410

FLANNAN ISLE

"THOUGH three men dwell on Flannan Isle
To keep the lamp alight,

As we steered under the lee, we caught
No glimmer through the night."—

A passing ship at dawn had brought
The news; and quickly we set sail,
To find out what strange thing might ail
The keepers of the deep-sea light.

The Winter day broke blue and bright,
With glancing sun and glancing spray,
While o'er the swell our boat made way,
As gallant as a gull in flight.

But as we neared the lonely Isle,
And looked up at the naked height,
And saw the lighthouse towering white,
With blinded lantern, that all night
Had never shot a spark

Of comfort through the dark,
So ghostly in the cold sunlight

It seemed, that we were struck the while
With wonder all too dread for words.

And as into the tiny creek

We stole beneath the hanging crag,
We saw three queer, black, ugly birds-
Too big, by far, in my belief,

For cormorant or shag

Like seamen sitting bolt-upright
Upon a half-tide reef:

But, as we neared, they plunged from sight,
Without a sound, or spurt of white.

And still too mazed to speak,

We landed; and made fast the boat;
And climbed the track in single file,
Each wishing he were safe afloat,
On any sea, however far,

So it be far from Flannan Isle:
And still we seemed to climb, and climb,
As though we'd lost all count of time,
And so must climb for evermore.

Yet, all too soon, we reached the door
The black, sun-blistered lighthouse-door,
That gaped for us ajar.

As, on the threshold, for a spell,

We paused, we seemed to breathe the smell
Of limewash and of tar,

Familiar as our daily breath,

As though 'twere some strange scent of death:
And so, yet wondering, side by side,
We stood a moment, still tongue-tide:
And each with black foreboding eyed

The door, ere we should fling it wide,
To leave the sunlight for the gloom:
Till, plucking courage up, at last,
Hard on each other's heels we passed,
Into the living-room.

Yet, as we crowded through the door,
We only saw a table, spread

For dinner, meat and cheese and bread;
But, all untouched; and no one there:
As though, when they sat down to eat,
Ere they could even taste,

Alarm had come; and they in haste

Had risen and left the bread and meat:

For at the table-head a chair

Lay tumbled on the floor.

We listened; but we only heard
The feeble cheeping of a bird
That starved upon its perch:
And, listening still, without a word,
We set about our hopeless search.

We hunted high, we hunted low;
And soon ransacked the empty house;
Then o'er the Island, to and fro,
We ranged, to listen and to look
In every cranny, cleft or nook

That might have hid a bird or mouse:

But, though we searched from shore to shore, We found no sign in any place:

And soon again stood face to face

Before the gaping door:

And stole into the room once more

As frightened children steal.

Ay: though we hunted high and low,

And hunted everywhere,

Of the three men's fate we found no trace

Of any kind in any place,

But a door ajar, and an untouched meal,

And an overtoppled chair.

And as we listened in the gloom

Of that forsaken living-room

A chill clutch on our breath

We thought how ill-chance came to all
Who kept the Flannan Light:

And how the rock had been the death

Of many a likely lad:

How six had come to a sudden end,

And three had gone stark mad:

And one whom we'd all known as friend

Had leapt from the lantern one still night,

And fallen dead by the lighthouse wall:
And long we thought

On the three we sought,

And of what might yet befall.

Like curs a glance has brought to heel,

We listened, flinching there:

And looked, and looked, on the untouched meal,

And the overtoppled chair.

We seemed to stand for an endless while,

Though still no word was said,

Three men alive on Flannan Isle,

Who thought on three men dead.

WILFRED GIBSON

411

THE GOLDEN VANITY

THERE was a gallant ship, and a gallant ship was she,

Eck iddle du, and the Lowlands low;

And she was called The Goulden Vanitie.

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

She had not sailed a league, a league but only three,
When she came up with a French gallee.

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he;
"What will you give me if I sink that French gallee?
As ye sail to the Lowlands low."

"I'll give thee gold, and I'll give thee fee, And my eldest daughter thy wife shall be

If you sink her off the Lowlands low.”

"Then row me up ticht in a black bull's skin, And throw me oer deck-buird, sink I or swim. As ye sail to the Lowlands low."

So they've rowed him up ticht in a black bull's skin,
And have thrown him oer deck-buird, sink he or swim.
As they sail to the Lowlands low.

About, and about, and about went he,
Until he cam up with the French gallee.

As they sailed to the Lowlands low.