Spun-yarn And Spindrift Part 5

Still standing in the darkness Outside my door, The Watcher of the Threshold Waits evermore.

THE GREY RIDER

Why ride so fast through the wind and rain, Grey Rider of the Shee?

Lest a soul should call for me in vain To-night, O Vanathee.

Now, whose is the soul shall seek thine aid, Grey Rider of the Shee?

The soul of one that is sore afraid To-night, O Vanathee.

O fears he the flurry of wind and rain, Grey Rider of the Shee?

More deep is the dread that sears his brain To-night, O Vanathee.

Does he fear the tumult of clanging blows, Grey Rider of the Shee?

Nay, darker still is the fear he knows To-night, O Vanathee.

Does he fear the loss of wife or child, Grey Rider of the Shee?

Nay, a terror holds him that's still more wild To-night, O Vanathee.

O what should make him so sore afraid, Grey Rider of the Shee?

He fears a wraith that himself has made To-night, O Vanathee.

Then how shall you cleanse from fear his mind, Grey Rider of the Shee?

I will touch his eyes, and they shall be blind To-night, O Vanathee.

Yet still may he know the voice of fear, Grey Rider of the Shee?

I will touch his ears that he shall not hear To-night, O Vanathee.

Yet that wraith may linger around his bed, Grey Rider of the Shee?

No terror shall touch the quiet dead To-night, O Vanathee.

_Shee, Sidhe_--Fairies.

_Vanathee, Bean-an-Tighe_--Woman of the house.

JOAN THE MAID

Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, with her great sword girt at her side; Sheen of wings and shimmer of angel faces Gather around her as she on doth ride.

Rheims or Orleans may see her thus in splendour, Never the old Domremy streets she knew, Here she walks as a maiden, shy and slender, Brushing with bare brown feet the evening dew.

Oft do the children, playing in the meadows, See her watching them, white and very fair, Smiling lips and eyes that dream in the shadows, Lilies of France she loved so in her hair.

So she comes, through those quiet roadways stealing, Where in the grey church still her people bend, Unto the Maiden, their own saint, appealing; Hears them name her saviour of France and friend.

She has forgotten now the mocking faces, Prison, and wounds, and torture of the flame; Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, whence once, long since, she came.

NEWBURY TOWN

Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding, All in the sunshine riding down, Scented curls on the breezes flowing, Banners dancing and bugles blowing, Gaily the troops came riding, riding, Through the streets of Newbury town.

Bells in the church towers all were swinging, Flags were waving and flowers were strown; Roses lay in the road before them, Roses rained from the cas.e.m.e.nts o'er them, All in the streets, with shout and singing, Prayed that the King might win his own.

Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding, All in the darkness riding down; Never a church-bell chimed to greet them, Never a maid came forth to meet them; Broken, defeated, they came riding Through the streets of Newbury town.

Never more while the bells are calling Rupert's soldiers come riding down; They have ridden, with bugles blowing Into a land beyond our knowing, Never more shall their footsteps falling Haunt the streets of Newbury town.

Yet, as I sit here, idly dreaming, Watching the water onward flow, Still I see, in the sun or shadow, Rupert's soldiers across the meadow, Banners blowing and lovelocks streaming, Riding back from the long ago.

And in my dreams they still are riding, Victor or vanquished, riding down; Now with the roses strewn before them-- Now with the darkness gathering o'er them-- Rupert's soldiers, forever riding Through the streets of Newbury town.

A CHRISTMAS HYMN

No room for Thee, O Baby Jesukin, No room within the inn; Only the stable door is standing wide, And there inside The ox and a.s.s their patient foreheads bow Before Thee now.

No room for Thee, O little Lord of all, In cottage or in hall; Yet o'er Thy stable angel voices sound Telling around To the wide world a Prince is born to them In Bethlehem.

No room for Thee--yet the wise Kings have sped To kneel beside Thy bed, Offering their gifts, myrrh, frankincense, and gold, To Thee to hold; And all the angel armies of the air Are gathered there.

No room for Thee--yet the wide earth is Thine, And this poor heart of mine; Though oft Thy Hand has tried its doors in vain, Yet come again; Wide open now it stands--O Light of Light, Enter to-night.

THE SHEPHERDS' SONG

We be silly shepherds, Men of no renown, Guarding well our sheepfolds Hard by Bethlehem town; Baby Jesus, guard us all, Cot and sheepfold, bower and stall.

Wild the wind was blowing, Sudden all was still, Laughter soft of angels Rang from hill to hill.

Baby Jesus, Thou wast born Ere that midnight paled to morn.

Seek we now Thy presence With our gifts of love; Felix brings a lambkin, I will give a dove.

Baby Jesus, small and sweet, Lo, we lay them at Thy feet.