Leaves of life :: :: University of Virginia Library

And just one white sail flecked the sea
At the outer edge of the world,
And the level waste of the sand gleamed smooth
Where small waves played and curled.

148

And, before the after-light was gone,
The wind began to roar.
God help the men at sea to-night,
God help the wives on shore!

The sun had set but a breathing-space
When the wind began to wail,
And over the waste of the leaden waves
Shone foam lines thin and pale.

The fainting west was streaked across
With black and cloudy bars,
The angry sunset bore a night
Without or moon or stars.

No moon nor stars, but a mad mad wind,
That flung the foam-flakes wide,
And lashed the sea till it smote with rage
Against the good ship's side.

No stars nor moon, but a strange wild light,
That was not moon nor star,
That lit the crests of the curling surf
That writhes where the rock reefs are.

149

High rose the waves—with a bitter laugh
Each wave drew up its head,
And tumbled shoreward with a groan,
A laugh and a groan for the dead.

Black, black grew the night, and the gleaming spray
Hissed over the pebbly shore,
The wind caught it up in his evil grasp
To fling at the cottage door.

Warm-curtained the window, and on the wall
The lamplight and firelight play;
The cottage would be a pleasant place
If he were not away.

The wife cowered down in the firelight glow,
Her head upon her knee:
‘O Christ, have pity on us to-night,
And bring back my man to me!’

The wind went shrieking about the house,
And fain would an entrance win,
But door and window were barred and fast,
And would not let it in.

150

There came a hush while the storm took breath,
And down came the driving rain:
‘I wish it beat on my new-made grave,
For he will not come back again!’

But louder, louder thundered the waves,
The spray lashed window and door;
‘And what will my life be worth to me
If he should come home no more?’

The wind went roaring across the foam
With its message of doom to be;
Ah, what will the wind do out in the night
Betwixt the wide sky and sea?

A rush—a blast—for the wind has won,
It has thrust the shutter aside,
The lamp leaps up—and dies on a flash,
And the ashes are scattered wide.

And the wife sits on by the bare hearthstone
And the wind is lord of the place;
It lays its hands on her loosened hair,
And smites on her pallid face.

151

The night was black upon sea and land,
The night in her heart was black:
‘I wish the earth was over my head,
For he will never come back!’

Hark! In through the window a rush of wings;
Had an angel been sent to save?
Would her soul go up from the wind-swept home,
And his from the wind-swept wave?

‘Nay, I will not die till I know him dead,
For O if he should come,
Would I leave for him what I cannot face,
The sight of an empty home!

The wings still fluttered and nearer came,
Till a soft plume her cheek caressed,
She put up her hands—'twas a stray soft bird
She caught and held to her breast.

A stray lost pigeon, wearied with flight
In the stress of the stormy air,
The tempest had blown to her human heart,
And found it a shelter there.

152

The bird found shelter, and lighted peace
In the heart where it rested thus:
‘If God will care for a bird like this,
I trust Him—He cares for us!’

She closed the window and lit the lamp,
And she held the white dove fast,
That had been through the storm as her heart had done,
And anchored in peace at last.

And she knelt and prayed—‘Thou wilt hear me now,
O Mighty on sea and shore,
As the wings of Thy dove guide the boat's white wings,
And bring him safe home once more.’

And the storm raved on—when at last it slept,
Worn out with the night of doom,
Sleep had come after the night of tears
In the little cottage room.

And the wind, grown kind, blew out of the sky
The clouds it had gathered there,
And the sun rose up on a blue blue sea,
And a heaven of clear sweet air.

153

And the sun is mirrored in two brown eyes,
Where tears are still glittering—
And a woman who stands by her cottage door
To see what the day will bring.

And his ship is there, and the sun, and joy,
And good-bye to the night and pain,
For Fate and Love are for once agreed
And the boat is safe home again.

And what had guided the white warm bird,
And what led the ship aright?
Ask not of the birds that were lost in the storm
And the ships that went down that night;

But ask of the woman whose love was saved,
Or the bird whose tired wings found rest,
And they will answer—God rules the storm,
And all that He does is best.