The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith ... Revised by the Author: Coll. ed. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
Fain would he still have borne her first to land
With her two boys, but that she would not hear of.
Thrice, therefore, from the ship he swam ashore,
Burdened with child or mother, or with both;
And thrice again he left to seek the ship,
Strong swimmer borne up by his work of pity,
For nature makes the brave heart strong to save.
And, at the next time, Muriel from the poop
Lowered the children to his loving arms,
Her great eyes swimming in the pride of him
And love of them, until she hardly saw
Aught else, or heard a warning cry; and then,
Just as he, confident and cheerful, held
The children, and was waiting for her coming,
A spar fell from the falling mast, and smote
Him smiling up to her, and with a cry,
And flinging up his arms, before her eyes
He sank with their two babes. Yet she was spared
A tragic agony by tragic fact,
For the great ship that instant brake in twain.
In death they were not separate; and soon
The quiet waters, smiling in the sun,
Rippled where they had been.
With her two boys, but that she would not hear of.
Thrice, therefore, from the ship he swam ashore,
Burdened with child or mother, or with both;
And thrice again he left to seek the ship,
Strong swimmer borne up by his work of pity,
For nature makes the brave heart strong to save.
And, at the next time, Muriel from the poop
Lowered the children to his loving arms,
Her great eyes swimming in the pride of him
And love of them, until she hardly saw
Aught else, or heard a warning cry; and then,
Just as he, confident and cheerful, held
The children, and was waiting for her coming,
A spar fell from the falling mast, and smote
Him smiling up to her, and with a cry,
And flinging up his arms, before her eyes
He sank with their two babes. Yet she was spared
A tragic agony by tragic fact,
For the great ship that instant brake in twain.
In death they were not separate; and soon
The quiet waters, smiling in the sun,
Rippled where they had been.
270
Here Martin rose,
Pale as a ghost, and shivering as a reed,
Alone in withered Autumn, that is smote
By sudden gust of storm.
Pale as a ghost, and shivering as a reed,
Alone in withered Autumn, that is smote
By sudden gust of storm.
And I have railed,
He gasped, at such an one as this! for years
Have rated her and called her worthless flirt
Who broke my worthless life! have quoted her
To lads who still had faith in truth and love,
To cure them of their folly, and have held
Myself the one wise man! O God, my God!
To have so wronged the woman that I loved!
To have so 'stranged my nature from all love!
To have so grossly slandered truth and love!
God's beautiful one!—My broken life, forsooth!
O poor self-pitying fool! But lost is lost;
And this is gain though it be shame to me,
Sorrowful gain by loss of evil thought,
And love restored; yet better so restored
Amid my self-contempt, than as before
Blurred in my self-conceit. O Muriel, yet
I loved you through it all—a hateful love!
But clinging to thee, seeing no one worthy
Save thee, and thee unworthy, and with this
So worthless love still wronging thee!—Good-night!
I thank you, friend; yes, you have done me good;
There's healing in such sorrow; but to-night
I could not meet your girls; I have done wrong
Unto all women by my thoughts, and dare not
Look in their eyes. And I must be alone:
Beg my forgiveness; I must be alone;
God help me! I will to the old seashore,
And hear the dull waves thudding on the sand
As my thoughts break in me. O Muriel!—
With that he gave my hand a silent grip,
And gulping something down, pulled his hat low
Over his brows, and strode into the dark.
He gasped, at such an one as this! for years
Have rated her and called her worthless flirt
Who broke my worthless life! have quoted her
To lads who still had faith in truth and love,
To cure them of their folly, and have held
Myself the one wise man! O God, my God!
To have so wronged the woman that I loved!
To have so 'stranged my nature from all love!
To have so grossly slandered truth and love!
God's beautiful one!—My broken life, forsooth!
O poor self-pitying fool! But lost is lost;
And this is gain though it be shame to me,
Sorrowful gain by loss of evil thought,
And love restored; yet better so restored
Amid my self-contempt, than as before
Blurred in my self-conceit. O Muriel, yet
I loved you through it all—a hateful love!
But clinging to thee, seeing no one worthy
Save thee, and thee unworthy, and with this
So worthless love still wronging thee!—Good-night!
I thank you, friend; yes, you have done me good;
There's healing in such sorrow; but to-night
I could not meet your girls; I have done wrong
Unto all women by my thoughts, and dare not
Look in their eyes. And I must be alone:
Beg my forgiveness; I must be alone;
God help me! I will to the old seashore,
And hear the dull waves thudding on the sand
As my thoughts break in me. O Muriel!—
With that he gave my hand a silent grip,
And gulping something down, pulled his hat low
Over his brows, and strode into the dark.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |