Chapter 3

Gormlaith, wife of Niall Glendu, Happy was your dream that night, Dreamt you woke in sudden fright, Niall of Ulster stood by you.

Niall of Ulster, dead and gone, Many a year had come again, Him who was in battle slain Now your glad eyes rest upon.

Well your gaze caressed him o'er, His dark head you loved so well, Where the coulin curled and fell On the clever brow he bore.

Those brave shoulders wide and strong, Many a Dane had quaked to see, Never a phantom fair as he,-- Wife of Glendu gazed so long.

Glad Queen Gormlaith, at the dawn Up you sprang to draw him near, Ah! the grey cock loud and clear Crew, and then the Ghost was gone.

Stretched your arms in vain request, Slipped and fell, and wounded sore Called his name, then spake no more, For the bed-stick pierced your breast.

Queen, your smiling lips were dumb With that last dear name you cried, Yet some had it, ere you died, Niall of Ulster whispered, "Come."

UNKNOWN IDEAL

Whose is the voice that will not let me rest? I hear it speak. Where is the shore will gratify my quest, Show what I seek? Not yours, weak Muse, to mimic that far voice, With halting tongue; No peace, sweet land, to bid my heart rejoice Your groves among.

Whose is the loveliness I know is by, Yet cannot place? Is it perfection of the sea or sky, Or human face? Not yours, my pencil, to delineate The splendid smile! Blind in the sun, we struggle on with Fate That glows the while.

Whose are the feet that pass me, echoing On unknown ways? Whose are the lips that only part to sing Through all my days? Not yours, fond youth, to fill mine eager eyes Or find that shore That will not let me rest, nor satisfies For evermore.

BEWARE

I closed my hands upon a moth And when I drew my palms apart, Instead of dusty, broken wings I found a bleeding human heart.

I crushed my foot upon a worm That had my garden for its goal, But when I drew my foot aside I found a dying human soul.

THE OLD MAID

She walks in a lonely garden On the path her feet have made, With high-heeled shoes, gold-buckled, And gown of a flowered brocade;

The hair that falls on her shoulders, Half-held with a ribbon tie, Once glowed like the wheat in autumn, Now grey as a winter sky.

Time on her brow with rough fingers Writes his record of smiles and tears; And her mind, like a golden timepiece, He stopped in the long past years.

At the foot of the lonely garden, When she comes to the trysting place She knew of old, there she lingers, With a blush on her withered face.

The children out on the common: They climb to the garden wall; And laugh: "He will come to-morrow!" Who never will come at all.

And often over our sewing, As I and my neighbour sit To gossip over this story That has never an end to it,

"He is dead," I would say, "that lover, Who left her so long ago," But my neighbour would rest her needle To answer, "He's false I know."

"For could it be he were sleeping. With a love that was such as this He'd have burst through the gates of silence, And flown to meet her kiss."

Is she best with tears or laughter, This dame in her old brocade? My neighbour says she is holy, With a faith that will not fade.

* * * * *

But the children out on the common They answer her dreary call, And say: "He will come to-morrow!" Who never will come at all.

WIRASTRUA

Wirastrua, wirastrua, woe to me that you are dead! The corpse has spoken from out his bed, "Yesternight my burning brain Throbbed and beat on the strings of pain: Now I rest, all my dreaming's done, In the world behind the sun. Yesterday I toiled full sore, To-day I ride in a coach and four. Yesternight in the streets I lay, To-night with kings, and as good as they." Wirastrua! wirastrua! would I were lying as cold as you.

QUESTIONS

What is the secret of your life, browsing ox, Ox the sweet grass eating? Who strung the mighty sinews in your flesh? Who set that great heart beating?

What is the secret of your death, soulless ox, Ox so patiently waiting? Why hath pain wove her net for your brain's anguish If for you Death will gain no life's creating?

A LITTLE DOG

A little dog disturbed my trust in Heaven. I praised most faithfully All the great things that be, Man's pain and pleasure even, I said though hard this weighing Of pains and tears and praying He will reward most just.

