242

THE STORM.

And yawning sleepily, he gazed around,

And stretch'd his limbs again, and soon slept sound.
Stooping, she smooth'd his pillow 'neath his head,
Still looking down with eyes liquid and mild,
And while she gazed, softly he slumbered,
That bearded man, her child.

And a child's dreams were his; for as he lay,
He uttered happy cries as if at play,
And his strong hand was lifted up on high
As if to catch the bird or butterfly;
And often to his bearded lips there came
That lonely woman's name;

And though the wrath of Ocean roared so near,
That one sweet word

Was all the woman heard,

And all she cared to hear.

Who did not know Meg Blane?

What hearth but heard the deeds that Meg had done? What fisher of the main

But knew her, and her little-witted son?

For in the wildest waves of that wild coast
Her black boat hover'd and her net was tost,

And lonely in the watery solitude

The son and mother fished for daily food.

When on calm nights the herring hosts went by,
Her frail boat followed the red smacks from shore,
And steering in the stern the man would lie
While Meg was hoisting sail or plying oar;
Till, a black speck against the morning sky,
The boat came homeward, with its silver store.
And Meg was cunning in the ways of things,
Watching what every changing lineament

Of Wind and Sky and Cloud and Water meant,
Knowing how Nature threatens ere she springs.

THE STORM.

She knew the clouds as shepherds know their sheep,
To eyes unskilled alike, yet different each;
She knew the wondrous voices of the Deep;
The tones of sea-birds were to her a speech.

It was a night of summer, yet the wind

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243

Had wafted from God's wastes the rain-clouds dank, Blown out Heaven's thousand eyes and left it blind, Though now and then the Moon gleamed moist behind The rack, till, smitten by the drift, she sank.

But the Deep roared;

Sucked to the black clouds, spumed the foam-fleck'd main,
While Lightning rent the storm-rack like a sword,
And earthward rolled the gray smoke of the Rain.

'Tis late, and yet the woman doth not rest,
But sitteth with chin drooping on her breast:
Weary she is, yet will not take repose;
Tired are her eyes, and yet they cannot close;
She rocketh to and fro upon her chair,

And stareth at the air!

Far, far away her thoughts were travelling:
They could not rest-they wandered far and fleet,
As the storm-petrels o'er the waters wing,
And cannot find a place to rest their feet;
And in her ear a thin voice murmurëd,
"If he be dead-be dead!"

Then, even then, the woman's face went white
And awful, and her eyes were fixed in fear,

For suddenly all the wild screams of night

Were hushed: the Wind lay down; and she could hear Strange voices gather round her in the gloom,

Sounds of invisible feet across the room,

244

THE STORM.

And after that the rustle of a shroud,

And then a creaking door,

And last the coronach, full shrill and loud, Of women clapping hands and weeping sore.

Now Meg knew well that ill was close at hand,
On water or on land,

Because the Glamour touched her lids like breath,
And scorch'd her heart: but in a waking swoon,
Quiet she stayed, not stirring,-cold as death,
And felt those voices croon;

Then suddenly she heard a human shout,
The hurried falling of a foot without,

Then a hoarse voice a knocking at the door-
"Meg, Meg! A Ship ashore!”

Now mark the woman! She hath risen her height,
Her dripping plaid is wrapt around her tight;
Tight clenched in her palm her fingers are;
Her eye is steadfast as a fixed star.

One look upon her child-he sleepeth on-
One step unto the door, and she is gone:

Barefooted out into the dark she fares,

And comes where, rubbing eyelids thick with sleep, The half-clad fishers mingle oaths and prayers, And look upon the Deep.

Black was the oozy lift,

Black were the sea and land;

Hither and thither, thick with foam and drift,
Did the deep Waters shift,

Swinging with iron clash on stone and sand.

Faintlier the heavy Rain was falling,

Faintlier, faintlier the Wind was calling

THE STORM.

With hollower echoes up the drifting dark! While the swift rockets shooting through the night Flash'd past the foam-flecked reef with phantom light, And showed the piteous outline of the bark, Rising and falling like a living thing,

Shuddering, shivering,

While, howling beastlike, the white breakers there
Spat blindness in the dank eyes of despair.
Then one cried, "She has sunk!"—and on the shore
Men shook, and on the heights the women cried;
But, lo! the outline of the bark once more!

While flashing faint the blue light rose and died.
Ah, GOD, put out Thy hand! all for the sake
Of little ones, and weary hearts that wake!

Be gentle! chain the fierce waves with a chain!
Let the gaunt seaman's little boys and girls
Sit on his knee and play with his black curls
Yet once again!

And breathe the frail lad safely through the foam
Back to the hungry mother in her home!

And spare the bad man with the frenzied eye;
Kiss him, for CHRIST's sake, bid Thy Death go by-
He hath no heart to die!

245

Now faintlier blew the wind, the thin rain ceased,
The thick cloud cleared like smoke from off the strand
For, lo! a bright blue glimmer in the East,-

GOD putting out His hand!

And overhead the rack grew thinner too,
And through the smoky gorge

The Wind drave past the stars, and faint they flew
Like sparks blown from a forge!

And now the thousand foam-flames o' the Sea
Hither and thither flashing visibly;

And gray lights hither and thither came and fled,
Like dim shapes searching for the drowned dead;

246

THE STORM.

And where these shapes most thickly glimmer'd by,
Out on the cruel reef the black hulk lay,
And cast, against the kindling eastern sky,
Its shape gigantic on the shrouding spray.

Silent upon the shore, the fishers fed

Their eyes on horror, waiting for the close,
When in the midst of them a shrill voice rose:
"The boat! the boat!" it said.

Like creatures startled from a trance, they turned
To her who spake; tall in the midst stood she,
With arms uplifted, and with eyes that yearned
Out on the murmuring Sea.

Some, shrugging shoulders, homeward turned their eyes,
And others answered back in brutal speech;
But some, strong-hearted, uttering shouts and cries,
Followed the fearless woman up the beach.

A rush to seaward-black confusion-then
A struggle with the surf upon the strand-
'Mid shrieks of women, cries of desperate men,

The long oars smite, the black boat springs from land!
Around the thick spray flies;

The waves roll on and seem to overwhelm.

With blowing hair and onward-gazing eyes
The woman stands erect, and grips the helm. . . .

Now fearless heart, Meg Blane, or all must die!
Let not the skill'd hand thwart the steadfast eye!
The crested wave comes near,—crag-like it towers
Above you, scattering round its chilly showers:
One flutter of the hand, and all is done!
Now steel thy heart, thou woman-hearted one!
Softly the good helm guides;

Round to the liquid ridge the boat leaps light,-
Hidden an instant,-on the foamy height,

Dripping and quivering like a bird, it rides.