Willie Baird: a Winter Idyll.
An old man’s tale, a tale for men grey-hair’d,
Who wear, thro’ second childhood, to the Lord.
’Tis two-and-thirty summers since I came1
To school the village lads of Inverglen.2
My father was a shepherd old and poor,3
Who, dwelling ’mong the clouds on norland hills,4
His tartan plaidie on, and by his side5
His sheep–dog running, redden’d with the winds6
That whistle salty south from Polar seas :7
I follow’d in his footsteps when a boy,8
And knew by heart the mountains round our home ;9
But when I went to Edinglass, to learn10
At college there, I looked about the place,11
And heard the murmur of the busy streets12
Around me, in a dream ;– and only saw13
The clouds that snow around the mountain tops,14
The mists that chase the phantom of the moon15
In lonely mountain tarns,–and heard the while,16
Not footsteps sounding hollow to and fro,17
But winds sough–soughing thro’ the woods of pine.18
Time passed ; and day by day those sights and sounds19
Grew fainter,—till they troubled me no more.20
O Willie, Willie, are you sleeping sounds ?21
And can you feel the stone that I have placed22
Yonder above you ? Are you dead, my doo ?23
Or did you see the shining Hand that parts24
The clouds above, and becks the boonie birds,25
Until they wing away, and human eyes,26
That watch them till they vanish in the blue,27
Droop and grow tearful ? Aye, I ken, I ken,28
I’m talking folly, but I loved the child !29
He was the bravest scholar in the school !30
He came to teach the very dominie—31
Me, with my lyart locks and sleepy heart !32
O well I mind the day his mother brought33
Her tiny trembling tot with yellow hair,34
Her tiny poor–clad tot six summers old,35
And left him seated lonely on a form36
Before my desk. He neither wept nor gloom’d ;37
But waited silently, with shoeless feet38
Swinging above the floor ; in wonder eyed39
The maps upon the walls, the big black board,40
The slates and books and copies, and my own41
Gray hose and clumpy boots ; last, fixing gaze42
Upon a monster spider’s–web that filled43
One corner of the whitewash’d ceiling, watch’d44
The speckled traitor jump and jink about,45
Till he forgot my unfamiliar eyes,46
Weary and strange and old. “ Come here, my bairn ! ”47
And timid as a lamb he seedled up.48
“ What do they call ye ? ” “ Willie,” coo’d the wean,49
Up-peeping slyly, scraping with his feet.50
I put my hand upon his yellow hair,51
And cheer’d him kindly. Then I bade him lift52
The small black bell that stands behind the door53
And ring the shouting laddies from their play.54
“ Run, Willie ! ” And he ran, and eyed the bell,55
Stoop’d o’er it, seemed afraid that it would bite,56
Then grasped it firm, and as it jingled gave57
A timid cry—next laughed to hear the sound—58
And rang full merry to the door and rang,59
And rang, and rang, while lights of music lit60
His pallid cheek, till, shouting, panting hard,61
In ran the big rough laddies from their play.62
Then rapping sharply on the desk I drove63
The laddies to their seats, and beckon’d up64
The stranger—smiling, bade him seat himself65
And hearken to the rest. Two weary hours66
Buzz-buzz, boom-boom, went on the noise of school,67
While Willie sat and listen’d open-mouth’d ;68
Till school was over, and the big and small69
Flew home in flocks. But Willie stayed behind.70
I beckon’d to the mannoch with a smile,71
And took him on my knee and crack’d and talk’d.72
First, he was timid ; next, grew bashful ; next,73
He warm’d and told me stories of his home,74
His father, mother, sisters, brothers, all ;75
And how, when strong and big, he meant to buy76
A gig to drive his father to the kirk ;77
And how he longed to be a dominie :78
Such simple prattle as I plainly see79
You smile at. But to little children God80
Has given wisdom and mysterious power81
Which beat the mathematics. Quœrere82
Verum in sylvis Academi, Sir,83
Is meet for men who can afford to dwell84
For ever in a garden, reading books85
Of morals and the logic. Good and well !86
Give me such tiny truths as only bloom87
Like red–tipt gowans at the hallanstone,88
Or kindle softly, flashing bright at times,89
In fuffing cottage fires !
