 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE BLUE SCARF.
The soldier of an elder clime—
His bosom seamed with scars—
Has oft beguiled my wanderings
With legends of the wars.
Once as we slacked our bridle-reins
To gain a rising hill,
He told a tale of other times
That I remember still.
His bosom seamed with scars—
Has oft beguiled my wanderings
With legends of the wars.
Once as we slacked our bridle-reins
To gain a rising hill,
He told a tale of other times
That I remember still.
Sunset was slanting rosily,
And every cloud on high
Was like a floating pyramid
Of blossoms in the sky.
“There 's something,” said the aged sire,
“In everything I see
That brings again the lights and shades
Of other days to me:
And every cloud on high
Was like a floating pyramid
Of blossoms in the sky.
“There 's something,” said the aged sire,
“In everything I see
That brings again the lights and shades
Of other days to me:
“For one, of all my brethren
The bravest in the fight,
Stood with me in the crimson haze
Of just so sweet a night.
We heard, against the shelving rocks,
The dashing of the seas,
And saw the summer sun go down
From just such hills as these.
The bravest in the fight,
Stood with me in the crimson haze
Of just so sweet a night.
We heard, against the shelving rocks,
The dashing of the seas,
And saw the summer sun go down
From just such hills as these.
“There never was a stronger arm
In any field of war,
Nor heart that beat more fearlessly
Beneath a knight's broad star.
For ever in the hottest fight
We saw his scarf of blue:
His eye repelled the curious—
His name we never knew.
In any field of war,
Nor heart that beat more fearlessly
Beneath a knight's broad star.
For ever in the hottest fight
We saw his scarf of blue:
His eye repelled the curious—
His name we never knew.
34
“He never joined in revelry,
And never wept the slain,
And never either smiled or sighed
For any loss or gain:
For when the wings of victory
Were shining o'er our host,
I've seen him in his tent as sad
As if the day were lost.
And never wept the slain,
And never either smiled or sighed
For any loss or gain:
For when the wings of victory
Were shining o'er our host,
I've seen him in his tent as sad
As if the day were lost.
“Once grappling with an enemy
Whose fingers, dropping blood,
Left on his flaunting scarf their print—
I slew him where he stood.
For this he seemed to love me more
Than aught of living breath,
And at the peril of his soul
Thrice rescued me from death.
Whose fingers, dropping blood,
Left on his flaunting scarf their print—
I slew him where he stood.
For this he seemed to love me more
Than aught of living breath,
And at the peril of his soul
Thrice rescued me from death.
“And when all hacked with gaping wounds
That left me many a scar,
The long and weary march was his
Of the blue scarf and star.
And when sweet voices called me back
From warfare's stern array,
He girt my heavy armor on
And shared my homeward way.
That left me many a scar,
The long and weary march was his
Of the blue scarf and star.
And when sweet voices called me back
From warfare's stern array,
He girt my heavy armor on
And shared my homeward way.
“The old ancestral hills, at last,
That overhung the sea,
Were reached, and eve put on a smile
As if to welcome me.
Then said the knight, most mournfully,
‘Our path is one no more;
Thine to yon ancient castle leads,
And mine is by the shore.’
That overhung the sea,
Were reached, and eve put on a smile
As if to welcome me.
Then said the knight, most mournfully,
‘Our path is one no more;
Thine to yon ancient castle leads,
And mine is by the shore.’
“When at the morning hour I saw
The heavy shades of night
Break sullenly and roll away
Before the welcome light,
Without a hand upon his rein,
As there was wont to be,
His steed, with all his housings on,
Stood champing by the sea.
The heavy shades of night
Break sullenly and roll away
Before the welcome light,
Without a hand upon his rein,
As there was wont to be,
His steed, with all his housings on,
Stood champing by the sea.
35
“And there, all wet and tangled, lay
The bright blue scarf he wore,
Among the sea-weed and the sand,
Washed out upon the shore.
O there were dark imaginings—
They may have been untrue—
For blent with that insignia
Was all we ever knew.”
The bright blue scarf he wore,
Among the sea-weed and the sand,
Washed out upon the shore.
O there were dark imaginings—
They may have been untrue—
For blent with that insignia
Was all we ever knew.”
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |