XXXVI
Towards eve, that day, arrived his faithful aid,
Who after stealthy search had found a ship
For Ireland bound, to sail that very night;
And in the dark, before the moon rose bright,
They might into its hiding safely slip,—
The captain willing to be doubly paid.
So, as the dusk grew on, the kindly dusk,—
Which like a mother’s weeping love embraces
Her guilty child, to pardon, shield and hide,
Close to her breast, where nothing shall betide
Him but the shelter from the cruel faces
Of an avenging world,—he rose to busk
With his companions, yet, ere he took leave,
He prayed the hermit’s blessing on his soul,
Then put a golden pound within his palms,
The hermit thanked him for his gen’rous alms,
Then blessed him with the cross, yea, blessed them all,
And bid them fare in hope, and not to grieve.
Then they departed to a little boat,
Hid in a wooded nook upon the river,
And in the darkness for the ship set out,
And Quinn, who plied the oars, did make the route,
Without a blunder, to the “Guadalquiver,”—
As proud a galleon as was afloat.