Ghost-bereft With other stories and studies in verse: By Jane Barlow |
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 | Ghost-bereft |  |
IX
And I called him as near as could be. Twice I tried it, but never a sound
Would come out of me throat; somethin' choked me, and that set me head whirlin' round
Like the wild water caught in the stones, wid the flurry of me thoughts fast and thick.
For sez I to meself: ‘If he heard me, it's sendin' him after her quick.
Down he'll lep in the smotherin' flood to his death. Ah, I'll let him walk on;
'Tis just takin' his life....Is it watchin' him drown I'd be, there, where she's gone?
'Twas no doin' of mine; I ne'er touched her,’ sez I. ‘'Tis me chance so befell. . . .
When the little black head he'll be seein' no more . . . sure you never can tell.
The red gold for me, Oonah machree. If we met in a shine of the sun—
I'll not drown him,’ sez I. Yet I'm thinkin' the raison I done what I done
Was that spakin' to Hughey Maclean seemed like raichin' me hand out to burn
On an iron in sparks from the flame. So I let him go by past the turn.
And I crouched meself down on the stone, wid the shawl o'er me head, and me ears
Finger-stopped, to not see aught or hear; and the time might be minyits or years;
I dunnó how it went. I kep' blinded and deaf, and the thoughts druv away
Wid: What matter? What matter? 'Twas holdin' a door agin the surge of the say.
Would come out of me throat; somethin' choked me, and that set me head whirlin' round
Like the wild water caught in the stones, wid the flurry of me thoughts fast and thick.
For sez I to meself: ‘If he heard me, it's sendin' him after her quick.
Down he'll lep in the smotherin' flood to his death. Ah, I'll let him walk on;
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'Twas no doin' of mine; I ne'er touched her,’ sez I. ‘'Tis me chance so befell. . . .
When the little black head he'll be seein' no more . . . sure you never can tell.
The red gold for me, Oonah machree. If we met in a shine of the sun—
I'll not drown him,’ sez I. Yet I'm thinkin' the raison I done what I done
Was that spakin' to Hughey Maclean seemed like raichin' me hand out to burn
On an iron in sparks from the flame. So I let him go by past the turn.
And I crouched meself down on the stone, wid the shawl o'er me head, and me ears
Finger-stopped, to not see aught or hear; and the time might be minyits or years;
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Wid: What matter? What matter? 'Twas holdin' a door agin the surge of the say.
And then somethin' come callin' and cryin'; and the touch of a hand on me arm
Took me breath. Yet whate'er it might be, I must see it—between me and harm.
It was only wee Norah had found me. But och, when I lifted me head,
‘She's not Oonah,’ sez she, and set off with a shriek that might waken the dead.
So I rose up to follow her, and there glimpsed me face in a still pool below;
And I seen what had scared her, the crathur; for me hair was as white as snow.
Took me breath. Yet whate'er it might be, I must see it—between me and harm.
It was only wee Norah had found me. But och, when I lifted me head,
‘She's not Oonah,’ sez she, and set off with a shriek that might waken the dead.
So I rose up to follow her, and there glimpsed me face in a still pool below;
And I seen what had scared her, the crathur; for me hair was as white as snow.
| Ghost-bereft | |