An Orkney Maid

Dust to dust, but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came A portion of the Eternal which must glow Through time and change unalterably the same.

There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry, And triumph weeps above the brave. For them is Sorrow's purest sigh, O'er...

... a girl with sudden ebullitions, Flashes of fun, and little bursts of song; Petulant, pains, and fleeting pale contritions, Mute little moods of misery and wrong. Only a girl...

You Scotsmen are a pertinacious brood; Fitly you wear the thistle in your cap, As in your grim theology. O we're not all so fierce! God knows you'll find, Well-combed and smooth...

Alas, how easily things go wrong! A sigh too much, or a kiss too long, And there follows a mist and a weeping rain And life is never the same again.

For when I note how noble Nature's form Under the war's red pain, I deem it true That He who made the earthquake and the storm, Perchance made battles too.

Love is rich in his own right, He is heir of all the spheres, In his service day and night, Swing the tides and roll the years. What has he to ask of fate? Crown him; glad or de...

O Christ whose Cross began to bloom With peaceful lilies long ago; Each year above Thy empty tomb More thick the Easter garlands grow. O'er all the wounds of this sad strife Bri...

Kind were the voices I used to hear Round such a fireside, Speaking the mother tongue old and dear; Making the heart beat, With endless tales of wonder and fear, Or plaintive si...

... they do not trust their tongues alone But speak a language of their own; Convey a libel in a frown, And wink a reputation down; Or by the tossing of a fan, Describe the lady...

Not long ago I found in a list of Orkney and Shetland literature several volumes by a Conall Ragnor, two of them poetry. But that just tended to certify a suspicion. Sixty years...