Golden Numbers Part 63

His eye was on the Inchcape float; Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, And he cut the Bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound; The bubbles rose and burst around; Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away; He scour'd the seas for many a day; And now, grown rich with plunder'd store, He steers his course for Scotland's sh.o.r.e.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, They cannot see the Sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day; At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising Moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar?

For methinks we should be near the sh.o.r.e."

"Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound; the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a s.h.i.+vering shock,-- "Oh G.o.d! it is the Inchcape Rock!"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; He curs'd himself in his despair; The waves rush in on every side; The s.h.i.+p is sinking beneath the tide.

But, even in his dying fear, One dreadful sound could the Rover hear-- A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, The fiends below were ringing his knell.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

_A Night With a Wolf_

Little one, come to my knee!

Hark, how the rain is pouring Over the roof, in the pitch-black night, And the wind in the woods a-roaring!

Hush, my darling, and listen, Then pay for the story with kisses; Father was lost in the pitch-black night, In just such a storm as this is!

High up on the lonely mountains, Where the wild men watched and waited; Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush, And I on my path belated.

The rain and the night together Came down, and the wind came after, Bending the props of the pine-tree roof, And snapping many a rafter.

I crept along in the darkness, Stunned, and bruised, and blinded,-- Crept to a fir with thick-set boughs, And a sheltering rock behind it.

There, from the blowing and raining, Crouching, I sought to hide me: Something rustled, two green eyes shone, And a wolf lay down beside me.

Little one, be not frightened; I and the wolf together, Side by side, through the long, long night Hid from the awful weather.

His wet fur pressed against me; Each of us warmed the other; Each of us felt, in the stormy dark, That beast and man was brother.

And when the falling forest No longer crashed in warning, Each of us went from our hiding-place Forth in the wild, wet morning.

Darling, kiss me in payment!

Hark, how the wind is roaring; Father's house is a better place When the stormy rain is pouring!

BAYARD TAYLOR.

_The Dove of Dacca_

The freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower-- Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings-- And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur.

Dove--dove--oh, homing dove!

Little white traitor, with woe on thy wings!

The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall; He set in his bosom a dove of flight-- "If she return, be sure that I fall."

Dove--dove--oh, homing dove!

Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight.

"Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep-- Leave to the foeman no spoil at all.

In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep If the dove, if the dove--if the homing dove Come and alone to the palace wall."

The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad-- The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all.

Hot from slaughter he stooped at the ford,-- And the dove--the dove--oh, the homing dove!

She thought of her cote on the palace wall.

She opened her wings and she flew away-- Fluttered away beyond recall; She came to the palace at break of day.

Dove--dove--oh, homing dove!

Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall.

The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame-- Slept in the flame of the palace old-- To save their honour from Moslem shame.

And the dove--the dove--oh, the homing dove!

She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled.

The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet, Followed as fast as a horse could fly, He came and the palace was black at his feet; And the dove--the dove--oh, the homing dove!

Circled alone in the stainless sky.

So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower-- Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings; So the thorns covered the city of Gaur, And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings.

Dove--dove--oh, homing dove!

Dacca is lost from the roll of the kings!

RUDYARD KIPLING.

_The Abbot of Inisfalen_

I

The Abbot of Inisfalen Awoke ere dawn of day; Under the dewy green leaves Went he forth to pray.

The lake around his island Lay smooth and dark and deep, And, wrapt in a misty stillness, The mountains were all asleep.

Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac, When the dawn was dim and gray; The prayers of his holy office He faithfully 'gan say.

Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac, When the dawn was waxing red, And for his sins' forgiveness A solemn prayer he said.