 | Le Cahier Jaune |  |
71
EARL HACON'S TOMB.
He lieth under a pile of stones,
On a high and heathery hill:
The shy deer graze above his bones,
And the plover whistles shrill.
On a high and heathery hill:
The shy deer graze above his bones,
And the plover whistles shrill.
Eastward and westward fall the streams
Thro' a broad and level land;
But mark how merry the sunlight gleams
On the sea on either hand!
Thro' a broad and level land;
But mark how merry the sunlight gleams
On the sea on either hand!
Oh ye may tread twelve counties round,
But ye may never be,
Whence ye may view from moorland ground
The double glint of sea.
But ye may never be,
Whence ye may view from moorland ground
The double glint of sea.
All round about in the peat below
There are twenty bodies set;
Their bones are white as the April snow,
Their skulls with the streams are wet.
There are twenty bodies set;
Their bones are white as the April snow,
Their skulls with the streams are wet.
Twenty rovers the old Earl kept
To work his lawless will,
They dreamed to serve him while they slept,
And to-day they serve him still.
To work his lawless will,
They dreamed to serve him while they slept,
And to-day they serve him still.
72
Beside each man was a trusty helm,
A sword and javelins twain;
Heavy and dark are the hafts of elm,
But the sword is a red rust stain.
A sword and javelins twain;
Heavy and dark are the hafts of elm,
But the sword is a red rust stain.
The old Earl's brow had a gold circlet,
His neck bore a chain of gold;
But so black a stain on the gold is set
The metal may scarce be told.
His neck bore a chain of gold;
But so black a stain on the gold is set
The metal may scarce be told.
The tale of his house is a tale of shame,
No sons of his blood hath he,
And no man beareth the old Earl's name
Save a beggar over the sea.
No sons of his blood hath he,
And no man beareth the old Earl's name
Save a beggar over the sea.
A ring of stones is the frowning keep,
Grey stones on a lonely moor:
And the ship he sailed in is bedded deep
In the sand on a leeward shore.
Grey stones on a lonely moor:
And the ship he sailed in is bedded deep
In the sand on a leeward shore.
Now slit the turf with a mattock strong,
And scatter the stones away:
The Earl that hath dwelt in the dark so long
Shall look on the light of day.
And scatter the stones away:
The Earl that hath dwelt in the dark so long
Shall look on the light of day.
73
One by one to the day they pass,
The young Lord telleth them all;
The chain is set in an ark of glass,
The circlet hangs in the hall.
The young Lord telleth them all;
The chain is set in an ark of glass,
The circlet hangs in the hall.
Go cast in the charnel-pit their bones!
Their grave shall hallowed be;
And none shall know why the pile of stones,
O'erlooketh the double sea.
Their grave shall hallowed be;
And none shall know why the pile of stones,
O'erlooketh the double sea.
Sligachan, 1892.
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