Till we hated the Bounteous Isle and the sunbright hand of the dawn, For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green Isle was our own, And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing the stone, And we took to playing at battle, but that was a perilous play, For the passion of battle was in us, we slew and we sail'd away. IX. And we past to the Isle of Witches and heard their musical cry "Come to us, O come, come" in the stormy red of a sky Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beautiful shapes, For a wild witch naked as heaven stood on each of the loftiest capes, And a hundred ranged on the rock like white sea-birds in a row, And a hundred gamboll'd and pranced on the wrecks in the sand below, And a hundred splash'd from the ledges, and bosom'd the burst of the spray, But I knew we should fall on each other, and hastily sail'd away. X. And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double Towers, One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with flowers, But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under the dells, And they shock'd on each other and butted each other with clashing of bells, And the daws flew out of the Towers and jangled and wrangled in vain, And the clash and boom of the bells rang into the heart and the brain, Till the passion of battle was on us, and all took sides with the Towers, There were some for the clean-cut stone, more for the carven flowers, there were And the wrathful thunder of God peal'd over us all the day, For the one half slew the other, and after we sail'd away. XI. And we came to the Isle of a Saint who had sail'd with St. Brendan of yore, He had lived ever since on the Isle and his winters were fifteen score, And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet, And his white hair sank to his heels and his white beard fell to his feet, And he spake to me, "O Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine! Remember the words of the Lord when he told us 'Vengeance is mine!' His fathers have slain thy fathers in war or in single strife, Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life, Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last? Go back to the Isle of Finn and suffer the Past to be Past." And we kiss'd the fringe of his beard and we pray'd as we heard him pray, And the Holy man he assoil'd us, and sadly we sail'd away. XII. And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on the shore was he, The man that had slain my father. I saw him and let him be. O weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife and the sin, When I landed again, with a tithe of my men, on the Isle of Finn. ST. TELEMACHUS. [The Death of Oenone etc. 1892.] HAD the fierce ashes of some fiery peak Spurning a shatter'd fragment of the God, Bathed in that lurid crimson-ask'd "Is earth On fire to the West? or is the Demon-god And once a flight of shadowy fighters crost And eighty thousand Christian faces watch Man murder man. A sudden strength from heaven, And then a shower of stones that stoned him dead, His dream became a deed that woke the world, For while the frantic rabble in half-amaze That Rome no more should wallow in this old lust Of Paganism, and make her festal hour Dark with the blood of man who murder'd man. Aus "THE ANCIENT SAGE." [Tiresias, and other Poems 1885.] The years that made the stripling wise And leave him, blind of heart and eyes, The last and least of men; |