The laddie still90
Was seated on my knee, when at the door91
We heard a scrape-scrape-scraping : Willie prick’d92
His ears and listen’d, the he clapt his hands—93
“ Hey ! Donald, Donald, Donald ! ” [ See ! the rogue94
Looks up and blinks his eyes — he knows his name ! ]95
“ Hey, Donald, Donald ! ” Willie cried. At that,96
I saw beneath me, at the door, a Dog —97
The very collie dozing at your feet,98
His nose between his paws, his eyes half closed.99
At sight of Willie, with a joyful bark100
He leapt and gamboll’d, eyeing me the while101
In queer suspicion ; and the mannoch peeped102
Into my face, while patting Donald’s back—103
“ It’s Donald ! he has come to take me home ! ”104
An old man’s tale, a tale for men gray-hair’d,105
Who wear, thro’ second childhood, to the grave !106
I’ll hasten on. Thenceforward Willie came107
Daily to school, and daily to the door108
Came Donald trotting ; and they homeward went109
Together—Willie walking slow but sure,110
And Donald trotting sagely by his side.111
[ Ay, Donald, he is dead ! be still, old man !]112
What link existed, human or divine,113
Between the tiny tot six summers old,114
And yonder life of mine upon the hills115
Among the mists and storms ? ’tis strange, ’tis strange !116
But when I look’d on Willie’s face, it seemed117
That I had known it in some beauteous life118
That I had left behind me in the north.119
This fancy grew and grew, till oft I sat—120
The school buzz–buzzing round me—and would seem121
To be among the mists, the tracks of rain,122
Nearling the hueless silence of the snow.123
Slowly and surely I began to feel124
That I was all alone in the world,125
And that my mother and my father slept126
Far, far away, in some forgotten kirk—127
Remember’d but in dreams. Alone at nights,128
I read my Bible more and Euclid less.129
For, mind you, like my betters, I had been130
Half scoffer, half believer ; on the whole,131
I thought the life beyond a useless dream,132
Best left alone, and shut my eyes to things133
That puzzled mathematics. But at last134
When Willie Baird and I grew friends, and thoughts135
Came to me from beyond my father’s grave,136
I found ’twas pleasant late at e’en to read137
My Bible—haply, only just to pick138
Some easy chapter for my pet to learn—139
Yet night by night my soul was guided on140
Like a blind man some angel hand convoys.141
I cannot frame in speech the thoughts that filled142
This grey old brow, the feelings dim and warm143
That sooth’d the throbbings of this weary heart !144
But when I placed my hand on Willie’s head,145
Warm sunshine tingled from the yellow hair146
Thro’ trembling fingers to my blood within ;147
And when I looked in Willie’s stainless eyes148
I saw the empty ether floating gray149
O’er shadowy mountains murmuring low with winds ;150
And often when, in his old-fashion’d way,151
He question’d me, I seemed to hear a voice152
From far away, that mingled with the cries153
Haunting the regions where the round red sun154
Is all alone with God among the snow.155
Who made the stars ? and if within his hand156
He caught and held one, would his fingers burn ?157
If I, the gray-hair’d dominie, was dug158
From out a cabbage garden such as he159
Was found in ? if, when bigger, he would wear160
Gray homespun hose and clumsy boots like mine,161
And have a house to dwell in all alone ?162
Thus would he question, seated on my knee,163
While Donald ( wheesht, old man !) stretched lyart limbs164
Under my chair, contented. Open-mouth’d165
He hearken’d to the tales I loved to tell166
About Sir William Wallace and the Bruce,167
And the sweet lady on the Scottish throne,168
Whose crown was colder than a band of ice,169
Yet seem’d a sunny crown whene’er she smiled ;170
With many tales of genii, giants, dwarfs,171
And little folk, that play at jing-a-ring172
On beds of harebells ’neath the silver morn ;173
Stories and rhymes and songs of Wonder-land ;174
How Tammas Ercildoune in Elfland dwelt,175
How Galloway’s mermaid comb’d her golden hair,176
