WURTHA.
Through the autumn mists so red
Shot the slim and golden stocks
Of the ripe corn; Wurtha said,
“Let us cut them for our flocks.”
Answered I, “When morning leaves
Her bright footprints on the sea,
As I cut and bind the sheaves,
Wurtha, thou shalt glean for me.”
“Nay; the full moon shines so bright,
All along the vale below,
I could count our flocks to-night;
Haco, let us rise and go;
For when bright the risen morn
Leaves her footprints on the sea,
Thou may’st cut and bind the corn,
But I can not glean for thee.”
And as I my reed so light
Blowing sat, her fears to calm,
Said she, “Haco, yesternight,
In my dream, I missed a lamb;
And as down the misty vale
Went I pining for the lost,
Something shadowy and pale
And phantom-like my pathway crossed—
Saying, 'In a chilly bed,
Low and dark, but full of peace,
For your coming, softly spread,
Is the dead lamb’s snowy fleece.’”
Passed the sweetest of all eves—
Morn was breaking for our flocks;
“Let us go and bind the sheaves,
All the slim and golden stocks;
Wake, my Wurtha, wake”—but still
Were her lips as still could be,
And her folded hands too chill
Ever more to glean for me.
Alice Carey.