THE LADY OF THE HILLS.

Though red my blood hath left its trail For five far miles, I shall not fail, As G.o.d in Heaven wills!-- The way was long through that black land.

With sword on hip and horn in hand, At last before thy walls I stand, O Lady of the Hills!

No seneschal shall put to scorn The summons of my bugle-horn!

No man-at-arms shall stay!-- Yea! G.o.d hath helped my strength too far By bandit-caverned wood and scar To give it pause now, or to bar My all-avenging way.

This hope still gives my body strength-- To kiss her eyes and lips at length Where all her kin can see; Then 'mid her towers of crime and gloom, Sin-haunted like the Halls of Doom, To smite her dead in that wild room Red-lit with revelry.

Madly I rode; nor once did slack.

Before my face the world rolled, black With nightmare wind and rain.

Witch-lights mocked at me on the fen; And through the forest followed then Gaunt eyes of wolves; and ghosts of men Moaned by me on the plain.

Still on I rode. My way was clear From that wild time when, spear to spear, Deep in the wind-torn wood, I met him!... Dead he lies beneath Their trysting oak. I clenched my teeth And rode. My wound scarce let me breathe, That filled my eyes with blood.

And here I am. The blood may blind My eyesight now ... yet I shall find Her by some inner eye!

For G.o.d--He hath this deed in care!-- Yea! I shall kiss again her hair, And tell her of her leman there, Then smite her dead--and die.

REVEALMENT.

At moonset when ghost speaks with ghost, And spirits meet where once they sinned, Between the bournes of found and lost, My soul met her soul on the wind, My late-lost Evalind.

I kissed her mouth. Her face was wild.

Two burning shadows were her eyes, Wherefrom the maiden love, that smiled A heartbreak smile of severed ties, Gazed with a wan surprise.

Then suddenly I seemed to see No more her shape where beauty bloomed ...

My own sad self gazed up at me-- My sorrow, that had so a.s.sumed The form of her entombed.

HEART'S ENCOURAGEMENT.

Nor time nor all his minions Of sorrow or of pain, Shall dash with vulture pinions The cup she fills again Within the dream-dominions Of life where she doth reign.

Clothed on with bright desire And hope that makes her strong, With limbs of frost and fire, She sits above all wrong, Her heart, a living lyre, Her love, its only song.

And in the waking pauses Of weariness and care, And when the dark hour draws his Black weapon of despair, Above effects and causes We hear its music there.

The longings life hath near it Of love we yearn to see; The dreams it doth inherit Of immortality; Are callings of her spirit To something yet to be.

NIGHTFALL.

O day, so sicklied o'er with night!

O dreadful fruit of fallen dusk!-- A Circe orange, golden-bright, With horror 'neath its husk.

And I, who gave the promise heed That made life's tempting surface fair, Have I not eaten to the seed Its ashes of despair!

O silence of the drifted gra.s.s!

And immemorial eloquence Of stars and winds and waves that pa.s.s!

And G.o.d's indifference!

Leave me alone with sleep that knows Not any thing that life may keep-- Not e'en the pulse that comes and goes In germs that climb and creep.

Or if an aspiration pale Must quicken there--oh, let the spot Grow weeds! that dost may so prevail, Where spirit once could not!

PAUSE.

So sick of dreams! the dreams, that stain The aisle, along which life must pa.s.s, With hues of mystic colored gla.s.s, That fills the windows of the brain.

So sick of thoughts! the thoughts, that carve The house of days with arabesques And gargoyles, where the mind grotesques In masks of hope and faith who starve.

Here lay thy over weary head Upon my bosom! Do not weep!-- "He giveth His beloved sleep."-- Heart of my heart, be comforted.

ABOVE THE VALES.

We went by ways of bygone days, Up mountain heights of story, Where lost in vague, historic haze, Tradition, crowned with battle-bays, Sat 'mid her ruins h.o.a.ry.

Where wing to wing the eagles cling And torrents have their sources, War rose with bugle voice to sing Of wild spear thrust, and broadsword swing, And rush of men and horses.

Then deep below, where orchards show A home here, here a steeple, We heard a simple shepherd go, Singing, beneath the afterglow, A love-song of the people.

As in the trees the song did cease, With matron eyes and holy Peace, from the cornlands of increase.

And rose-beds of love's victories, Spake, smiling, of the lowly.

A SUNSET FANCY.