The Fairy Changeling and Other Poems Part 11

"O may my little dog be first to meet me, So loose my lover from your dreaded hold."

"_What will you give me for the heart that loved you_, _The heart that I hold chained and frozen cold_?"

"My own betrothed ring I give you gladly, My ring of pearls-and every one a tear!"

"_I will but have what other living creature_ _That second in your pathway shall appear_."

"To buy this heart, to warm my love to living, I pray my pony meet me on return."

"_And now_, _for his young soul what will you give me_, _His soul that night and day doth fret and burn_?"

"You will not have my silver comb and earrings, You will not have my ring of precious stone; O, nothing have I left to promise to you, But give my soul to buy him back his own."

All woefully she wept, and stepping homeward, Bemoaned aloud her dark and cruel fate; "O, come," she cried, "my little dog to meet me, And you, my horse, be browsing at the gate."

Right hastily she pushed by bush and bramble, Chased by a fear that made her footsteps fleet, And as she ran she met her little brother, Then her old father coming her to meet.

"O brother, little brother," cried she weeping, "Well you said of fairy-tree beware, For precious things are bought and sold ere mid-night, On Hallow-eve, by those who barter there."

She went alone into the little chapel, And knelt before the holy virgin's shrine, Saying, "Mother Mary, pray you for me, To save those two most gentle souls of thine."

And as she prayed, behold the holy statue Spoke to her, saying, "Little can I aid, G.o.d's ways are just, and you have dared to question His judgment on this soul you bought-and paid."

"For that one soul, your father and your brother, Your own immortal life you bartered; then, Yet one chance is allowed-your sure repentance, Give back his heart you made to live again."

"For these two souls-my father and my brother- I give his heart back into death's cold land, Never again to warm his dead, sweet body, Or beat to madness underneath my hand."

"And for your soul-to save it from its sorrow, You must drive back his soul into the night, Back into righteous punishment and justice, Or lose your chance of everlasting light."

"O, never shall I drive him back to anguish, My soul shall suffer, letting his go free."

She rose, and weeping, left the little chapel, Went forward blindly till she reached the sea.

She dug a grave within the surf and shingle, A dark, cold bed, made very deep and wide, She laid her down all stiff and stretched for burial, Right in the pathway of the rising tide.

First tossed into her waiting arms the restless Loud waves, a woman very grey and cold, Within her bed she stood upright so quickly, And loosed her fingers from the dead hands' hold.

The second who upon her heart had rested From out the storm, a baby chill and stark, With one long sob she drew it on her bosom, Then thrust it out again into the dark.

The last who came so slow was her own lover, She kissed his icy face on cheek and chin, "O cold shall be your house to-night, beloved, O cold the bed that we must sleep within.

"And heavy, heavy, on our lips so faithful And on our hearts, shall lie our own roof-tree."

And as she spoke the bitter tears were falling On his still face, all salter than the sea.

"And oh," she said, "if for a little moment You knew, my cold, dead love, that I was by, That my soul goes into the utter darkness When yours comes forth-and mine goes in to die."

And as she wept she kissed his frozen forehead, Laid her warm lips upon his mouth so chill, With no response-and then the waters flowing Into their grave, grew heavy, deep and still.

And so, 'tis said, if to that fairy thorn-tree You dare to go, you see her ghost so lone, She prays for love of her that you will aid her, And give your soul to buy her back her own.

THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE

This is the scene of a man's despair, and a soul's release From the difficult traits of the flesh; so, it seeking peace, A shot rang out in the night; death's doors were wide; And you stood alone, a stranger, and saw inside.

Coward flesh, brave soul, which was it? One feared the world, The pity of men, or their scorn; yet carelessly hurled All on the balance of Chance for a state unknown; Fled the laughter of men for the anger of G.o.d-alone.

Perhaps when the hot blood streamed on the daisied sod, Poor soul, you were likened to Cain, and you fled from G.o.d; Men say you fought hard for your life, when the deed was done; But your body would rise no more 'neath this world's sun.

I'd choose-should I do the act-such a night as this, When the sea throws up white arms for the wild wind's kiss; When the waves shake the shuddering sh.o.r.e with their foamy jaws; Tear the strand, till slipping pebbles shriek through their claws.

The sky is loud with the storm; not a bird dare span From here to the mist; beasts are silent; yet for a man, For a soul springing naked to meet its judge, a night That were as a brother to this poor spirit's long flight.

But he had chosen, they tell me, a dusk so fair One almost thought there were not such another-there.

The air was full of the perfume of pines, and the sweet Sleepy chirp of birds, long the lush soft gra.s.s at his feet.

They say there was dancing too in a house close by, That they heard the shot just thinking wild birds must die.

They supped and laughed, went singing the long night through, And they danced unknowing the dance of death with you.

What did you hear when you opened the doors of death?

Was it the sob of a thrush, or a slow sweet breath Of the perfumed air that blew through the doors with you, That you fought so hard to regain the world you knew?

Or was it a woman's cry that, shrieking into the gloom, Like a hand that closed on your soul clutching it from its doom?

Was it a mother's call, or the touch of a baby's kiss, That followed your desperate soul down the black abyss?

What did you see-as you stood on the other side- A strange shy soul amongst souls, did you seek to hide From the ghosts that were who judged you upon your way, Reckoned your sins against theirs for the judgment day?

You feared the world, the pity of men or their scorn, The movements of fate and the sorrows for which you were born.

Men's laughter, men's speech, their judging, what was it to this Where the eyes of the dead proclaim you have done amiss.

Not peace did you gain, perhaps, nor the rest you had planned, 'Neath the horrible countless eyes that you could not withstand?

Or was it G.o.d looked from his throne in a moment's disdain, And you shrieked for a trial once more in the height of your pain?

Perhaps-but who knows-when you struggled so hard for life's breath, You saw nothing pa.s.sing the grave except silence and death, You lay shut in by the four clay walls of your cell, There the live soul locked up in the stiff dead body's sh.e.l.l.

Dead, dead and coffin'd, buried beneath the clay, And still the living soul caged in to wait decay, For ever alone in night of unlifting gloom There to think, and think, and think, in the silent tomb.

Or was it in death's cold land there was no perfume Of the scented flowers, or lilt of a bird's gay tune.

No sea there, or no cool of a wind's fresh breath, No woods, no plains, no dreams, and alas! no death?

Was there no life there that man's brain could understand?

No past, no future, hopes to come, in that strange land?

No human love, no sleep, no day, no night, But ever eternal living in eternal light?

Perhaps the soul thus springing to fill its grave, Found all the peace and happiness that it could crave; All it had lost alone was that poor body's part Which naught but grey corruption saw for its chart.

Ah well! for us there ended all one man's life with this- A shot, a cry, a struggle, and a fainting woman's kiss; Life's blood let 'mid the gra.s.ses-and all a world was lost, And no one may ever know how he paid the cost.