How Tammas Thumb stuck in the spider’s-web,177
And fought and fought, a needle for his sword,178
Dying his weapon in the crimson blood179
Of the foul traitor with the poison’d fangs !180
And when we read the Holy Book, the child181
Would think and think o’er parts he loved the best ;182
The draught of fish, the Child that sat so wise183
In the great Temple, Herod’s cruel law184
To slay the weans, or—oftenest of all—185
The crucifixion of the Good Kind Man186
Who loved the weans and was a wean himself.187
He speir’d of death ; and were the sleepers cold188
Down in the dark wet earth ? and was it God189
That put the grass and flowers in the kirk-yard ?190
What kind of dwelling-place was heaven above ?191
And was it full of flowers ? and were there schools192
And dominies there ? and was it far away ?193
Then, with a look that made your eyes grow dim,194
Clasping his wee white hands round Donald’s neck,195
“ Do doggies gang to heaven ? ” he would ask ;196
“ Would Donald gang? ” and keek’d in Donald’s face,197
While Donald blink’d with meditative gaze,198
As if he knew full brawly what we said,199
And ponder’d o’er it, wiser far than we.200
But how I answer’d, how explain’d, these things,201
I knew not. Oft I could not speak at all.202
Yet every question made me think of things203
Forgotten, puzzled so, and when I strove204
To reason puzzled me so much the more,205
That, flinging logic to the winds, I went206
Straight onward to the mark in Willie’s way,207
Took most for granted, laid down premises208
Of Faith, imagined, gave my wit the reins,209
And oft on nights at e’en, to my surprise,210
Felt palpably an angel’s glowing face211
Glimmering down upon me, while mine eyes212
Dimm’d their old orbs with tears that came unbid213
To bear the glory of the light they saw.214
So summer passed. Yon chestnut at the door215
Scatter’d its burnish’d leaved and made a sound216
Of wind among its branches. Every day217
Came Willie, seldom going home again218
Till near the sunset : wet or dry he came :219
Oft in the rainy weather carrying220
A big umbrella, under which he walked—221
A little fairy in a parachute,222
Blown hither, thither, at the wind’s wild will.223
Pleased was my heart to see his pallid cheeks224
Were gathering rosy-posies, that his eyes225
Were softer and less sad. Then, with a gust,226
Old Winter tumbled shrieking from the hills,227
His white hair blowing in the wind.
The house228
Where Willie’s mother lives is scarce a mile229
From yonder hallan, if you take a cut230
Before you reach the villiage, crossing o’er231
Green meadows till you reach the road again ;232
But he who thither goes along the road233
Loses a reaper’s mile. The summer long234
Wee Weelie came and went across the fields :235
He loved the smell of flowers and grass, the sight236
Of cows and sheep, the changing stalks of wheat237
And he was weak and small. When winter came,238
Still caring not a straw for wind or rain239
Came Willie and the collie ; till by night240
Down fell the snow, and fell three nights and days,241
Then ceased. The ground was white and ankle-deep ;242
The window of the school was threaded o’er243
With flowers of hueless ice—Frost’s unseen hands244
Prick’d you from head to foot with tingling heat ;245
The shouting urchins, yonder on the green,246
Played snowballs. In the school a cheery fire247
Was kindled every day, and every day248
When Willie came he had the warmest seat,249
And every day old Donald, punctual, came250
To join us after labour in the lowe.251
Three days and nights the snow had mistily fall’n.252
It lay long miles along the country-side,253
White, awful, silent. In the keen cold air254
There was a hush, a sleepless silentness,255
And mid it all, upraising eyes, you felt256
God’s breath upon your face ; and in your blood,257
Though you were cold to touch, was flaming fire,258
Such as within the bowels of the earth259
Burnt at the bones of ice, and wreath’d them round260
With grass ungrown.
