 | Songs at the Start |  |
94
THE CROSS ROADS.
Out from the prison at twilight,
With stealthy, terrible swiftness,
Darted one of the branded, life beating in every vein;
Freedom stirring his pulses,
Gladness and fear and longing
Surging thro' brain and body with precious unwonted pain.
With stealthy, terrible swiftness,
Darted one of the branded, life beating in every vein;
Freedom stirring his pulses,
Gladness and fear and longing
Surging thro' brain and body with precious unwonted pain.
Out from the damp, dark cell,
The shackles, the sorrowful silence,
Out from the ring of faces and the jarring of stern commands,
Forth to the scent of the meadows,
The glisten of garrulous brooklets,
And the dim, kindly evening he blessed with his weary hands.
The shackles, the sorrowful silence,
Out from the ring of faces and the jarring of stern commands,
Forth to the scent of the meadows,
The glisten of garrulous brooklets,
And the dim, kindly evening he blessed with his weary hands.
95
On, like the sweep of a scimitar
Dashed he, cutting the darkness,
Or as the storm blows on, none knowing its way or its will;
Cumbered with horrible fears,
Leaped he the perilous ledges
Reaching the village that lay in the valley, untroubled and still.
Dashed he, cutting the darkness,
Or as the storm blows on, none knowing its way or its will;
Cumbered with horrible fears,
Leaped he the perilous ledges
Reaching the village that lay in the valley, untroubled and still.
Midway of his sickening haste,
Sudden he faltered and moaned,
Seeing three stand by a window, as the breeze loitering blew;
A woman sad-featured and patient,
Two golden heads at her shoulder,
Dear eyes he made shine once—dear childish hair that he knew!
Sudden he faltered and moaned,
Seeing three stand by a window, as the breeze loitering blew;
A woman sad-featured and patient,
Two golden heads at her shoulder,
Dear eyes he made shine once—dear childish hair that he knew!
Not yet, for surely the bloodhounds
Would track him thither to-morrow;
Not yet! tho' soon that door should open, as long ago:
Dashing the tear from his cheeks,
The bronze, rough cheeks that it hallowed,
He rushed on. Had they seen it, the poor, wan face? Did they know?
Would track him thither to-morrow;
Not yet! tho' soon that door should open, as long ago:
96
The bronze, rough cheeks that it hallowed,
He rushed on. Had they seen it, the poor, wan face? Did they know?
Here meet the roads: see, eastways,
The long, clear track to the forest,
There, with chestnuts shaded, the path to the inland town:
Behind, a glimpse of the village,
Front—four sharp cliffs to the ocean;
Quickly, which shall he choose? Hark! the captors are hunting him down!
The long, clear track to the forest,
There, with chestnuts shaded, the path to the inland town:
Behind, a glimpse of the village,
Front—four sharp cliffs to the ocean;
Quickly, which shall he choose? Hark! the captors are hunting him down!
Shuffle of hurrying feet,
Breathings nearer and nearer.
No choice for a man that is doomed, unless straight to the merciful sea.
Up to the toilsome cliffs!
Better death than new anguish!
A cry, a plunge ... shine, stars, on the ripples that ring that sea.
Breathings nearer and nearer.
No choice for a man that is doomed, unless straight to the merciful sea.
Up to the toilsome cliffs!
Better death than new anguish!
A cry, a plunge ... shine, stars, on the ripples that ring that sea.
97
Soft in the ominous shadow the branches stir by the meadow,
Fair in the lonely distance the dying household glow;
Deep in the dust of the street,
Just where the four roads meet,
Two trembling forms where he stood a moment so;
And a wistful child's voice said,
Touched with great trouble and dread:
“O little sister! which way did father go?”
Fair in the lonely distance the dying household glow;
Deep in the dust of the street,
Just where the four roads meet,
Two trembling forms where he stood a moment so;
And a wistful child's voice said,
Touched with great trouble and dread:
“O little sister! which way did father go?”
| Songs at the Start | |