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Red and white heather

[by R. Buchanan Williams]

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127

THE BROKEN TRYST

I.

This ae night, this ae night,
Every night and all,
Remember me, my heart's delight,
Now Christ receives my saul.’
Upon her bed of death she lay
As white and still as snow,
Wearily, dimly, in her eyes
The light of life burned low.
Sadly she keek'd into my face
And sighed her last farewell;
And all around God's snow lay deep
On mountain and in dell.
‘O Marjorie!—my Marjorie—
I'm weeping for thy sake.
Without thy love the world is dark,
And my poor heart must break!

128

The wind roared shrill; the lonely bield
Shook like a stormtost tree,
But gently as a sleeping bairn
My true-love smiled on me.
‘This ae night, this ae night,
Every night and all,
Remember me, my heart's delight,
Now Christ receives my saul.
‘Remember that I loved thee dear,
And loved nae man but thee.
Remember most when Death comes near
To set thy spirit free.
‘Lift up thy head, my own true love,
And dinna weep for me;
In yonder land beyond the grave
Our trysting-place shall be.
‘The Lord has whispered in my ear
Of that sweet promised land;
There thou shalt keek into my face
And take me by the hand.
‘There, where the skies are ever clear,
And falls nae snaw or rain,
I'll keep the tryst I gave thee here,
And kiss thee once again.’

129

Weeping, I held unto her lips
The silver Cross of Christ.
She kissed the cross, and as she died
She sware to keep our tryst.

II.

Silent she slept upon her bed,
Done with all human care;
We held the mirror to her mouth—
No touch of breath was there.
We wrapped her in her shroud, and placed
Her hands upon her breast,
And then the lyke-wake dirge was sung
About her bed of rest.
‘This ae night, this ae night,
Every night and all,
Fire and salt and candlelight,
And Christ receive thy saul!’
Heavily, heavily beat my heart
Beneath its load of pain;
But I remembered while I wept
Our tryst to meet again.
I listened to the grey-hair'd priest
Who knelt and prayed with me—
God shrive his soul! By Christ his Cross
He swore that tryst should be!

130

And when across the white, white snow
They bore the light, light bier,
I followed slowly in a dream
And didna shed a tear.
And when upon the coffin-lid
They shook the cruel clay,
Although my heart was torn in twain
My soul was far away.
My soul was thinking of its tryst
In that fair promised land—
I saw my true-love waiting there,
A lily in her hand.
‘O Marjorie! sweet Marjorie!—
My own dear Marjorie!
'Tis only for a little while,
And I shall come to thee!’
I blest the promise of the priest
I blest the Cross of Christ;
And day and night, in weal or woe,
I thought of that last tryst.

III.

Winds of the world, how bleak ye blew
About my feeble form!
Snows of the world, how oft I bent
Beneath your wintry storm!

131

Yet even when the strife was worst
I fought and rose upright,
Beyond the darkness of the storm
I saw a heavenly light.
It beckoned me from far away,
And shrove my soul from sin;
The lattices of Heaven blew wide
To show that light within.
What reck'd I of the daily strife,
The hourly pain and care?
Boldly I met the storms of life,
Because my tryst was there.
As one who flies to meet his love,
Despite the wintry blast,
Patient and strong, because he knows
That they must meet at last—
That softly on his aching heart
Her cheek will pillow'd be;
That from the spell of Love's despair
Her kiss will set him free—
That lonely in the lonely night
They two at last will stand,
Keeping the tryst with happy tears
Together, hand in hand.

132

Yet sometimes, as I dreed my weird,
And knelt to say a prayer,
I heard upon the moaning wind
Faint wailings of despair!
Wild voices from the shores of Death
Cried, ‘Sleep, eternal sleep!’
Wild voices from the depths of Hell
Answered like deep to deep.
And one cried, ‘He who promised life
Hath given but husks for bread!
How should He break the bonds of Death
Since He Himself is dead?’
And one cried, ‘Cease to wail, since life
Is but the breaking wave!’
And one, ‘Poor lamp of life blown out
By winds from the gusty grave!’
I stopt my ears, I didna heed,
I knelt upon my knee,
And swore by Christ to keep my tryst
Yonder with Marjorie!

