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The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,
Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold
Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,
The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone
Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, And many a luminous jewel lone
Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, Ruby, garnet and amethyst
Made lures with the lights of streaming
But now when the noon is no more, and riot is rest,
And the sun is a-wait at the ponderous gate of the West,
And the slant yellow beam down the woodaisle doth seem
Like a lane into heaven that leads from a dream,
Ay, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the soul of the oak,
And my heart is at ease from men, and the wearisome sound of the stroke
Of the scythe of time and the trowel of trade is low,
And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I know,
And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within,
That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the Marshes of Glynn Will work me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yore
When length was fatigue, and when breadth was but bitterness sore,
And when terror and shrinking and dreary unnamable pain
Drew over me out of the merciless miles of the plain, —
As a silver-wrought garment that clings to and follows the firm sweet limbs of a girl. Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight,
Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light.
And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high? The world lies east: how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky!
A league and a league of marsh-grass, waisthigh, broad in the blade,
Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade,
Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain,
Roll in on the souls of men,
Under the waters of sleep?
And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tide comes in
Behold I will build me a nest on the great- On the length and the breadth of the mar
ness of God:
vellous marshes of Glynn.
THE REVENGE OF HAMISH
IT was three slim does and a ten-tined buck in the bracken lay;
And all of a sudden the sinister smell of
Awaft on a wind-shift, wavered and ran Down the hillside and sifted along through the bracken and passed that way.
Still Hamish hung heavy with fear for to go
space of an hour; then he went, an his face was greenish and stern,
And his eye sat back in the socket, and shrunken the eye-balls shone,
As withdrawn from a vision of deeds it were shame to see.
'Now, now, grim henchman, what is 't with thee?'
Brake Maclean, and his wrath rose red as a beacon the wind hath upblown.
'Three does and a ten-tined buck made out,' spoke Hamish, full mild, And I ran for to turn, but my breath it was blown, and they passed;
I was weak, for ye called ere I broke me my fast.'
Cried Maclean: Now a ten-tined buck in the sight of the wife and the child
I had killed if the gluttonous kern had not wrought me a snail's own wrong!' Then he sounded, and down came kinsmen and clansmen all:
'Ten blows, for ten tine, on his back let
And reckon no stroke if the blood follow not at the bite of thong!'
So Hamish made bare, and took him his strokes; at the last he smiled. 'Now I'll to the burn,' quoth Maclean, 'for it still may be,
If a slimmer-paunched henchman will hurry with me,
I shall kill me the ten-tined buck for a gift to the wife and the child!'
Then the clansmen departed, by this path and that; and over the hill Sped Maclean with an outward wrath for an inward shame;
And that place of the lashing full quiet became;
And the wife and the child stood sad; and bloody-backed Hamish sat still.
But look! red Hamish has risen; quick about and about turns he.