"They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar, Sister Helen, And one draws nigh, but two are afar." "Look, look, do you know them who they are, Little brother?"68 (O Mother, Mary Mother, Who should they be, between Hell and Heaven?) "Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so fast, Sister Helen, For I know the white mane on the blast." "The hour has come, has come at last, Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!) 77 "He has made a sign and called Halloo! Sister Helen, And he says that he would speak with you." "Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew, Little brother." 82 (O Mother, Mary Mother, Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?) "The wind is loud, but I hear him cry, Little brother."89 (O Mother, Mary Mother, And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!) "Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce, Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven ?) "Oh, he says that Keith of Ewern's cry, Is ever to see you ere he die." 144 Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, The soul's one sight, between Hell and Heaven!) "He sends a ring and a broken coin, Sister Helen, And bids you mind the banks of Boyne." "What else he broke will he ever join, 151 Little brother?" (O Mother, Mary Mother, No, never joined, between Hell and Heaven!) "He yields you these and craves full fain, Sister Helen, You pardon him in his mortal pain." "What else he took will he give again, Little brother?" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!) 161 "Oh it's Keith of Keith now that rides fast, Sister Helen, For I know the white hair on the blast." "The short, short hour will soon be past, 172 Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!) "He looks at me and he tries to speak, Sister Helen, But oh! his voice is sad and weak!" "What here should the mighty Baron seek, Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?) 182 When do I see thee most, beloved one? Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) Nor image of thine eyes in any spring, — 11 How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope, The wind of Death's imperishable wing? LOVE-SWEETNESS Sweet dimness of her loosened hair's downfall About thy face; her sweet hands round thy head In gracious fostering union garlanded; Her tremulous smiles; her glances' sweet recail Of love; her murmuring sighs memorial; Her mouth's culled sweetness by thy kisses shed On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led Back to her mouth which answers there for all: What sweeter than these things, except the thing 1 the ferryman who in Greek mythology conveyed the spirits of the dead across the river Styx to Hades What other woman could be loved like you, A tender glamour of day, there comes to view Far in your eyes a yet more hungering thrill, Such fire as Love's soul-winnowing hands distil Even from his inmost ark of light and dew. And as the traveller triumphs with the sun, Glorying in heat's mid-height, yet startide brings Wonder new-born, and still fresh transport springs II From limpid lambent hours of day begun; Even so, through eyes and voice, your soul Was that the landmark? What, the foolish well Whose wave, low down, I did not stoop to drink, But sat and flung the pebbles from its brink In sport to send its imaged skies pell-mell, (And mine own image, had I noted well!) Was that my point of turning? — I had thought The stations of my course should rise unsought, As altar-stone or ensigned citadel. But lo! the path is missed, I must go back, And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring ΙΟ Which once I stained, which since may have grown black. Yet though no light be left nor bird now sing As here I turn, I'll thank God, hastening, That the same goal is still on the same track. |