One day in school I saw,261
Through threated window-panes, soft, snowy flakes,262
Swim with unquiet motion, mistily, slowly,263
At intervals ; but when the boys were gone,264
And in ran Donald with a dripping nose,265
The air was clear and gray as glass. An hour266
Sat Willie, Donald, and myself around267
The murmering fire, and then with tender hand268
I wrapt a comforter round Willie’s throat,269
Button’d his coat around him close and warm,270
And off he ran with Donald, happy-eyed,271
And merry, leaving fairy prints of feet272
Behind him on the snow. I watch’d them fade273
Round the white curve, and, turning with a sigh,274
Came in to sort the room and smoke a pipe275
Before the fire. Here, dreamingly and alone,276
I sat and smoked, and in the fire saw clear277
The norland mountains, white and cold with snow,278
That crumbled silently, and moved and changed,—279
When suddenly the air grew sick and dark,280
And from the distance came a hollow sound,281
A murmer like the moan of far-off seas.282
I started to my feet, look’d out, and knew283
The winter wind was whistling from the clouds284
To lash the snow-clothed plain, and to myself285
I prophesied a storm before the night.286
Then with an icy pain, an eldritch gleam,287
I thought of Willie ; but I cheer’d my heart,288
“ He’s home, and with his mother, long ere this ! ”289
While thus I stood the hollow murmur grew290
Deeper, the wold grew darker, and the snow291
Rush’d downward, whirling in a shadowy mist.292
I walked to yonder door and opened it.293
Whirr ! the wind swung it from me with a clang,294
And in upon me with an iron-like crash295
Swoop’d in the drift. With pinch’d sharp face I gazed296
Out on the storm ! Dark, dark was all ! A mist,297
A blinding, whirling mist, of chilly snow,298
The falling and the driven ; for the wind299
Swept round and round in clouds upon the earth,300
And birm’d the deathly drift aloft with moans,301
Till all was swooning darkness. Far above302
A voice was shrieking, like a human cry.303
I closed the door, and turn’d me to the fire,304
With something on my heart—a load—a sense305
Of an impending pain. Down the broad lum306
Came melting flakes that hiss’d upon the coal ;307
Under my eyelids blew the blinding smoke,308
And for a time I sat like one bewitch’d,309
Still as a stone. The lonely room grew dark310
The flickering fire threw phantoms of the snow,311
Along the floor and on the walls around.312
The melancholy ticking of the clock313
Was like the beating of my heart. But, hush !314
Above the moaning of the wind I heard315
A quick scrape-scraping at the door ; my heart316
Stood still and listened ; and with that there rose317
An awsome howl, shrill as a dying screech,318
And scrape-scrape-scrape, the sound beyond the door !319
I could not think—I could not breathe—a dark,320
Awful foreboding gript me like a hand,321
As opening the door I gazed straight out,322
Saw nothing, till I felt against my knees323
Something that moved and heard a moaning sound—324
Then, panting, moaning, o’er the threashold I leapt325
Donald the dog, alone, and white with snow.326
Down, Donald ! down, old man ! Sir, look at him !327
I swear he knows the meaning of thy words,328
And tho’ he cannot speak, his heart is full ! 329
See, now ! see, now ! he puts his cold black nose330
Into my palm and whines ! he knows, he knows !331
Would speak, and cannot, but he minds that night !332
The terror of my heart seem’d choking me :333
Dumbly I started and wildly at the dog,334
Who gazed into my face and whined and moan’d,335
Loup’d at the door, then touched me with his paws,336
And lastly, gript my coat between his teeth,337
And pulled and pulled—whiles growling, whining whiles—338
Till fairly madden’d, in bewilder’d fear,339
I let him drag me through the banging door340
Out to the whirling storm. Bareheaded, wild,341
The wind and snow–drif beating on my face,342
Blowing me hither, thither, with the dog,343
I dashed along the road. What followed seemed344
An eerier, eerie dream ! a world of snow,345
A sky of wind, a whirling howling mist346
Which swam around with hundred sickly eyes ;347
And Donald dragging, dragging, beaten, bruised, 348
Leading me on to something that I feared—349
An awful something, and I knew not what !350
On, on, and further on, and still the snow351
