He told his crime to the Evening Star
And a wandering wild sea-bird,
“They will bear my tale on the angry gale,”
He whispered when no man heard.
“They will cry my deed to the icy wind,
And the wind to the white-capped wave;
They will tell the sun the thing I have done
Far under his western grave.
“I slew a friend in his hour secure,
While a woman pointed the way;