Chapter X

After a night so fierce and foul
What wonder such a day?
The wind, which shrieked like a tortured soul
Last night across the bay,
Blew high and keen like a violin
And dashed the blue with spray.

After a night so mad and wild
An afternoon of blue,
Of glinting, winking, glad blue waters
And breakers only a few,
Of light and azure undefiled
With scarce a cloud in view.

And at the hour of evening prayer
Came three who roamed the shore,
The sea was older, colder, and greyer,
And moved and murmured more.

Amid the waste of heaven and sea
A body lay alone,
Half in a pool and half on the knee
Of an ancient mossy stone.

The sea had saved a poor little fool
From life and all its harms,
Her body lay in a lonely pool--
Not in a lover's arms.

And on her cheek the mask of peace
And on her lips the smile
Of those who mourn and find release,
Who know, not love, the vile.

The Wraith.

A pale wraith stood in the dim grey dawn
Beside his old love's bed
Wavering like a film of lawn
And wrang his hands and said,
"Oh! I have come to make my prayer
For I cannot take my rest
When I think of the red crown I called your hair
And the cold stone in your breast.

"Out of the eyeless hopeless dark
The nights that are black and grey
Never a moon or faint star-spark
Or a lonely glimmer of day.
Oh! my love, I have come, love,
From the ebony gates of death
For the sake of the red crown I called your hair
And the jasmine of your breath."

But his voice was lost like a mouse's scream
In a lonely empty house,
And the woman lay in a tender dream
Of love and orchard boughs,
Her cheeks were flushed and twice she sighed
As she turned upon her bed
And she had no thought for the thing that cried
Or the utterance of the dead.

The Two Murderers.

"Yes, it was I that killed her
I did it with this knife,
Her that was more to me once....
Well, just the whole of my life.
Take me away and hide me,
Or kill me afore I'm mad....
It's rummy to think of me hanging
Who was such a quiet lad.

"I met her here on the tow-path,
Same as I used in May,
There wasn't no moon yet, only
The scent of the new-mown hay,
And I says--well--I thought for a moment
The happy times was near,
'The light that shineth in darkness
Is the light of your eyes, my dear.'

"Murder! a court full of lawyers....
And justice guaranteed....
And the judge will hang the prisoner
'For a cowardly cruel deed.'...
Murder!--excuse my laughing!...
It's a kind of catch in the breath....
'But there's words more harsh than a rope is
And looks more bitter than death.'

"Murder! My Lud, if ever
Their ledgers are balanced true
Which of the pair?... Oh! I reckon
That she killed something too.
... Is it the scent of a woman's hair
Or the scent of new-mown hay?...
Don't stand there shaking and staring,
For God's sake take me away."

REFLECTIONS.

The Wind and the Hills.

We will carry our ills
To a height of the hills,
Lying down, lying still
In the lap of a hill.

The wind blowing keen
Shall again make us clean,
Both body and spirit;
As it passes we shall hear it.

The time is of thunder
And fields new turned under,
Of budding and waking;
Of thorn-blossom flaking.

Of longing and questing;
Of carol and nesting;
Of white birds on the wing
Over seas blue with spring.

But you read in the pages
Of the books of the sages,
And save that dark curtain
They know nothing certain,

Except that dark portal
Which waits all things mortal--
And conqueror or prophet
Comprehend no more of it.

Yet the wind travels so
That it surely must know;
It has gone the world round
Till it came to our ground.

And the hills, which stood fast
Ere the first axe was cast
And have seen so much history,
May have fathomed the mystery.

But the hills on our borders
Are silent old warders,
And the winds which rejoice
No articulate voice.

Oh! ye pure larger airs
Ye will scatter our cares--
Mighty bastions of ours,
Uplift that which cowers,

For behind your grave brows
Are a thousand strong "Nows--"
And the wind has a "must"
In its rude healthy gust.

How it braces and rightens
That wind to make Titans!
Its strenuous wooing
Says, "Up, lads, and doing."

So leaving the high down
Like giants we stride down;
While the valleys before us
Resound to our chorus.

Having been each a seer
To whom all things were near,
Not resenting or grieving
But simply believing.

The Happy Ones.

They awaited with head erect
Whatever fate could befall them;
Tried but the good to recollect,
Cried for the truth to call them.
To be loved by the children of other suns
And send a message to find them,
This is the fate of the happiest ones
Tho' the mortar of life may grind them.
They were like swimmers breasting the waves
In the troughs of a stormy channel,
They are silent now in their lonely graves,
But the world has become the panel.
They wore the truth like a bridal dress
And sorrow like wedding apparel,
Tho' the placid laughed at their foolishness
And the cynic sneered from his barrel.
Or like the wandering Ishmaelites,
Who found no city to dwell in,
Whose lonely hearts ached for pleasant sights,
Whose graves were the places they fell in,
Rock their pillow and sand their bed,
As the sun of the desert paints them;
The fierce kites screaming overhead,
And the hands of all men against them.
But a word goes out and over the earth,
From the silent burying-places,
Like a gentle rain in a land of dearth,
And lights up the tired faces.
It brings a roof and a sweet abode
To many a soul that is vagrant;
Their names are blossoms along the road
And their lives are for ever fragrant.
We who sorrow are brothers of theirs,
Because of their beautiful sorrows,
Wheat will grow up among the tares,
And young corn grow in the furrows.

A Question.

Why do you prate to me
Of deeds unjust and just,
Moved by a story of good
Or a monstrous tale of crimes--
Me that can have no loves
But star-eyed queens long dust,
Me that can mourn no griefs
But the tears in poets' rhymes?

The Earth.

The Earth and her travail are ancient,
Her gods have but reigned for a while--
The moon-crowned Queen Astarte,
The barking god of the Nile.
Her temples were raised and builded,
And crumbled again to the dust--
Her worships have been and vanished--
But the heart of the Earth is just.

Aspirations.

For that Thou pointest further still
Than that dumb hand upon the hour
Nor givest the boon to sap the will,
I thank Thee, wise and tender power.

For that Thou givest my soul some pride,
Not grudging sorrow for a mate,
For this my wild and lovely bride
I thank Thee, just, compassionate.

For that Thou givest my soul some strength
Of that high strength which rules the stars,
To brave the time and wait the length,
I bless Thy name and kiss my scars.

Romance.

Know the decree that natures such as mine
Must clasp the World and find her half-divine,
Hyperion-souls which need no anodyne.
Once more, once more ye come, ye lovely shapes,
Voicing the magic "Ye are Gods, not Apes."
And oh! the Glory over seas and capes.
In memory only!--What that memory gave
Of our young day, so brief and yet so brave,
Will lead us half reluctant to the grave.
Tho' it existed not--lived never--only came
From some vast depth of dateless woe and shame
Striving to give its high desire a name,
The glory dies not; leaves us tired and still;
We cannot follow, even if we will;
The Afterglow! Ah! there--beyond the hill.