The Daffodil Fields Part 2

"Mary, in time you could, perhaps," he pleaded.

"No," she replied, "no, Lion; never, no."

Over the stars the boughs burst and receded.

The n.o.bleness of Love comes in Love's woe.

"G.o.d bless you then, beloved, let us go.

Come on," he said, "and if I gave you pain, Forget it, dear; be sure I never will again."

They stepped together down the ride, their feet Slipped on loose stones. Little was said; his fate, Staked on a kingly cast, had met defeat.

Nothing remained but to endure and wait.

She was still wonderful, and life still great.

Great in that bitter instant side by side, Hallowed by thoughts of death there in the blinded ride.

He heard her breathing by him, saw her face Dim, looking straight ahead; her feet by his Kept time beside him, giving life a grace; Night made the moment full of mysteries.

"You are beautiful," he thought; "and life is this: Walking a windy night while men are dying, To cry for one to come, and none to heed our crying."

"Mary," he said, "are you in love with him, With Michael? Tell me. We are friends, we three."

They paused to face each other in the dim.

"Tell me," he urged. "Yes, Lion," answered she; "I love him, but he does not care for me.

I trust your generous mind, dear; now you know, You, who have been my brother, how our fortunes go.

"Now come; the message waits." The heavens cleared, Cleared, and were starry as they trod the ride.

Chequered by tossing boughs the moon appeared; A whistling reached them from the Hall House side; Climbing, the whistler came. A brown owl cried.

The whistler paused to answer, sending far That haunting, hunting note. The echoes laughed Aha!

Something about the calling made them start.

Again the owl note laughed; the ringing cry Made the blood quicken within Mary's heart.

Like a dead leaf a brown owl floated by.

"Michael?" said Lion. "Hush." An owl's reply Came down the wind; they waited; then the man, Content, resumed his walk, a merry song began.

"Michael," they cried together. "Michael, you?"

"Who calls?" the singer answered. "Where away?

Is that you, Mary?" Then with glad halloo The singer ran to meet them on the way.

It was their Michael; in the moonlight grey, They made warm welcome; under tossing boughs, They met and told the fate darkening Ryemeadows' House.

As they returned at speed their comrade spoke Strangely and lightly of his coming home, Saying that leaving France had been a joke, But that events now proved him wise to come.

Down the steep 'scarpment to the house they clomb, And Michael faltered in his pace; they heard How dumb rebellion in the much-wronged cattle stirred.

And as they came, high, from the sick man's room, Old Gray burst out a-singing of the light Streaming upon him from the outer gloom, As his eyes dying gave him mental sight.

"Triumphing swords," he carolled, "in the bright; Oh fire, Oh beauty fire," and fell back dead.

Occleve took Michael up to kneel beside the bed.

So the night pa.s.sed; the noisy wind went down; The half-burnt moon her starry trackway rode.

Then the first fire was lighted in the town, And the first carter stacked his early load.

Upon the farm's drawn blinds the morning glowed; And down the valley, with little clucks and trills, The dancing waters danced by dancing daffodils.

II

They buried Gray; his gear was sold; his farm Pa.s.sed to another tenant. Thus men go; The dropped sword pa.s.ses to another arm, And different waters in the river flow.

His two old faithful friends let Michael know His father's ruin and their promise. Keir Brought him to stay at Foxholes till a path was clear.

There, when the sale was over, all three met To talk about the future, and to find Upon what project Michael's heart was set.

Gentle the two old men were, thoughtful, kind.

They urged the youth to speak his inmost mind, For they would compa.s.s what he chose; they told How he might end his training; they would find the gold.

"Thanks, but I cannot," Michael said. He smiled.

"Cannot. They've kicked me out. I've been expelled; Kicked out for good and all for being wild.

They stopped our evening leave, and I rebelled.

I am a gentle soul until compelled, And then I put my ears back. The old fool Said that my longer presence might inflame the school.

"And I am glad, for I have had my fill Of farming by the book with those old fools, Exhausted talkatives whose blood is still, Who strive to bind a living man with rules.

This fettered kind of life, these laws, these schools, These codes, these checks, what are they but the clogs Made by collected sheep to mortify the dogs?

"And I have had enough of them; and now I make an end of them. I want to go Somewhere where man has never used a plough, Nor ever read a book; where clean winds blow, And pa.s.sionate blood is not its owner's foe, And land is for the asking for it. There Man can create a life and have the open air.

"The River Plate's the country. There, I know, A man like me can thrive. There, on the range, The cattle pa.s.s like tides; they ebb and flow, And life is changeless in unending change, And one can ride all day, and all day strange, Strange, never trodden, fenceless, waiting there, To feed unending cattle for the men who dare.

"There I should have a chance; this land's too old."

Old Occleve grunted at the young man's mood; Keir, who was losing money, thought him bold, And thought the scheme for emigration good.

He said that, if he wished to go, he should.

South to the pampas, there to learn the trade.

Old Occleve thought it mad, but no objection made.

So it was settled that the lad should start, A place was found for him, a berth was taken; And Michael's beauty plucked at Mary's heart, And now the fabric of their lives was shaken: For now the hour's nearness made love waken In Michael's heart for Mary. Now Time's guile Granted her pa.s.sionate prayer, nor let her see his smile.

Granted his greatest gifts; a night time came When the two walking down the water learned That life till then had only been a name; Love had unsealed their spirits: they discerned.

Mutely, at moth time there, their spirits yearned.

"I shall be gone three years, dear soul," he said.

"Dear, will you wait for me?" "I will," replied the maid.

So troth was pledged between them. Keir received Michael as Mary's suitor, feeling sure That the lad's fortunes would be soon retrieved, Having a woman's promise as a lure.

The three years' wait would teach them to endure.

He bade them love and prosper and be glad.

And fast the day drew near that was to take the lad.

Cowslips had come along the bubbling brook, Cowslips and oxlips rare, and in the wood The many-blossomed stalks of bluebells shook; The outward beauty fed their mental mood.

Thought of the parting stabbed her as he wooed, Walking the brook with her, and day by day, The precious fortnight's grace dropped, wasted, slipped away.

Till only one clear day remained to her: One whole clear, precious day, before he sailed.

Some forty hours, no more, to minister To months of bleakness before which she quailed.

Mist rose along the brook; the corncrake railed; Dim red the sunset burned. He bade her come Into the wood with him; they went, the night came dumb.

Still as high June, the very water's noise Seemed but a breathing of the earth; the flowers Stood in the dim like souls without a voice.

The wood's conspiracy of occult powers Drew all about them, and for hours on hours No murmur shook the oaks, the stars did house Their lights like lamps upon those never-moving boughs.

Under their feet the woodland sloped away Down to the valley, where the farmhouse lights Were sparks in the expanse the moon made grey.

June's very breast was bare this night of nights.

Moths blundered up against them, greys and whites Moved on the darkness where the moths were out, Nosing for sticky sweet with trembling uncurled snout.

But all this beauty was but music played, While the high pageant of their hearts prepared.