She knew the clouds as shepherds know their sheep, It was a night of summer, yet the wind * Had wafted from God's wastes the rain-clouds dank, Blown out Heaven's thousand eyes and left it blind, Though now and then the Moon gleamed moist behind The rack, till, smitten by the drift, she sank. But the Deep roared; Sucked to the black clouds, spumed the foam-fleck'd main, 'Tis late, and yet the woman doth not rest, And stareth at the air! Far, far away her thoughts were travelling: Then, even then, the woman's face went white For suddenly all the wild screams of night Were hushed: the Wind lay down; and she could hear Strange voices gather round her in the gloom, Sounds of invisible feet across the room, 244 THE STORM. And after that the rustle of a shroud, And then a creaking door, And last the coronach, full shrill and loud, Of women clapping hands and weeping sore. Now Meg knew well that ill was close at hand, Because the Glamour touched her lids like breath, Then suddenly she heard a human shout, Then a hoarse voice- —a knocking at the door— Now mark the woman! She hath risen her height, One look upon her child—he sleepeth on— And comes where, rubbing eyelids thick with sleep, Black was the oozy lift, Black were the sea and land; Hither and thither, thick with foam and drift, Swinging with iron clash on stone and sand. Faintlier the heavy Rain was falling, Faintlier, faintlier the Wind was calling With hollower echoes up the drifting dark! While the swift rockets shooting through the night Flash'd past the foam-flecked reef with phantom light, And showed the piteous outline of the bark, Rising and falling like a living thing, Shuddering, shivering, While, howling beastlike, the white breakers there While flashing faint the blue light rose and died. Be gentle! chain the fierce waves with a chain! And breathe the frail lad safely through the foam And spare the bad man with the frenzied eye; Now faintlier blew the wind, the thin rain ceased, GOD putting out His hand! And overhead the rack grew thinner too, The Wind drave past the stars, and faint they flew And now the thousand foam-flames o' the Sea And gray lights hither and thither came and fled, 246 THE STORM. And where these shapes most thickly glimmer'd by, Silent upon the shore, the fishers fed Their eyes on horror, waiting for the close, Like creatures startled from a trance, they turned Some, shrugging shoulders, homeward turned their eyes, A rush to seaward-black confusion-then A struggle with the surf upon the strand- The long oars smite, the black boat springs from land! The waves roll on and seem to overwhelm. With blowing hair and onward-gazing eyes Now fearless heart, Meg Blane, or all must die! Round to the liquid ridge the boat leaps light,-- Dripping and quivering like a bird, it rides. Athwart the ragged rift the Moon looms pale, And making silvern shadows with her breath, A scream!-and all is still beneath the sky, Robert Buchanan. LONGING FOR HOME. I. A song of a boat:— There was once a boat on a billow: Lightly she rocked to her port remote, And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow, And bent like a wand of willow. 2. I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat I marked her course till a dancing mote 3. I pray you hear my song of a boat, For it is but short: My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat, In river or port. |