I never thought I should come back and ask ye now for more.

Grandmither, gie me your still white hands that lie upon your breast,

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For mine do beat the dark all night and never find me rest; They grope among the shadows an' they beat the cold black air,

They go seekin' in the darkness, an' they never find him there,

They never find him there.

Grandmither, gie me your sightless eyes, that I may never see

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His own a-burnin' full o' love that must not shine for me. Grandmither, gie me your peaceful lips, white as the kirkyard snow,

For mine be tremblin' wi' the wish that he must

never know.

Grandmither, gie me your clay-stopped ears, that I may never hear

My lad a-singin' in the night when I am sick wi

fear;

A-singin' when the moonlight over a' the land is

white

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Ah, God! I'll up and go to him, a-singin' in the night,

A-callin' in the night.

Grandmither, gie me your clay-cold heart, that has forgot to ache,

For mine be fire wi'in my breast an' yet it cannot break.

Wi' every beat it's callin' for things that must not

be,

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So can ye not let me creep in an' rest awhile by ye? A little lass afeard o' dark slept by ye years agoneAn' she has found what night can hold 'twixt sunset an' the dawn:

So when I plant the rose an' rue above your grave

for ye,

Ye'll know it's under rue an' rose that I would like

to be,

That I would like to be.

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Willa Sibert Cather.

HAROLD BEFORE SENLAC*

THE TRAGEDY OF A PATRIOT

BROTHER, you marvel why I sit alone,
Upon the eve of battle, and speak not;
Yet hath a gift of dreadful sight been given,
To me, and speech I scarcely understand.
On Senlac Hill my host shall be o'erthrown, 5
I see myself fallen blinded to the ground.
Now it is borne on me that I must die.
My single life defers the Eternal will.
For it is fated that the Norman blood
With Saxon shall be mingled happily

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*Used by arrangement with the publishers, John Lane, the Bodley Head, Ltd.

And dead foes on the slope shall fraternise;
And from the wine blood-red tomorrow spilled
Shall spring a fortunate vintage of the earth
And a great brew from battle shall be made,
Till from that mingling shall an Empire rise
Vaster than any gazed on by the sun;
My life alone this solemn marriage mars
Of nations, and the purposed fusion stops,
Since while I lived England to me were true.
I stand, it seems, in the great path of Fate,
And by my dying must make clear her way
Till with the years and mellowing touch of time
The Norman close with Saxon shall be knit,
And stand together in the clash of arms
On many a foreign plain and alien hill
And in one host shall conquer and o'erthrow;
In solid square or charging fury grown
Invincible, archers that with their bolt
Shall bring a sudden darkness on the foe,
And many fields in glory shall be won.

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25

30

Then shall this people feel for the furthest seas,
And tempt the very foam of fairyland,
And ultimate oceans, and the very deep
Shall be as a playfield underneath their feet.
And they shall plunge Armadas in the ooze, 35
England shall queen the waters of the world.
Then shall she lay her hand upon the east,
And the huge orient with a remnant grasp,
A glimmering shore of pearl and emerald,
A strand of throbbing glory and of gold,
Tribes in full stare of Phoebus and aspects
Into a dimness kissed by splendid suns,
And million turbaned peoples shall she rule.

Nor here alone shall England prosper; she
A mighty river shall ascend by night,
And with the morn a new dominion seize,
Cradle of heroes, radiant, snowy clear;
And on her builded Empire never sun
Shall set, nor any star refuse to rise.
But I perceive my doom and acquiesce.
World-Destiny, no less, requires my death,
And so shall one man for the people die.
But brother be thou well assured of this,
That never Fate, nor ever curse of Rome

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50

Shall loose my knees, or make this heart to quail.

I will not fall without much Norman blood,
The Roman curse shall string this arm to steel,
The doom of Fate give edge unto this axe;
Dying I will be liberal with death,

I will not pass alone, but with me I

Will take great company into the dark.

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60

Now pass we through our lines, ere the light warns.

SOULS*

Stephen Phillips.

MY SOUL goes clad in gorgeous things,

Scarlet and gold and blue;

And at her shoulder sudden wings
Like long flames flicker through.

And she is swallow-fleet, and free
From mortal bonds and bars.

Used by permission of the author and the publisher, The Macmillan Company.

She laughs, because Eternity

Blossoms for her with stars!

O folk who scorn my stiff gray gown,
My dull and foolish face,

Can ye not see my Soul flash down,
A singing flame through space?

And folk, whose earth-stained looks I hate, Why may I not divine

Your Souls, that must be passionate,

Shining and swift, as mine!

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Fannie Stearns Davis.

THE HAPPIEST HEART

WHO drives the horses of the sun
Shall lord it but a day;
Better the lowly deed were done,
And kept the humble way.

The rust will find the sword of fame,
The dust will hide the crown;
Aye, none shall nail so high his name
Time will not tear it down.

The happiest heart that ever beat

Was in some quiet breast

That found the common daylight sweet,

And left to Heaven the rest.

John Vance Cheney.

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