I THE CHILDREN OF WIND AND THE CLAN OF PEACE
II THE LORDS OF WISDOM
III HOW DEEP KNOWLEDGE CAME TO THE CHILD JESUS
© 1998, 1999, 2000 copyright by Mary Ann Dobratz All Rights Reserved
With the exception of Vol. II, The Collected Works of Fiona Macleod and
Vol. V, The Selected Writings of Wm. Sharp (now in print)
the writings of the above author are in the public domain.
If referencing any material for articles, please footnote/bookmark the URL for this site.
Return to HOME
It is true that there are those who, wakeful, live out their days in this world of sight and sound, and die and are hidden away forever; and there are those who, escaping the various vicissitudes of life, dwell perpetually upon the Hills of Dream. These latter do not die. And of one such I am writing,---of one who has conjured forth from the mysterious regions of imagination, wondrous beauties of thought and expression; such vague, half-lost, wholly indefinable melodies of the soul; of one who has plucked, for our delighting, a beautiful and fragrant bouquet of poesy from those immortal dream-fields, and given them to us as a perpetual love-offering,---of Fiona Macleod I would speak my little word of praise and admiration.
To that elect few who journey through this world of ours, finding the best in books as in everything else, I hardly need to address myself in this brief Forward, for they already know those lovely songs and memories, those deathless echoes From the Hills of Dream, and to these lovely Legends of the little lad of Nazareth, written in all the fulness of charm for which Fiona Macleod is well known, will be but one more golden thread to weave into the web of pleasure, and they will find in them all the delicate imagery, all the lilt of birds and dream-tunes whispered through the scarcely moving leaves at twilight, which are breathed into the simple, tender, perfect pages, contained in everything she ever wrote, whether of poetry or prose.
There will be those who take up this little volume asking "and who is this stranger, Fiona Macleod?" I believe if they read these pages they will search for other evidences of this ideal beauty, for such Legends cannot but stiumlate the thirst for more of the mystic, golden wine of poesy, for what are they indeed if not the most delicate poetry set forth in perfect prose language!
If, as our author says, "It is common tongue we speak," then shall all find the meaning hidden away in these three simple Legenda of the little Child Jesusm and with Mary, trteasure them in their hearts. "The wave has its own whisper, the wind its own sigh," which shall whisper to our dull ears and bid us learn of love and beauty. Herein shall leaarn why the crow is made black, and why the dove is as the white cloud of peace, and with Mary, we shall dream that we "may know Death at last," for he that knoweth Life and desireth not Death hath never lived and loved!
So, "dwelling among shadows and glories, in the west of passing things" we shall wait through all the dreams for the "coming of joy through the gates of Life," thransfigured by Love's final sunset, when the day is past and the twilight hour has gathered us in and clothed us with the silver radiance of dreams come true!
ANNA M. BATCHELDER.