Song of the Cattle-Hunters
While the morning light beams on the fern-matted streams,
And the water-pools flash in its glow,
Down the ridges we fly, with a loud ringing cry—
Down the ridges and gullies we go!
And the cattle we hunt—they are racing in front,
With a roar like the thunder of waves,
As the beat and the beat of our swift horses' feet
Start the echoes away from their caves!
As the beat and the beat
Of our swift horses' feet
Start the echoes away from their caves!
Like a wintry shore that the waters ride o'er,
All the lowlands are filling with sound;
For swiftly we gain where the herds on the plain,
Like a tempest, are tearing the ground!
And we'll follow them hard to the rails of the yard,
O'er the gulches and mountain-tops grey,
Where the beat and the beat of our swift horses' feet
Will die with the echoes away!
Where the beat and the beat
Of our swift horses' feet
Will die with the echoes away!
Footfalls
The embers were blinking and clinking away,
The casement half open was thrown;
There was nothing but cloud on the skirts of the Day,
And I sat on the threshold alone!
And said to the river which flowed by my door
With its beautiful face to the hill,
"I have waited and waited, all wearied and sore,
But my love is a wanderer still!"
And said to the wind, as it paused in its flight
To look through the shivering pane,
"There are memories moaning and homeless to-night
That can never be tranquil again!"
And said to the woods, as their burdens were borne
With a flutter and sigh to the eaves,
"They are wrinkled and wasted, and tattered and torn,
And we too have our withering leaves."
Did I hear a low echo of footfalls about,
Whilst watching those forest trees stark?
Or was it a dream that I hurried without
To clutch at and grapple the dark?
In the shadow I stood for a moment and spake—
"Bright thing that was loved in the past,
Oh! am I asleep—or abroad and awake?
And are you so near me at last?
"Oh, roamer from lands where the vanished years go,
Oh, waif from those mystical zones,
Come here where I long for you, broken and low,
On the mosses and watery stones!
"Come out of your silence and tell me if Life
Is so fair in that world as they say;
Was it worth all this yearning, and weeping, and strife
When you left it behind you to-day?
"Will it end all this watching, and doubting, and dread?
Do these sorrows die out with our breath?
Will they pass from our souls like a nightmare," I said,
"While we glide through the mazes of Death?
"Come out of that darkness and teach me the lore
You have learned since I looked on your face;
By the summers that blossomed and faded of yore—
By the lights which have fled to that place!
"You answer me not when I know that you could—
When I know that you could and you should;
Though the storms be abroad on the wave;
Though the rain droppeth down with a wail to the wood,
And my heart is as cold as your grave!"
God Help Our Men at Sea
The wild night comes like an owl to its lair,
The black clouds follow fast,
And the sun-gleams die, and the lightnings glare,
And the ships go heaving past, past, past—
The ships go heaving past!
Bar the doors, and higher, higher
Pile the faggots on the fire:
Now abroad, by many a light,
Empty seats there are to-night—
Empty seats that none may fill,
For the storm grows louder still:
How it surges and swells through the gorges and dells,
Under the ledges and over the lea,
Where a watery sound goeth moaning around—
God help our men at sea!
Oh! never a tempest blew on the shore
But that some heart did moan
For a darling voice it would hear no more
And a face that had left it lone, lone, lone—
A face that had left it lone!
I am watching by a pane
Darkened with the gusty rain,
Watching, through a mist of tears,
Sad with thoughts of other years,
For a brother I did miss
In a stormy time like this.
Ah! the torrent howls past, like a fiend on the blast,
Under the ledges and over the lea;
And the pent waters gleam, and the wild surges scream—
God help our men at sea!
Ah, Lord! they may grope through the dark to find
Thy hand within the gale;
And cries may rise on the wings of the wind
From mariners weary and pale, pale, pale—
From mariners weary and pale!
'Tis a fearful thing to know,
While the storm-winds loudly blow,
That a man can sometimes come
Too near to his father's home;
So that he shall kneel and say,
"Lord, I would be far away!"
Ho! the hurricanes roar round a dangerous shore,
Under the ledges and over the lea;
And there twinkles a light on the billows so white—
God help our men at sea!