FORERUNNERS, Smith was born in Kilmarnock on the 31st December 1829 into a large family of six children. His father was an artisan, producing printing blocks that could be used in the textile industry, particularly using muslin and calico. The family moved twice during Smith’s early years, eventually settling in Glasgow. Perhaps there was little money for a formal education and the young Alexander Smith found himself working in his father’s trade at the tender age of eleven. His time spent at a small parish school at least gave him rudimentary skills in literacy and he was a particularly keen student of English poets.
FORERUNNERS by Alexander Smith
FORERUNNERS
Walter. I HAVE a strain of a departed bard;
One who was born too late into this world.
A mighty day was past, and he saw nought
But ebbing sunset and the rising stars,—
Still o’er him rose those melancholy stars!
Unknown his childhood, save that he was born
’Mong woodland waters full of silver breaks;
I was to him but Labrador to Ind;
His pearls were plentier than my pebblestones.
He was the sun, I was that squab—the earth,
And bask’d me in his light until he drew
Flowers from my barren sides. Oh! he was rich,
And I rejoiced upon his shore of pearls,
A weak enamor’d sea. Once he did say,
“My Friend! a Poet must ere long arise,
And with a regal song sun-crown this age,
As a saint’s head is with a halo crown’d;—
One, who shall hallow Poetry to God
And to its own high use, for Poetry is
The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts ride;—
One, who shall fervent grasp the sword of song,
As a stern swordsman grasps his keenest blade,
To find the quickest passage to the heart.
A mighty Poet, whom this age shall choose
To be its spokesman to all coming times.
In the ripe full-blown season of his soul,
He shall go forward in his spirit’s strength,
And grapple with the questions of all time,
And wring from them their meanings. As King Saul
Call’d up the buried prophet from his grave
To speak his doom, so shall this Poet-king
Call up the dead Past from its awful grave
To tell him of our future. As the air
Doth sphere the world, so shall his heart of love—
Loving mankind, not peoples. As the lake
Reflects the flower, tree, rock, and bending heaven,
Shall he reflect our great humanity;
And as the young Spring breathes with living breath
On a dead branch, till it sprouts fragrantly
Green leaves and sunny flowers, shall he breathe life
Through every theme he touch, making all Beauty
And Poetry for ever like the stars.”
His words set me on fire; I cried aloud,
“God! what a portion to forerun this Soul!”
He grasp’d my hand,—I look’d upon his face,—
A thought struck all the blood into his cheeks,
Like a strong buffet. His great flashing eyes
Burn’d on mine own. He said, “A grim old king,
Whose blood leap’d madly when the trumpets bray’d
To joyous battle ’mid a storm of steeds,
Won a rich kingdom on a battle-day;
But in the sunset he was ebbing fast,
Ring’d by his weeping lords. His left hand held
His white steed, to the belly splash’d with blood,
That seem’d to mourn him with its drooping head;
His right, his broken brand; and in his ear
His old victorious banners flap the winds.
He called his faithful herald to his side,—
‘Go! tell the dead I come!’ With a proud smile,
The warrior with a stab let out his soul,
Which fled and shriek’d through all the other world,
‘Ye dead! My master comes!’ And there was pause
Till the great shade should enter. Like that herald,
Walter, I ’d rush across this waiting world
And cry, ‘He comes!”’ Lady, wilt hear the song? [Sings.
