Monday's Poetry: "Little Nell" and "Little Paul"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator


I thought that an appropriate way to close out my thoughts on Louisa May Alcott would be to feature a couple of her poems in this space.  Although she was primarily a writer of books and stories, she did pen the occasional poem.  The following two are a wee bit maudlin, but they do emphasize her interest in children - using Nell and Paul to pull on our emotions and showcase the ultimate rewards of virtuous living.

Both of these poems were written several years before Miss Alcott tackled her major works of Little Women and Little Men.



Little Nell
by Louisa May Alcott

LEAMING through the silent church-yard,

Winter sunlight seemed to shed

Golden shadows like soft blessings

O'er a quiet little bed,

 

Where a pale face lay unheeding

Tender tears that o'er it fell;

No sorrow now could touch the heart

Of gentle little Nell.

 

Ah, with what silent patient strength

The frail form lying there

Had borne its heavy load of grief,

Of loneliness and care.

 

Now, earthly burdens were laid down,

And on the meek young face

There shone a holier loveliness

Than childhood's simple grace.

 

Beset with sorrow, pain and fear,

Tempted by want and sin,

With none to guide or counsel her

But the brave child-heart within.

 

Strong in her fearless, faithful love,

Devoted to the last,

Unfaltering through gloom and gleam

The little wanderer passed.

 

Hand in hand they journeyed on

Through pathways strange and wild,

The gray-haired, feeble, sin-bowed man

Led by the noble child.

 

So through the world's dark ways she passed,

Till o'er the church-yard sod,

To the quiet spot where they found rest,

Those little feet had trod.

 

To that last resting-place on earth

Kind voices bid her come,

There her long wanderings found an end,

And weary Nell a home.

 

A home whose light and joy she was,

Though on her spirit lay

A solemn sense of coming change,

That deepened day by day.

 

There in the church-yard, tenderly,

Through quiet summer hours,

Above the poor neglected graves

She planted fragrant flowers.

 

The dim aisles of the ruined church

Echoed the child's light tread,

And flickering sunbeams thro' the leaves

Shone on her as she read.

 

And here where a holy silence dwelt,

And golden shadows fell,

When Death's mild face had looked on her,

They laid dear happy Nell.

 

Long had she wandered o'er the earth,

One hand to the old man given,

By the other angels led her on

Up a sunlit path to Heaven.

 

Oh! "patient, loving, noble Nell,"

Like light from sunset skies,

The beauty of thy sinless life

Upon the dark world lies.

 

On thy sad story, gentle child,

Dim eyes will often dwell,

And loving hearts will cherish long

The memory of Nell.

Little Paul 

by Louisa May Alcott

HEERFUL voices by the sea-side

Echoed through the summer air,

Happy children, fresh and rosy,

Sang and sported freely there,

Often turning friendly glances,

Where, neglectful of them all,

On his bed among the gray rocks,

Mused the pale child, little Paul.

 

For he never joined their pastimes,

Never danced upon the sand,

Only smiled upon them kindly,

Only waved his wasted hand.

Many a treasured gift they bore him,

Best beloved among them all.

Many a childish heart grieved sadly,

Thinking of poor little Paul.

 

But while Florence was beside him,

While her face above him bent,

While her dear voice sounded near him,

He was happy and content;

Watching ever the great billows,

Listening to their ceaseless fall,

For they brought a pleasant music

To the ear of little Paul.

 

"Sister Floy," the pale child whispered,

"What is that the blue waves say?

What strange message are they bringing

From that shore so far away?

Who is dwelling in that country

Whence a low voice seems to call

Softly, through the dash of waters,

'Come away, my little Paul'?"

 

But sad Florence could not answer,

Though her dim eyes tenderly

Watched the wistful face, that ever

Gazed across the restless sea,

While the sunshine like a blessing

On his bright hair seemed to fall,

And the winds grew more caressing,

As they kissed frail little Paul.

 

Ere long, paler and more wasted,

On another bed he lay,

Where the city's din and discord

Echoed round him day by day;

While the voice that to his spirit

By the sea-side seemed to call,

Sounded with its tender music

Very near to little Paul.

 

As the deep tones of the ocean

Linger in the frailest shell,

So the lonely sea-side musings

In his memory seemed to dwell.

And he talked of golden waters

Rippling on his chamber wall,

While their melody in fancy

Cheered the heart of little Paul.

 

Clinging fast to faithful Florence,

Murmuring faintly night and day,

Of the swift and darksome river

Bearing him so far away,

Toward a shore whose blessed sunshine

Seemed most radiantly to fall

On a beautiful mild spirit,

Waiting there for little Paul.

 

So the tide of life ebbed slowly,

Till the last wave died away,

And nothing but the fragile wreck

On the sister's bosom lay.

And from out death's solemn waters,

Lifted high above them all,

In her arms the spirit mother

Bore the soul of little Paul.