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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
159
I
do
not
suppose
that
I
definitely
thought
all
this,
though
I
find
that
the
verses
I
wrote
for
our
two
mill
magazines
at
about
this
time
often
expressed
these
and
similar
longings.
They
were
vague,
and
they
were
too
likely
to
dissipate
themselves
in
mere
dreams.
But
our
aspirations
come
to
us
from
a
source
far
beyond
ourselves.
Happy
are
they
who
are
"not
disobedient
unto
the
heavenly
vision"!
A
girl
of
sixteen
sees
the
world
before
her
through
rose-tinted
mists,
a
blending
of
celestial
colors
and
earthly
exhalations,
and
she
cannot
separate
their
elements,
if
she
would;
they
all
belong
to
the
landscape
of
her
youth.
It
is
the
mystery
of
the
meeting
horizons,--the
visible
beauty
seeking
to
lose
and
find
itself
in
the
Invisible.
In
returning
to
my
daily
toil
among
workmates
from
the
hill-country,
the
scenery
to
which
they
belonged
became
also
a
part
of
my
life.
They
brought
the
mountains
with
them,
a
new
background
and
a
new
hope.
We
shared
an
uneven
path
and
homely
occupations;
but
above
us
hung
glorious
summits
never
wholly
out
of
sight.
Every
blossom
and
every
dewdrop
at
our
feet
was
touched
with
some
tint
of
that
far-off
splendor,
and
every
pebble
by
the
wayside
was
a
messenger
from
the
peak
that
our
feet
would
stand
upon
by
and
by.
The
true
climber
knows
the
delight
of
trusting
his
path,
of
following
it
without
seeing
a
step
before
him,
or
a
glimpse
of
blue
sky
above
him,
sometimes
only
knowing
that
it
is
the
right
path
because
it
is
the
only
one,
and
because
it
leads
upward.
This
our
daily
duty
was
to
us.
Though
we
did
not
always
know
it,
the
faithful
plodder
was
sure
to
win
the
heights.
Unconsciously
we
learned
the
lesson
that
only
by
humble
Doing
can
any
of
us
win
the
lofty
possibilities
of
Being.
For
indeed,
what
we
all
want
to
find
is
not
so
much
our
place
as
our
path.
The
path
leads
to
the
place,
and
the
place,
when
we
have
found
it,
is
only
a
clearing
by
the
roadside,
an
opening
into
another
path.
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