IV.

Methought, as all alone I sat
Beside life's surging sea,
Death pluck'd me by the sleeve, and said,
‘Rise up, and come with me!’

133

Shrouded in white from head to foot,
He walked from field to field;
And lo! I followed him until
He stopped at mine own bield.
He raised the latch and let me in.
‘'Tis time to sleep,’ he said,
And took me in his lean old arms
And laid me on my bed.
And weary of the storm and strife,
The sleep-stoure blinding me,
I calmly looked into his face
And thought of Marjorie.
He waved his thin hands o'er me thrice;
I didna moan or weep,
But peacefully I closed my een
And sank to my last sleep.

V.

‘This ae night, this ae night,
Every night and all,
Fire and salt and candlelight,
And Christ receive his saul.’
I heard the sound as in a dream
Blown on the wind to me,
While 'midst the wintry wold I walk'd
To my tryst with Marjorie.

134

Swiftly I walked in my winding-sheet,
Living though I had died;
In a waste of weariful snow I walked,
With the angel Death for guide.
But as I walked the wold grew light,
And the frosty stars shone clear,
And the land I saw grew like the land
I had kenn'd for many a year.
Across the little bridge we passed
With still and soundless tread,
And a light was burning at our backs
In the bield where I lay dead.
And up above the windy hill
There came a siller fire,
And the moon rose up like a great white moth
Above the black kirk-spire.
And I kenn'd the kirkyard by the wood
Where they laid my Marjorie doon,
And the wintry wold was white below,
And the heavens were bright aboon.
‘O Death, our tryst was far away,
In a sunny promised land!’
And Death was dumb, but walk'd before
And beckon'd with his hand.

135

We stood alone in the white kirkyard,
Under the black yew-tree,
And I saw her grave and the grey gravestane
With the name of Marjorie.
And the place was dim with weary ghaists
Who wandered to and fro,
And the moon shone through their shapes, that cast
Nae shade upon the snow.
‘O Marjorie!—my Marjorie!—
If this be our trysting-place,
Arise, dear love, out of thy grave,
And let me see thy face!’
And the voice of Death, like a voice in sleep,
Spake up and answer'd me:
‘The sleep-stoure fills her eyes and ears
That neither hear nor see.
‘Never again the sun or moon
Shall shine on Marjorie—
Never again shall thy true-love rise
To keep her tryst with thee!
‘He lied who swore by Christ His Cross
That you should meet again!
Lie down, lie down, and hush thy moans,
For all thy quest is vain!

136

‘But yonder lies the open grave
That they have dug for thee;
As sound as hers for evermore
Thy sleep shall surely be!
‘This ae night, this ae night,
Every night and all,
Fire and salt and candlelight,
And Death to keep thy saul!’
I faded away beneath his touch
Under the pale moonbeam,
And with a waeful cry I woke,
And lo! it was a dream!

VI.

A dream! and leaping from my bed
I saw the light o' day,
And the Sabbath bells were ringing loud,
And folk flocked forth to pray.
I wandered to the old kirkyard,
And 'neath the dark yew-tree
I saw the grave and the white gravestane
With the name of Marjorie!
And by the little grave I bent
And sighed the much-loved name
And on my brow, like blessed dew
The Sabbath music came.

137

‘O Death!’ I cried, ‘whose cruel hand
Hath my dear Marjorie ta'en,
Whene'er my heart is faint with fear
Send me that dream again!
‘Teach me how wae the world would be
If that sad dream were true!’—
The kirkbells rang, and overhead
The skies were bonnie and blue!
‘Not here—not here—but far away
Our trysting-place shall be;
There, with a lily in her hand,
Still waits my Marjorie!’