Feda with Other Poems Chiefly Lyrical. By Rennell Rodd ... With an Etching by Harper Pennington |
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THE JOURNEY HOME. |
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 | Feda with Other Poems |  |
104
THE JOURNEY HOME.
Deep into the night we flew, through the great plains broadening far
To the South of hills and the North of seas, low under the moon and star.
To the South of hills and the North of seas, low under the moon and star.
And we scared with a midnight shriek the slumbering haunts of men,
Dived into the gloom of forests, whirled out by river and fen.
Dived into the gloom of forests, whirled out by river and fen.
On and away, and ever away, through the night like a moving flame,
Till the folk have a different speech, and the lands have another name!
Till the folk have a different speech, and the lands have another name!
We had left the cloud in our wake, the sky had been overcast,
But here was the moon stood still, and the world went wildering past:
But here was the moon stood still, and the world went wildering past:
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And there grew such a sense of space, like a prisoner's suddenly freed,
In that slumberous rest of motion, safe borne on the wings of speed;
In that slumberous rest of motion, safe borne on the wings of speed;
And the silvery greys of midnight, the shadowy land the stream,
Grew part with the phantom pictures twixt sleep and a waking dream.
Grew part with the phantom pictures twixt sleep and a waking dream.
So the night went by and a wave of light gained over us while we sped,
The stars went down in the rosy wave and the westering shadows fled:
The stars went down in the rosy wave and the westering shadows fled:
A wide opalescent water lay blanched in the dawn mists dim,
And the blaze of the advent day grew flame on the eastward rim:
And the blaze of the advent day grew flame on the eastward rim:
The work of the world began for team and harrow and hind,
The smoke curled up from the farm-house roof and mixed with the morning wind.
The smoke curled up from the farm-house roof and mixed with the morning wind.
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Then we came to a world of meadows, a pastoral land of kine,
The meads were greyed with the early dew, the poplars waved in a line;
The meads were greyed with the early dew, the poplars waved in a line;
The grazing cattle looked up to stare as over their plains we flew,
Their bells rang crisp in the morning chill, you could see their tracks in the dew.
Their bells rang crisp in the morning chill, you could see their tracks in the dew.
Then the hills began, and the covert side, and the pear and the apple tree,
And here and there was a village spire, with a life we shall never see.
And here and there was a village spire, with a life we shall never see.
We stayed by a town stream-girded with gardens green to the marge,
And labouring men unloading red tiles from a resting barge,
And labouring men unloading red tiles from a resting barge,
With bleaching linen, the white and brown that flapped on a line in the breeze,
And carts laid up in the central street, and avenue rows of trees;
And carts laid up in the central street, and avenue rows of trees;
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It was easy to see it was market-day, the folk were in market blouse,
There were booths and stalls and clatter of life, and chatter of homely news;
There were booths and stalls and clatter of life, and chatter of homely news;
Then on by the factory piles that loom on the further side,—
A passing look at their little world, a moment's glance from the wide;
A passing look at their little world, a moment's glance from the wide;
So into a wild waste land all fen and willow and reed,
With sickly shallows and aspens fret, and wilderness isles of weed,
With sickly shallows and aspens fret, and wilderness isles of weed,
And I think there are clouds that ever shut out that waste from the sky,
That the bats wheel there in the nightly mists, and the owl has a haunt hard by,
That the bats wheel there in the nightly mists, and the owl has a haunt hard by,
And the wraiths of some doom forgotten must wail on the midnight air,
For the curse on yon tower of ruin half hid in the aspens bare.
For the curse on yon tower of ruin half hid in the aspens bare.
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So on and away, and ever away, and noon by now in the sky,
On and away, and ever away, till the end of the land draws nigh.
On and away, and ever away, till the end of the land draws nigh.
Oh, surely those are the sand-hills where the river broadens away
To masts of ships in the distance, white sails in the light mid-day;
To masts of ships in the distance, white sails in the light mid-day;
And these blown trees are the hardy sign of a land where the winds are free,
And surely this is the dear salt breath that only breathes from the sea!
And surely this is the dear salt breath that only breathes from the sea!
Lo, one great sheen to the east and west the luminous waters roll,
With a light of joy and a breeze of strength to the long land-prisoned soul!
With a light of joy and a breeze of strength to the long land-prisoned soul!
O beautiful ship with the dipping prow bound over the space between,
There are fairer hills on the further side and meads of a deeper green!
There are fairer hills on the further side and meads of a deeper green!
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We are close to the old cliff walls washed white of the ocean foam;
The masts of the ships have an English flag, and this is the island home!
The masts of the ships have an English flag, and this is the island home!
And here are the friends who wait me, the ready to take my part,
The quick to help me and understand, the loyal and true of heart.
The quick to help me and understand, the loyal and true of heart.
Oh, when and where shall I ever go out to you all as I would,
And receive you into myself and be and become your good!
And receive you into myself and be and become your good!
Now God speed all that are far from home, and bring them again at last
To the fair green isle in the ocean's arms when wandering days are past,
To the fair green isle in the ocean's arms when wandering days are past,
For though I have given all lands my love and all folk under the sky,
There was never a man that loved her yet with a greater love than I.
There was never a man that loved her yet with a greater love than I.
| Feda with Other Poems | |