I said your bitter weeping man or maid, Your tears or laughter Shall gain a just Hereafter; Meet you the will of God then unafraid, Gird you to your trials for God's abode Is open for all sorrow; Live for the great to-morrow. There passed me on the road

A little dog with hungry eyes, and sad Thin flesh all shivering, All sore and quivering, Whining beneath the fell disease he had. I hurried home and praised God as before For thus affording To man rewarding, The dog was whining outside my door.

I flung it wide, and said, Come enter in, Outcast of God. Beneath His rod You suffer sore, poor beast, that had no sin. Not at my door then must you cry complaining Your lot unjust, But His who thrust You from His door your body maiming.

Not mine the pleasure that you bear this pain, Hurled into being Without hope of freeing By grief and patience a soul for any gain. Thus I reproached God while I tended The sores to healing A voice stealing And whispering out of the beast I friended,

Said, "God had quickened my flesh, bestowing Joys without measure, Made for its pleasure, An Eden's garden for ever glowing. Gave me to Man, his care and protection To gain and to give, And bid us so live In united bonds of help and affection.

"Man wrecked our garden, so we were hurled Out from the skies Of Paradise Into the sorrows of a weeping world. He forgets my care, I, as God has said, Give still affection For that connection Which into all our bodies life has breathed.

"And why are you abusing God, and praising With mock effacement And false abasement Your own heart's kindness, deeming it amazing That you should do this duty for my sake, Which is His bidding, Nor blame for ridding Himself of me, your neighbour, he who spake hard words, Hard words and drove me forth all sore and ill?"

Thus while I tended This dog I friended Gave back my faith in Heaven by God's will.

"I PRAYED SO EAGERLY"

I prayed so eagerly, "Turn and see How bitter I have striven-- A word and all forgiven." I prayed so eagerly.

I prayed so eagerly-- Not to be, You turned and passed. Good-bye! Fates smile for me, dreamed I-- Yet I prayed eagerly.

"WHEN THE DARK COMES"

When the dark comes, "Is this the end?" I pray, No answer from the night, And then once more the day. I take the world again Upon my neck and go Pace with the serious hours. Since fate will have it so, Begone dead man, unclasp Your hands from round my heart, I and my burden pass, You and your peace depart.

DISTANT VOICES

I left my home for travelling; Because I heard the strange birds sing In foreign skies, and felt their wing

Brush past my soul impatiently; I saw the bloom on flower and tree That only grows beyond the sea.

Methought the distant voices spake More wisdom than near tongues can make; I followed--lest my heart should break.

And what is past is past and done. I dreamt, and here the dream begun: I saw a salmon in the sun

Leap from the river to the shore-- Ah! strange mishap, so wounded sore, To his sweet stream to turn no more.

A bird from 'neath his mother's breast, Spread his weak wings in vain request; Never again to reach his nest.

I saw a blossom bloom too soon Upon a summer's afternoon; 'Twill breathe no more beneath the moon.

I woke, warmed 'neath a foreign sky Where locust blossoms bud and die, Strange birds called to me flashing by.

And dusky faces passed and woke The echoes with the words they spoke-- --The same old tales as other folk.

A truce to roaming! Never more I'll leave the home I loved of yore. But strangers meet me at the door.

* * * * *

I left my home still travelling, For yet I hear the strange birds sing, And foreign flowers rare perfumes bring.

I hear a distant voice, more wise Than others are 'neath foreign skies. I'll find--perhaps in paradise.

THE BALLAD OF THE FAIRY THORN-TREE

This is an evil night to go, my sister, To the fairy-tree across the fairy rath, Will you not wait till Hallow Eve is over? For many are the dangers in your path!

I may not wait till Hallow Eve is over, I shall be there before the night is fled, For, brother, I am weary for my lover, And I must see him once, alive or dead.

I've prayed to heaven, but it would not listen, I'll call thrice in the devil's name to-night, Be it a live man that shall come to hear me, Or but a corpse, all clad in snowy white.

* * * * *

She had drawn on her silken hose and garter, Her crimson petticoat was kilted high, She trod her way amid the bog and brambles, Until the fairy-tree she stood near-by.

