But if all the harm that's been done by Now roars, now murmurs with the chan The dark blood sprang from his wounds, the cold sweat stood on his face, For over the darkening plain came a rider riding apace. Her rags flapped loose in the wind; the last of the sunset glare Flung dusky gold on her brow and her bosom broad and bare. She was haggard with want and woe, on s jaded steed astride, And still, as it staggered and strove, she smote on its heaving side, Till she came to the limbless tree where the tortured man hung high And a strong man hung thereon in his pain A motionless crooked mass on a yellow streak in the sky. "'Tis I-I am here, Antoine — I have found thee at last," she said; "O the hours have been long, but long and the minutes as drops of lead. Have they trapped thee, the full-fed flock, thou wert wont to harry and spoil? Do they laugh in their town secure o'er their measures of wine and oil? Ah God! that these hands might reach where they loll in their rich array ; Ah God, that they were but mine, all mine, to mangle and slay! How they shuddered and shrank, erewhile, at the sound of thy very name, When we lived as the gray wolves live, whom torture nor want may tame : And thou but a man! and still a scourge and a terror to men, Yet only my lover to me, my dear, in the rare days then. O years of revel and love! ye are gone as the wind goes by, He is snared and shorn of his strength, and the anguish of hell have I I am here, love, at thy feet; I have ridden far and fast To gaze in thine eyes again, and to kiss thy lips at the last." She rose to her feet and stood upright on the gaunt mare's back, Wi' never a sign to see, But the voices all aroun'. We laid to the saut sea-shore, An' the boat dipped low i' th' tide, As she micht hae dipped wi' a score, An' our ain three sel's beside. O the boat she settled low, Till her gunwale kissed the faem, An' she didna loup nor row As she bare the deid folk hame ; But she aye gaed swift an' licht, An' we naething saw nor wist Wha sailed i' th' boat that nicht Through the mirk an' the saft sea-mist. There was never a sign to see, But a misty shore an' low; Never a word spak' we, But the boat she lichtened slow, An' a cauld sigh stirred my hair, An' a cauld hand touched my wrist, An' my heart sank cauld and sair I' the mirk an' the saft sea-mist. Then the wind raise up wi' a maen, ('T was a waefu' wind, an' weet), Like a deid saul wud wi' pain, Like a bairnie wild wi' freit; But the boat rade swift an' licht, Sae we wan the land fu' sune, An' the shore showed wan an' white By a glint o' the waning mune. We steppit oot owre the sand Where an unco' tide had been, For there, in the wind an' weet, My Jean an' her weans lay cauld at my feet, In the mirk an' the saft sea-mist. An' it's O for my bonny Jean! An' it's O for my bairnies twa, It's O an' O for the watchet een An' the steps that are gane awa' Awa' to the Silent Place, Or ever I saw nor wist, Though I wot we twa went face to face Through the mirk an' the saft sea-mist. HEREAFTER SHALL we not weary in the windless days Forlorn amid the pearl and ivory, Give us again the crazy clay-built nest, Our fairy gold of evening in the West; Still to the land we love our longings cling, The sweet, vain world of turmoil and unrest. THE FARM ON THE LINKS GRAY o'er the pallid links, haggard and forsaken, Still the old roof-tree hangs rotting overhead, Still the black windows stare sullenly to seaward, Still the blank doorway gapes, open to the dead; What is it cries with the crying of the curlews? What comes apace on those fearful, stealthy feet, Back from the chill sea-deeps, gliding o'er the sand-dunes, Home to the old home, once again to meet? What is to say as they gather round the hearth-stone, Flameless and dull as the feuds and fears of old? Laughing and fleering still, menacing and mocking, Sadder than death itself, harsher than the cold. Woe for the ruined hearth, black with dule and evil, Woe for the wrong and the hate too deep to die! Woe for the deeds of the dreary days past over, Woe for the grief of the gloomy days gone by! Where do they come from? furtive and despairing, Where are they bound for? those that gather there, Slow, with the sea-wind sobbing through the chambers, Soft, with the salt mist stealing up the stair? Names that are nameless now, names of dread and loathing, Banned and forbidden yet, dark with spot and stain : Only the old house watches and remembers, Only the old home welcomes them again. TO MY CAT HALF loving-kindliness and half disdain, In salutation courtly and urbane ; And nowhere gladly thou abidest save Where naught disturbs the concord of thy reign. Sphinx of my quiet hearth! who deign'st to dwell Friend of my toil, companion of mine ease, Thine is the lore of Ra and Rameses; That men forget dost thou remember well, Beholden still in blinking reveries AVE ATQUE VALE FAREWELL, my Youth! for now we needs must part, For here the paths divide; Here hand from hand must sever, heart from heart, Divergence deep and wide. |