Whirling, the tempest moaning ! Then I mind352
Of groping, groping in the shadowy light,353
And Donald by me burrowing with his nose354
And whining. Next a darknes, blank and deep !355
But then I mind of tearing thro’ the storm,356
Stumbling and tripping, blind and deaf and dumb,357
And holding to my heart an icy load358
I clutch’d with freezing fingers. Far away—359
It seem’d long miles on miles away—I saw360
A yellow light—unto that light I tore—361
And last, remember opeing a door362
And falling, dazzled by a blinding gleam363
Of human faces and a flaming fire,364
And with a crash of voices in my ears365
Fading away into a world of snow.366
When I awaken’d to myself, I lay367
In my own bed at home. I started up368
As from an evil dream and look’d around,369
And to my side came one, a neighbour’s wife,370
Mother to two young lads I taught in school.371
With hollow, hollow voice I question’d her,372
And soon knew all : how a long night had passed373
Since, with a lifeless laddie in my arms,374
I stumbled horror-stricken, swooning, wild,375
Into a ploughmans’s cottage : at my side,376
My coat between his teeth, a dog ; and how377
Senseless and cold I fell. Thence, when the storm378
Had passed away, they bore me to my home. 379
I listen’d dumbly, catching at the sense ;380
But when the woman mention’d Willie’s name,381
And I was fear’d to phrase the thought that rose,382
She saw the question in my tearless eyes383
And told me—he was dead.
’Twould weary you384
To tell the thoughts, the fancies, and the dreams385
That weigh’d upon me, ere I rose in bed,386
But little harm’d, and sent the wife away,387
Rose, slowly drest, took up my staff and went388
To Willie’s mother’s cottage. As I walked,389
Though all the air was calm and cold and still,390
The blowing wind and dazzled snow were yet391
Around about. I was bewilder’d like !392
Ere I had time to think I found myself393
Beside a truckle bed, and at my side394
A weeping woman. And I clench’d my hands,395
And look’d on Willie, who had gone to sleep.396
In death–gown white, lay Willie fast asleep,397
His blue eyes closed, his tiny fingers clench’d,398
His lips apart a wee as if he breath’d,399
His yellow hair kaim’d back, and on his face400
A smile—yet not a smile—a dim pale light401
Such as the Snow keeps on its own soft wings.402
Ay, he had gone to sleep, and he was sound !403
And by the bed lay Donald watching still,404
And when I look’d, he whined, but did not move.405
I turn’d in silence, with my nails stuck deep406
In my clench’d palms ; but in my heart of hearts407
I prayed to God. In Willie’s mother’s face408
There was a cold and silent bitterness—409
I saw it plain, but saw it in a dream,410
And cared not. So I went my way, as grim411
As one who holds his breath to slay himself.412
What followed that is vague as was the rest : 413
A winter day, a landscape hush’d in snow,414
A weary wind, a horrid whiteness borne415
On a man’s shoulder, shapes in black, o’er all416
The solemn clanging of an iron bell,417
And lastly me and Donald standing both418
Beside a tiny mound of fresh-head’d earth419
And while around the snow began to fall420
Mistily, softly, thro’ the icy air,421
Looking at one another, dumb and old.422
And Willie’s dead !— that’s all I comprehend—423
Ay, bonnie Willie Baird has gone before :424
The school, the tempest, and the eerie pain,425
Seem but a dream,—and I am weary like.426
I begged old Donald hard—they gave him me—427
And we have lived together in this house428
Long years with no companions. There’s no need429
Of speech between us. Here we dumbly bide,430
But know each other’s sorrow,—and we both431
Feel weary. When the nights are long and cold,432
And snow is falling as it falleth now,433
And wintry winds are moaning, here I dream434
Of Willie and the unfamiliar life435
I left behind me on the norland hills !436
“ Do doggies gang to heaven ? ” Willie asked,437
What learned Solomon of modern days438
Can answer that ? Yet here at nights I sit,439
Reading the Book, with Donald at my side ;440
And stooping, with the Book upon my knee,441
I sometimes gaze in Donald’s patient eyes—442
So sad, so human, though he cannot speak—443
And think he knows that Willie is at peace,444
Far far away beyond the norland hills,445
Beyond the silence of the untrodden snow.446