Ranolf and Amohia A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised |
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 | Ranolf and Amohia |  |
VII.
On—on! for days as by a dream oppressed—
Still on—by one idea absorbed—possessed!—
Directly in her way
A broad and swollen river lay:
Her road led through the shallows by its bank,
Where yellow waters eddying swirled
Through flax-tufts waving green and tall and rank;
But in the midst the raging torrent hurled
Its waters swift, direct, and deep,
Where often some uprooted tree would sweep—
A great black trunk unwieldy—hastening down
The flood surcharged with clayey silt—
And dip and heave and plunge and tilt
Half buried in the wavelets brown.
She paused—but something in her breast
Still urged her on:—she could not rest:
And then those friends whom Kangapo addrest—
Might they not still her course arrest?
What if they still should be upon her track—
Would they not meet her if she ventured back?—
She tore her mantle off in haste,
And rolled it up and tightly tied
With flax and slung it round her waist;
Then wading, struggled through the high sword-grass
And stream-bowed tortured blades—a tangled mass,
And struck into the torrent fierce and wide!
Still on—by one idea absorbed—possessed!—
Directly in her way
A broad and swollen river lay:
Her road led through the shallows by its bank,
Where yellow waters eddying swirled
270
But in the midst the raging torrent hurled
Its waters swift, direct, and deep,
Where often some uprooted tree would sweep—
A great black trunk unwieldy—hastening down
The flood surcharged with clayey silt—
And dip and heave and plunge and tilt
Half buried in the wavelets brown.
She paused—but something in her breast
Still urged her on:—she could not rest:
And then those friends whom Kangapo addrest—
Might they not still her course arrest?
What if they still should be upon her track—
Would they not meet her if she ventured back?—
She tore her mantle off in haste,
And rolled it up and tightly tied
With flax and slung it round her waist;
Then wading, struggled through the high sword-grass
And stream-bowed tortured blades—a tangled mass,
And struck into the torrent fierce and wide!
Alas! no strength of limb or will,
No stoutest heart, no swimmer's skill
Could long withstand the headlong weight and force
Of that wild tide in its tumultuous course!—
Soon was she swept away—whirled o'er and o'er—
And hurried out of conscious life
In that o'erwhelming turbulence and roar
Almost without a sense of pain or strife.
No stoutest heart, no swimmer's skill
Could long withstand the headlong weight and force
Of that wild tide in its tumultuous course!—
Soon was she swept away—whirled o'er and o'er—
And hurried out of conscious life
In that o'erwhelming turbulence and roar
Almost without a sense of pain or strife.
| Ranolf and Amohia | |