قراءة كتاب Ballads of Lost Haven: A Book of the Sea
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 3
lift,
The low wind-gates are clear.
"O Yanna, Adrianna,
The little while is done.
Thou wilt behold the brightening sea
Freshen before the sun,
"And many a morning redden
The dark hill slopes of pine;
But I must sail hull-down to-night
Below the gray sea-line.
"I shall not hear the snowbirds
Their morning litany,
For when the dawn comes over dale
I must put out to sea."
"O Garvin, bonny Garvin,
To have thee as I will,
I would that never more on earth
The dawn came over hill."
Then on the snowy pillow,
Her hair about her face,
He laid her in the quiet room,
And wiped away all trace
Of tears from the poor eyelids
That were so sad for him,
And soothed her into sleep at last
As the great stars grew dim.
Tender as April twilight
He sang, and the song grew
Vague as the dreams which roam about
This world of dust and dew:
"O Yanna, Adrianna,
Dear Love, look forth to sea
And all year long until the yule,
Dear Heart, keep watch for me!
"O Yanna, Adrianna,
I hear the calling sea,
And the folk telling tales among
The hills where I would be.
"O Yanna, Adrianna,
Over the hills of sea
The wind calls and the morning comes,
And I must forth from thee.
"But Yanna, Adrianna,
Keep watch above the sea;
And when the weary time is o'er,
Dear Life, come back to me!"
"O Garvin, bonny Garvin—"
She murmurs in her dream,
And smiles a moment in her sleep
To hear the white gulls scream.
Then with the storm foreboding
Far in the dim gray South,
He kissed her not upon the cheek
Nor on the burning mouth,
But once above the forehead
Before he turned away;
And ere the morning light stole in,
That golden lock was gray.
"O Yanna, Adrianna—"
The wind moans to the sea;
And down the sluices of the dawn
A shadow drifts alee.
THE MARRING OF MALYN
I
THE MERRYMAKERS
Among the wintry mountains beside the Northern sea
There is a merrymaking, as old as old can be.
Over the river reaches, over the wastes of snow,
Halting at every doorway, the white drifts come and go.
They scour upon the open, and mass along the wood,
The burliest invaders that ever man withstood.
With swoop and whirl and scurry, these riders of the drift
Will mount and wheel and column, and pass into the lift.
All night upon the marshes you hear their tread go by,
And all night long the streamers are dancing on the sky.
Their light in Malyn's chamber is pale upon the floor,
And Malyn of the mountains is theirs for evermore.
She fancies them a people in saffron and in green,
Dancing for her. For Malyn is only seventeen.
Out there beyond her window, from frosty deep to deep,
Her heart is dancing with them until she falls asleep.
Then all night long through heaven, with stately to and fro,
To music of no measure, the gorgeous dancers go.
The stars are great and splendid, beryl and gold and blue,
And there are dreams for Malyn that never will come true.
Yet for one golden Yule-tide their royal guest is she,
Among the wintry mountains beside the Northern sea.
II
A SAILOR'S WEDDING
There is a Norland laddie who sails the round sea-rim,
And Malyn of the mountains is all the world to him.
The Master of the Snowflake, bound upward from the line,
He smothers her with canvas along the crumbling brine.
He crowds her till she buries and shudders from his hand,
For in the angry sunset the watch has sighted land;
And he will brook no gainsay who goes to meet his bride.
But their will is the wind's will who traffic on the tide.
Make home, my bonny schooner! The sun goes down to light
The gusty crimson wind-halls against the wedding night.
She gathers up the distance, and grows and veers and swings,
Like any homing swallow with nightfall in her wings.
The wind's white sources glimmer with shining gusts of rain;
And in the Ardise country the spring comes back again.
It is the brooding April, haunted and sad and dear,
When vanished things return not with the returning year.
Only, when evening purples the light in Malyn's dale,
With sound of brooks and robins, by many a hidden trail,
With stir of lulling rivers along the forest floor,
The dream-folk of the gloaming come back to Malyn's door.
The dusk is long and gracious, and far up in the sky
You hear the chimney-swallows twitter and scurry by.
The hyacinths are lonesome and white in Malyn's room;
And out at sea the Snowflake is driving through the gloom.
The whitecaps froth and freshen; in squadrons of white surge
They thunder on to ruin, and smoke along the verge.
The lift is black above them, the sea is mirk below,
And down the world's wide border they perish as they go.
They comb and seethe and founder, they mount and glimmer and flee,
Amid the awful sobbing and quailing of the sea.
They sheet the flying schooner in foam from stem to stern,
Till every yard of canvas is drenched from clew to ear'n'.
And where they move uneasy, chill is the light and pale;
They are the Skipper's daughters, who dance before the gale.
They revel with the Snowflake, and down the close of day
Among the boisterous dancers she holds her dancing way;
And then
