V.
Time puts in the sack that behind him hangs
Of things both old and new,
And every hour brings stranger things
Than those we have bidden adieu.
The last one of those children three,
Young Hector, Kildearn's pride,
Has gone, in his childish mirth and glee,
To play by the Solway tide.
That tide by which his father swore
As true to the silvery queen—
That tide is breaking with sullen roar,
And Hector no more is seen.
They may search, they may drag—the search is vain,
No Hector they'll ever find;
A lugger is yonder, away to the main,
Borne on an eastern wind.
And there is a woman who stands in the bay,
And she holds out both her hands,
As if she would wave that lugger away
To some of the distant lands.
And if you will trace her to her hold,
Where a purse of gold was laid,
You will find the drawer, but not the gold,
For the purse and gold are fled.