say to me,58
“ I the furthest flaming firmament have riven,59
That your eyes alone my loveliness should see.60
“ Through the wastes of splendour ever fleeting
drifting,61
On my way to keep my tryst with the great sun,62
All the films and veils about my glory lifting—63
Many eyes have sought me, yours alone have won.64
A boy is standing while playing a violin. A man, who is also holding a violin, sits beside him. The boy and the man are looking at sheet music on a music stand, and the man is using his bow to point at the music. There is more sheet music scattered on the floor beside them. A girl sits behind them, knitting. Her eyes are raised, indicating that she is observing the other two figures. 1/3 page contained by a single-ruled rectangular border.
If I gave him sunshine, kept the wind from blow-
ing,65
Fed him as the runnel feeds the lusty root—66
No, ah, no ! I only on his stem was growing,67
And the great oak carries so its air-born fruit.68
Strange it was, then, when along in the clear star-
light,69
All the summer midnight sweeping purple space,70
Suddenly a phantasm, glimmering in the far light,71
Filled the field and hung a moment in her
place.72
“ For they, in shade themselves, to others opening
heaven,73
All at once shall heir heaven’s opulence of light.”74
Then a cloud as subtle as the starry seven75
Mounted, and the spirit fled into the night.76
More than half a century since, the stars I’ve greeted,77
Many a comet soaring in her monstrous play,78
Many ancient nebulæ’s shining bounds I’ve meted—79
I am old, so old, I seem as old as they.80
1 This figure was suggested to the author by the representation of
Donati’s Comet which faces this ballad.—Ed.
I am waiting, I am weary, half in blindness.81
Ah, what yearned-for vision Death may give me
now—82
Yesternight the king saluted me with kindness,83
I to-night may see my brother’s glorious brow !84
I with him to-night through outer space go
fleeting,85
Learn what mighty Saturn has to do with years,86
The awful dark at last in Scorpio may be meeting,87
Master all the hidden secrets of the spheres !88
How the shining beings throng and swim around me,89
Streaming mist of starbeams, wings of whitest
flame !90
Deep to wide deep opens, fetters fall that bound me,91
And I go to the Great Source from whence I
came !92