A little cottage just atop the brae,
That now within its patch of ground is shown,
Stood for long years unnoted and unknown,
And light and shadow each in turn did play
Through one small window, till there came a day
When one came upward, not as by his own
Fancy but by genius led alone.
He paused like one whose feet are far astray,
Then reaching forth a consecrating hand
Touched the low walls, and lo! each little room
Became immortal with its humble band.
For Hendry still will bend above his loom,
Jess ever watch, and Leebie take a part
In all; a yearning in her sister's heart.
I will not enter; I but came to see
One little window and the humble door
That now is as a temple—nothing more—
I want to keep my dream, for unto me
The beings at whose touch they were to be,
Live in our fancy, and by fancy's shore,
Dwell in the light that crowns them evermore,
And makes them part of our humanity.
Hush! standing here in all this summer day,
Light all around and glorious clouds above,
I hear faint spirit whispers all around,
As if that little patch were holy ground,
And tender with a dear unspoken love,
And see one sad face as I turn away.
Nay, but another look before we part,
A day-dream we may fashion as we will,
And see with open eyes before us still,
As fancy comes and goes and plies her art,
Hendry and Jess, and Leeb of loyal heart,
Rich in all homely ways of homely skill—
These are not visions that the light can kill,
They stay with us, and in a higher air,
Touched with that light which genius only gives,
Live, not the common round that mortal lives.
Shall we think of that other standing there,
Bearing the burden of his inward pain,
And desolate amid the desolate rain?