When first she cried the devil's name so loudly She listened, but she heard no sound at all; When twice she cried, she thought from out the darkness She heard the echo of a light footfall.

When last she cried her voice came in a whisper, She trembled in her loneliness and fright; Before her stood a shrouded, mighty figure, In sombre garments blacker than the night.

"And if you be my own true love," she questioned, "I fear you! Speak you quickly unto me." "_O_, _I am not your own true love_," it answered, "_He drifts without a grave upon the sea_."

"If he be dead, then gladly will I follow Down the black stairs of death into the grave." "_Your lover calls you for a place to rest him_ _From the eternal tossing of the wave_."

"I'll make my love a bed both wide and hollow, A grave wherein we both may ever sleep." "_What give you for his body fair and slender_, _To draw it from the dangers of the deep_?"

"I'll give you both my silver comb and earrings, I'll give you all my little treasure store." "_I will but take what living thing comes forward_, _The first to meet you_,_ passing to your door_."

"O may my little dog be first to meet me, So loose my lover from your dreaded hold." "_What will you give me for the heart that loved you_, _The heart that I hold chained and frozen cold_?"

"My own betrothed ring I give you gladly, My ring of pearls--and every one a tear!" "_I will but have what other living creature_ _That second in your pathway shall appear_."

"To buy this heart, to warm my love to living, I pray my pony meet me on return." "_And now_, _for his young soul what will you give me_, _His soul that night and day doth fret and burn_?"

"You will not have my silver comb and earrings, You will not have my ring of precious stone; O, nothing have I left to promise to you, But give my soul to buy him back his own."

All woefully she wept, and stepping homeward, Bemoaned aloud her dark and cruel fate; "O, come," she cried, "my little dog to meet me, And you, my horse, be browsing at the gate."

Right hastily she pushed by bush and bramble, Chased by a fear that made her footsteps fleet, And as she ran she met her little brother, Then her old father coming her to meet.

"O brother, little brother," cried she weeping, "Well you said of fairy-tree beware, For precious things are bought and sold ere mid-night, On Hallow-eve, by those who barter there."

She went alone into the little chapel, And knelt before the holy virgin's shrine, Saying, "Mother Mary, pray you for me, To save those two most gentle souls of thine."

And as she prayed, behold the holy statue Spoke to her, saying, "Little can I aid, God's ways are just, and you have dared to question His judgment on this soul you bought--and paid."

"For that one soul, your father and your brother, Your own immortal life you bartered; then, Yet one chance is allowed--your sure repentance, Give back his heart you made to live again."

"For these two souls--my father and my brother-- I give his heart back into death's cold land, Never again to warm his dead, sweet body, Or beat to madness underneath my hand."

"And for your soul--to save it from its sorrow, You must drive back his soul into the night, Back into righteous punishment and justice, Or lose your chance of everlasting light."

"O, never shall I drive him back to anguish, My soul shall suffer, letting his go free." She rose, and weeping, left the little chapel, Went forward blindly till she reached the sea.

She dug a grave within the surf and shingle, A dark, cold bed, made very deep and wide, She laid her down all stiff and stretched for burial, Right in the pathway of the rising tide.

First tossed into her waiting arms the restless Loud waves, a woman very grey and cold, Within her bed she stood upright so quickly, And loosed her fingers from the dead hands' hold.

The second who upon her heart had rested From out the storm, a baby chill and stark, With one long sob she drew it on her bosom, Then thrust it out again into the dark.

The last who came so slow was her own lover, She kissed his icy face on cheek and chin, "O cold shall be your house to-night, beloved, O cold the bed that we must sleep within.

"And heavy, heavy, on our lips so faithful And on our hearts, shall lie our own roof-tree." And as she spoke the bitter tears were falling On his still face, all salter than the sea.

"And oh," she said, "if for a little moment You knew, my cold, dead love, that I was by, That my soul goes into the utter darkness When yours comes forth--and mine goes in to die."

