And one laid hands on his own two hands,
"O Brother o' mine," quoth he,
"What can I give to you who live
Like gift you gave to me?
Since from grief and strife and ache o' life
Your sword-stroke set me free."
The live man victorious
Rode spurring from the fight;
In a glad voice and glorious
He sang of his delight,
And dead men three, foot-loose and free,
Came after in the night.
MAWGAN OF MELHUACH: ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER
'Twas a fierce night when old Mawgan died:
Men shuddered to hear the rolling tide:
The wreckers fled fast from the awful shore,
They had heard strange voices amid the roar.
"Out with the boat there," someone cried,—
"Will he never come? We shall lose the tide:
His berth is trim and his cabin stored,
He's a weary long time coming aboard."
The old man struggled upon the bed:
He knew the words that the voices said;
Wildly he shrieked as his eyes grew dim,
"He was dead! He was dead when I buried him."
Hark yet again to the devilish roar!
"He was nimbler once with a ship on shore;
Come, come, old man, 'tis a vain delay,
We must make the offing by break of day."
Hard was the struggle, but at the last
With a stormy pang old Mawgan passed,
And away, away, beneath their sight,
Gleamed the red sail at pitch of night.
THE MOTHER'S GHOST: HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade;
I myself was young.
There he has wooed him so winsome a maid;
Fair words gladden so many a heart.