Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor: A streak of light before him lay, Fall'n through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He pass'dfor nought Told what was going on within; How keen the stars! his only thought; The air how calm and cold and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago! O strange indifference!-low and high Drows'd over common joys and cares : The earth was still- but knew not why; The world was listening — unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world for ever! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was link'd, no more to William Bell Scott ABOUT Glenkindie and his man Upon a bootless plan : Glenkindie, best of harpers, came For love had worn him down. It was love, as all men know, The love that brought him down, The hopeless love for the King's daughter, The dove that heir'd a crown. Now he wore not that collar of gold, His wondrous fair and rich mantel But still by his side walk'd Rafe, his boy, Of all the boys that ever I saw Glenkindie came within the hall; And gave him bread, and gave him wine, We set for him the guests' high chair, Our Dame herself would serve for him, But down he sat on a low low stool, He turn'd it round, he strok'd the strings, And Rafe sat over against his face, And look'd at him wistfullie : I almost grat ere he began, They were so sad to see. The very first stroke he strack that day, The third stroke that he strack that day, Full fain we were to cry; The fourth stroke that he strack that day, We thought that we would die. No tongue can tell how sweet it was, And bairnies on their bier. And our sweet Dame saw her good lord She told me privilie: She saw him as she saw him last, Anon he laid his little harp by, A black-seal'd letter that some over-work'd Late messenger leaves. Each one looks round and scans, But lifts it not, and I at last am told To read it. "Died here at his house this day" Some well-known name not needful here to print, Follows at length. Soon all return again To their first stillness, but the old man coughs, And cries, "Ah, he was always like the grave, And still he was but young!" while those who stand On life's green threshold smile within themselves, Thinking how very old he was to them, And what long years, what memorable deeds, THE NORNS WATERING YGGDRASILL (FOR A PICTURE) WITHIN the unchanging twilight Of the high land of the gods, Between the murmuring fountain And the Ash-tree, tree of trees, The Norns, the terrible maidens, For evermore come and go. Yggdrasill the populous Ash-tree, Whose leaves embroider heaven, Fills all the gray air with music To Gods and to men sweet sounds, But speech to the fine-ear'd maidens Who evermore come and go. That way to their doomstead thrones As they pass beneath the shade ; Even Odin, the strong All-father, Bends to the beautiful maidens Who cease not to come and go. The tempest crosses the high boughs, Who evermore come and go. And men far away, in the night-hours To the north-wind listening, hear; They hear on the wings of the north-wind And the skald, in the blae mist wandering Heard the very words of the o'ersong But alas for the ears of mortals Chance-hearing that fate-laden song! The bones of the skald lie there still : For the speech of the leaves of the Tree Is the song of the three Queen-maidens Who evermore come and go. |