And as she wept she kissed his frozen forehead, Laid her warm lips upon his mouth so chill, With no response--and then the waters flowing Into their grave, grew heavy, deep and still.

* * * * *

And so, 'tis said, if to that fairy thorn-tree You dare to go, you see her ghost so lone, She prays for love of her that you will aid her, And give your soul to buy her back her own.

THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE

This is the scene of a man's despair, and a soul's release From the difficult traits of the flesh; so, it seeking peace, A shot rang out in the night; death's doors were wide; And you stood alone, a stranger, and saw inside.

Coward flesh, brave soul, which was it? One feared the world, The pity of men, or their scorn; yet carelessly hurled All on the balance of Chance for a state unknown; Fled the laughter of men for the anger of God--alone.

Perhaps when the hot blood streamed on the daisied sod, Poor soul, you were likened to Cain, and you fled from God; Men say you fought hard for your life, when the deed was done; But your body would rise no more 'neath this world's sun.

I'd choose--should I do the act--such a night as this, When the sea throws up white arms for the wild wind's kiss; When the waves shake the shuddering shore with their foamy jaws; Tear the strand, till slipping pebbles shriek through their claws.

The sky is loud with the storm; not a bird dare span From here to the mist; beasts are silent; yet for a man, For a soul springing naked to meet its judge, a night That were as a brother to this poor spirit's long flight.

But he had chosen, they tell me, a dusk so fair One almost thought there were not such another--there. The air was full of the perfume of pines, and the sweet Sleepy chirp of birds, long the lush soft grass at his feet.

They say there was dancing too in a house close by, That they heard the shot just thinking wild birds must die. They supped and laughed, went singing the long night through, And they danced unknowing the dance of death with you.

What did you hear when you opened the doors of death? Was it the sob of a thrush, or a slow sweet breath Of the perfumed air that blew through the doors with you, That you fought so hard to regain the world you knew?

Or was it a woman's cry that, shrieking into the gloom, Like a hand that closed on your soul clutching it from its doom? Was it a mother's call, or the touch of a baby's kiss, That followed your desperate soul down the black abyss?

What did you see--as you stood on the other side-- A strange shy soul amongst souls, did you seek to hide From the ghosts that were who judged you upon your way, Reckoned your sins against theirs for the judgment day?

You feared the world, the pity of men or their scorn, The movements of fate and the sorrows for which you were born. Men's laughter, men's speech, their judging, what was it to this Where the eyes of the dead proclaim you have done amiss.

Not peace did you gain, perhaps, nor the rest you had planned, 'Neath the horrible countless eyes that you could not withstand? Or was it God looked from his throne in a moment's disdain, And you shrieked for a trial once more in the height of your pain?

Perhaps--but who knows--when you struggled so hard for life's breath, You saw nothing passing the grave except silence and death, You lay shut in by the four clay walls of your cell, There the live soul locked up in the stiff dead body's shell.

Dead, dead and coffin'd, buried beneath the clay, And still the living soul caged in to wait decay, For ever alone in night of unlifting gloom There to think, and think, and think, in the silent tomb.

Or was it in death's cold land there was no perfume Of the scented flowers, or lilt of a bird's gay tune. No sea there, or no cool of a wind's fresh breath, No woods, no plains, no dreams, and alas! no death?

Was there no life there that man's brain could understand? No past, no future, hopes to come, in that strange land? No human love, no sleep, no day, no night, But ever eternal living in eternal light?

Perhaps the soul thus springing to fill its grave, Found all the peace and happiness that it could crave; All it had lost alone was that poor body's part Which naught but grey corruption saw for its chart.

Ah well! for us there ended all one man's life with this-- A shot, a cry, a struggle, and a fainting woman's kiss; Life's blood let 'mid the grasses--and all a world was lost, And no one may ever know how he paid the cost.

He is lost in the crowd of the dead, in the night-time of death, A name on a stone left to tell that he ever drew breath. So desperate body die there, with your soul's long release, And unhappy spirit God grant you Eternity's peace!

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Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. London & Edinburgh

Footnotes:

{21} "May my darling come through safely!"