But he is back in his own land.
Lippincott’s Francis Hill
THE SIN EATER
I
Hark ye! Hush ye! Margot’s dead!
Hush! Have done wi’ your brawling tune!
Danced, she did, till the stars grew pale;
Mother o’ God, an’ she’s gone at noon!
Sh-h ... d’ye hear me?—Margot’s dead!