 | The white sail and other poems |  |
44
THE RISE OF THE TIDE.
A fisherman gray, one night of yore,
His nets upgathered, plied the oar,
Right merrily heading for a haven,
While summer winds blew blithe before.
His nets upgathered, plied the oar,
Right merrily heading for a haven,
While summer winds blew blithe before.
He sat beneath his pennon white;
His arms were brown, his eye was bright;
Twice twenty years his breast had carried
A ribbon from Lepanto's fight.
His arms were brown, his eye was bright;
Twice twenty years his breast had carried
A ribbon from Lepanto's fight.
A cove he spied at sunset's edge,
With pleasant trees and margin-sedge;
And barefoot went by stakes down-driven
Thro' shallows wading from the ledge,
With pleasant trees and margin-sedge;
And barefoot went by stakes down-driven
Thro' shallows wading from the ledge,
The boat drawn after; but behold!
A check fell on his venture bold:
He stood imprisoned, vainly leading
The ropes in whitening fingers old.
A check fell on his venture bold:
He stood imprisoned, vainly leading
The ropes in whitening fingers old.
45
Within that black and marshy sound
His weight had sunken; he was bound
Knee-deep! and as he beat and struggled,
The mocking ripples danced around.
His weight had sunken; he was bound
Knee-deep! and as he beat and struggled,
The mocking ripples danced around.
Long since the wood-thrush ceased her song;
The summer wind grew fierce and strong;
The shuddering moon went into hiding;
Down came the storm to wreak him wrong.
The summer wind grew fierce and strong;
The shuddering moon went into hiding;
Down came the storm to wreak him wrong.
Against the prow he leaned his chin,
Thinking of all his strength had been;
Then turned, and laughed with courage steady:
‘O ho! what straits we twain are in!’
Thinking of all his strength had been;
Then turned, and laughed with courage steady:
‘O ho! what straits we twain are in!’
And strove anew, unterrified,
But lastly, wearied wholly, cried
For succor, since his laden wherry
Rocked ever on the coming tide.
But lastly, wearied wholly, cried
For succor, since his laden wherry
Rocked ever on the coming tide.
[OMITTED]
‘I hear a cry of anguish sore!’
But straight his love had barred the door:
‘Bide here; the night bodes naught but danger.’
Loud beat the waves along the shore.
But straight his love had barred the door:
‘Bide here; the night bodes naught but danger.’
Loud beat the waves along the shore.
46
A bedded child made soft behest:
‘So loud the voice I cannot rest.’
‘It is the rain, dear, in the garden.’
The cruel water binds his breast.
‘So loud the voice I cannot rest.’
‘It is the rain, dear, in the garden.’
The cruel water binds his breast.
‘A lamp, a lamp! some traveller's lost!’
But thro' the tavern roared the host:
‘Nay, only thunder rude and heavy.’
Close to his lips the foam is tossed.
But thro' the tavern roared the host:
‘Nay, only thunder rude and heavy.’
Close to his lips the foam is tossed.
‘O listen well, my liege and king!
Hark from gay halls this grievous thing!’
‘Strange how the wild wind drowns our music!’
About his head the eddies swing.
Hark from gay halls this grievous thing!’
‘Strange how the wild wind drowns our music!’
About his head the eddies swing.
At stroke of three the abbot meek
Moved out among his flock to speak
This word, with tears of doubt and wonder:
‘I had a dream; come forth and seek.’
Moved out among his flock to speak
This word, with tears of doubt and wonder:
‘I had a dream; come forth and seek.’
With torch and flagon, forth they sped:
The fisher glared from the harbor-bed!
The tide, from his white hair down-fallen,
All kindly ebbed, now he was dead.
The fisher glared from the harbor-bed!
The tide, from his white hair down-fallen,
All kindly ebbed, now he was dead.
47
Lepanto's star shone fast and good;
The sea-kelp wrapped him like a hood;
His arms were stretched in woe to heaven;
The boat had drifted: so he stood.
The sea-kelp wrapped him like a hood;
His arms were stretched in woe to heaven;
The boat had drifted: so he stood.
The Unavenged he seemed to be!
Then fell each monk upon his knee:
‘Lord Christ!’ the abbot sang, awe-stricken:
‘Rest my old rival's soul!’ sang he.
Then fell each monk upon his knee:
‘Lord Christ!’ the abbot sang, awe-stricken:
‘Rest my old rival's soul!’ sang he.
| The white sail and other poems | |