XLIV

ING me a song of a lad that is gone,

SIN

Say, could that lad be I?

Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.

Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
Egg on the starboard bow;
Glory of youth glowed in his soul:
Where is that glory now?

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day

Over the sea to Skye.

Give me again all that was there,
Give me the sun that shone!
Give me the eyes, give me the soul,
Give me the lad that's gone!

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?

Merry of soul he sailed on a day

Over the sea to Skye.

SING ME A SONG

Billow and breeze, islands and seas, Mountains of rain and sun,

All that was good, all that was fair, All that was me is gone.

BLOWS

XLV

TO S. R. CROCKETT

(In Reply to a Dedication)

LOWS the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying,

Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now,

Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying,

My heart remembers how!

Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places,
Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor,

Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanished

races,

And winds, austere and pure:

Be it granted me to behold you again in dying,
Hills of home! and to hear again the call;

Hear about the graves of the martyrs the peewees crying,

And hear no more at all.

VAILIMA.

EVENSONG

HE embers of the day are red

THE

Beyond the murky hill.

The kitchen smokes: the bed
In the darkling house is spread:
The great sky darkens overhead,
And the great woods are shrill.
So far have I been led,

Lord, by Thy will:

So far I have followed, Lord, and wondered still.

The breeze from the embalmèd land

Blows sudden toward the shore,

And claps my cottage door.

I hear the signal, Lord-I understand.

The night at Thy command

Comes. I will eat and sleep and will not ques

VAILIMA.

tion more.