A 1905 Postcard of Lake Champlain, Plattsburgh, N.Y., at sunrise

 Liana Herzog

In a world becoming increasingly fast-paced, I often worry that I’ve stopped being able to appreciate stillness. I am uncomfortable sitting in silence, my thoughts unoccupied by worries or plans. Morning Melody by Lucretia Maria Davidson reintroduced me to the comfort in stillness, the peace that comes from observing what is often overlooked and considered mundane. 

Written when she was only fifteen, Morning Melody is told from the perspective of the morning itself as it crosses over the land, awakening the world. The morning beckons a maiden to awake from her slumber, along with the rest of the world around her. 

I come in the breath of the waken’d breeze,
I kiss the flowers, and I bend the trees;
And I shake the dew, which hath fallen by night,
From its throne, on the lily’s pure bosom of white
(…)
Then awake thee, O maiden, I bid thee awake!

Lucretia Maria Davidson was born and died in Plattsburgh, New York, a month before her seventeenth birthday. Already I am older than she ever had the chance to be, and yet at her young age, she had the ability to transform a page in a way that many adults decades her senior could not. 

She is by far not the first to write about the morning, the sun, or the dew, but her choice to write from the perspective of the morning displays unique creativity that stands out to me. 

I grew up on the opposite side of the country as Davidson, and yet, the scenery she describes in Morning Melody sounds like home. Like me, she grew up surrounded by towering forests, mountains, and crystal blue lakes. This poem is the morning, it is watching the earth wake up, staring in wonder at how beautiful the world can be. 

I beam o’er the mountains, and come from on high:
When my gay purple banners are waving afar;
When my herald, gray dawn, hath extinguish’d each star:

These lines take me back to a backpacking trip I took a few years ago. I awoke one morning atop a peak in the cascades in complete darkness. I found a small rock to sit upon, and I slowly watched from my vantage point as the sun crept up the side of the mountain, a solid line distinguishing night from day. I began to hear birds chirping, and goats appeared on a distant peak. The flowers rose and bent towards the sun, as though the morning had said “When I smile on the woodlands, I bid thee awake!” 

I was fifteen years old on this trip, just as Lucretia was, and yet I was unable to put into words what I had seen as I watched the world awaken. Her ability to turn a feeling I had deemed indescribable into words I could share with others is special to me. 

As I get older I often find myself struggling to see the world in the same light I did when I was younger. Morning Melody takes me back to a simpler time, a time when I appreciated every rock and tree, every flower, and every gust of wind. 

In the latter half of the poem, Davidson describes the night as a world of silence, solitude, and sorrow.

Bearing on, in their bosoms, the children of light,
Who have fled from this dark world of sorrow and night;
When the lake lies in calmness and darkness, save where
The bright ripple curls, ‘neath the smile of a star;
When all is in silence and solitude here,
Then sleep, maiden, sleep! without sorrow or fear!

The morning encourages the maiden to sleep during this time, “When the lake lies in calmness and darkness, save where / The bright ripple curls, ‘neath the smile of a star;” but urges her to awaken when the rest of the world does. 

But when I steal silently over the lake,
Awake thee then, maiden, awake! oh, awake!

While this can be taken literally, I see this as a call to awaken from a more metaphorical slumber. I often forget to sit in stillness as I did when I was a kid, when I observe every little detail of the world around me. The world seems to move so quickly around me, and I often forget to pause and take it all in. It reminds me to awaken and appreciate the sunrise, the dew on the lawn, the clear blue skies. I often sleep through these morning sunrises after late nights studying, and I am reminded to pause and awaken both myself and my senses to appreciate the morning. It is as though I am the maiden being called to awaken, as though 200 years later she is speaking to me, reminding me not to sleep through the beauty around me. 

Lucretia Davidson was only on this earth for seventeen years, and she spent those years, despite repeated illness, choosing to see and appreciate the beauty around her. This poem reminds me that life is fleeting, and inspires me to do the same.