The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme The witch of Shiloh, the last of the Wampanoags, the gentle earl, the enchanted voyage |
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 | The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme |  |
XVII
But nearing home, our Romus found
The village still above the ground,
And heard from many a rustic scout
How Albion's troop had faced about,
And also how his gracious child
Had fared to meet him through the wild,
And vanished, none could settle where,
Though many sought her trail with care.
Thereon he bade them seek again,
And hied away with flowing rein
To hunt the Lion's scarlet files
From solid land to Brandon's Isles.
The village still above the ground,
And heard from many a rustic scout
How Albion's troop had faced about,
And also how his gracious child
Had fared to meet him through the wild,
And vanished, none could settle where,
Though many sought her trail with care.
Thereon he bade them seek again,
And hied away with flowing rein
To hunt the Lion's scarlet files
From solid land to Brandon's Isles.
137
Good lack! how many snares bestrowed
His way, whichever way he rode!
For warriors trained in weird deceit
Protected England's slow retreat
With stratagems of forest guile
That made each furlong twice a mile.
At last, so weary grew the track,
He fell asleep upon his hack,
And jolted on with knightly snore,
As though a trumpet blew before,
Till Satan brought the strangest hap
That ever spoiled a hero's nap.
He had a dream: he felt a jar:
He thought himself a shooting star:
He clutched the mane and hooted, “Who!”—
The world was thirty feet below!
His way, whichever way he rode!
For warriors trained in weird deceit
Protected England's slow retreat
With stratagems of forest guile
That made each furlong twice a mile.
At last, so weary grew the track,
He fell asleep upon his hack,
And jolted on with knightly snore,
As though a trumpet blew before,
Till Satan brought the strangest hap
That ever spoiled a hero's nap.
He had a dream: he felt a jar:
He thought himself a shooting star:
He clutched the mane and hooted, “Who!”—
The world was thirty feet below!
Yes, thirty feet below his boots,
And thirty-five below his hoots,
He spied the path he lately trod,
He spied the shadow-dappled sod,
And caught through tossing leaves a clear
Though hasty glimpse of azure mere;
While overhead (can this be true?)
A score or more of comets flew
And all the demon-stars that hie
Before a fallen skater's eye.
At first he thought a Tory wizard
Had mounted him astride a blizzard
And sent him whirling overland,
A prisoner in Satan's hand,
Who nevermore would deal on earth
A valiant stroke or punch of worth.
But, looking twice, he clearly spied
His nag beneath, himself astride,
And also spied around her chest
A twisted thong of hide undressed,
Which held her with a condor-grip
Suspended from a walnut's tip.
And thirty-five below his hoots,
He spied the path he lately trod,
He spied the shadow-dappled sod,
And caught through tossing leaves a clear
Though hasty glimpse of azure mere;
While overhead (can this be true?)
A score or more of comets flew
And all the demon-stars that hie
Before a fallen skater's eye.
At first he thought a Tory wizard
Had mounted him astride a blizzard
And sent him whirling overland,
A prisoner in Satan's hand,
Who nevermore would deal on earth
138
But, looking twice, he clearly spied
His nag beneath, himself astride,
And also spied around her chest
A twisted thong of hide undressed,
Which held her with a condor-grip
Suspended from a walnut's tip.
| The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme | |