Chapter VI

’Twas a throuble swep’ nearer, an’ blacker, an’ surer; the whole world stood still;
You ’d as aisy turn back a cloud’s shadow, that’s tuk to slide over a hill.
There was Jack wid the life failin’ out of him fast as the light from the sky,
That came fingerin’ the grass wid long rays, blade be blade, an’ thin twinklin’ up high
On the gold spark atop their green dome. And I thought to meself how the same
Blamed ould sunset ’ud thrapese away to the west till the shine of it came,
Flarin’ red in the bog-houles, an’ bright past the turf-stacks, and in at the door
Of the little ould place down the lonin’, that Jack ’ud set fut in no more,
And ’twould dance on their bits of gilt jugs, till they glittered like stars in a row,
And the people widin at their suppers ne’er thinkin’ no great while ago
It was dazzlin’ Jack’s eyes as he looked for me face wid the last of his sight.
And sez I to him, ‘What is it, lad?’ but I knew I might listen all night
And no answer; the sorra a chance to be bringin’ thim word we’d ha’ found,
On’y Jack had more sinse in him yet than meself that was hearty and sound;
For he looked towards the rim of the west wid the sun hangin’ ready to fall,
And he whistled two notes quick and low--well I knew it: the curlew’s call.