Now behold I saw a woman in a mud-hut Raking the white spent embers with her fingers,

And fouling her bright hair with the white ashes.

Her mouth was very bitter with the ashes Her eyes with dust were blinded; and her

sorrow

Sobb'd in the throat of her like gurgling water.

And all around the voiceless hills were hoary,

But red lights scorch'd their edges; and above her

There was a soundless trouble of the vapors.

"Whither, and O whither," said the woman, "O Spirit of the Lord, hast thou convey' them,

My little ones, my little son and daughter?

"For, lo! we wander'd forth at early morning,

And winds were blowing round us, and their mouths

Blew rose-buds to the rose-buds, and their eyes

"Look'd violets at the violets, and their hair

-Made sunshine in the sunshine, and their passing

Left a pleasure in the dewy leaves behind them;

"And suddenly my little son look'd upward And his eyes were dried like dew-drops; and his going

Was like a blow of fire upon my face;

"And my little son was gone. My little daughter

Look'd round me for him, clinging to my vesture;

But the Lord had drawn him from me, and I knew it

"By the sign He gives the stricken, that the lost one

Lingers nowhere on the earth, on the hill or valley,

Neither underneath the grasses nor the tree-roots.

THE FAERY FOSTER-MOTHER

BRIGHT Eyes, Light Eyes! Daughter of a Fay!

I had not been a wedded wife a twelvemonth and a day,

I had not nurs'd my little one a month upon my knee,

When down among the blue-bell banks rose elfins three times three, They gripp'd me by the raven hair, I could not cry for fear,

They put a hempen rope

around my waist and dragg'd me here,

They made me sit and give thee suck as mortal mothers can,

Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! strange and weak and wan!

Pale Thing, Frail Thing! dumb and weak and thin,

Altho' thou ne'er dost utter sigh thou'rt shadow'd with a sin;

Thy minnie scorns to suckle thee, thy minnie is an elf,

Upon a bed of rose's-leaves she lies and fans herself;

And though my heart is aching so for one afar from me,

I often look into thy face and drop a tear for thee,

And I am but a peasant born, a lowly cotter's wife,

Pale Thing, Frail Thing! sucking at my

life!

Weak Thing, Meek Thing! take no blame from me,

Altho' my babe may moan for lack of what I give to thee;

For though thou art a faëry child, and though thou art my woe,

To feel thee sucking at my breast is all the bliss I know;

It soothes me, tho' afar away I hear my daughter call,

My heart were broken if I felt no little lips at all!

If I had none to tend at all, to be its nurse and slave,

Weak Thing, Meek Thing! I should shriek and rave!

I'll lean my head against the wall and close my weary eyes,

And think my own babe draws the milk with balmy pants and sighs, And smile and bless my little one and sweetly pass away,

Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! Daughter of a Fay!

THE CHURCHYARD

How slowly creeps the hand of Time
On the old clock's green-mantled face!
Yea, slowly as those ivies climb,

The hours roll round with patient pace; The drowsy rooks caw on the tower,

The tame doves hover round and round ; Below, the slow grass hour by hour

Makes green God's sleeping-ground.

All moves, but nothing here is swift; The grass grows deep, the green boughs shoot;

From east to west the shadows drift;

The earth feels heavenward underfoot; The slow stream through the bridge doth stray

With water-lilies on its marge,
And slowly, pil'd with scented bay,
Creeps by the silent barge.

Al! stirs, but nothing here is loud:
The cushat broods, the cuckoo cries;
Faint, far up, under a white cloud,

The lark trills soft to earth and skies; And underneath the green graves rest; And through the place, with slow foot