And the women and men of the clan went forth to bathe in the dusk, A word that began to go round, a word, a whisper, a start: Hope that leaped in the bosom, fear that knocked on the heart: “See, the priest is not risen—look, for his door is fast! He is going to name the victims; he is going to help us at last.” Thrice rose the sun to noon; and ever, like one of the dead, The priest lay still in his house with the roar of the sea in his head; There was never a foot on the floor, there was never a whisper of speech; Only the leering tikis stared on the blinding beach. Again were the mountains fired, again the morning broke; And all the houses lay still, but the house of the priest awoke. Close in their covering roofs lay and trembled the clan, But the agèd, red-eyed priest ran forth like a lunatic man; And the village panted to see him in the jewels of death again, In the silver beards of the old and the hair of women slain. Frenzy shook in his limbs, frenzy shone in his eyes, And still and again as he ran, the valley rang with his cries. All day long in the land, by cliff and thicket and den, He ran his lunatic rounds, and howled for the flesh of men; All day long he ate not, nor ever drank of the brook; And all day long in their houses the people listened and shook— All day long in their houses they listened with bated breath, And never a soul went forth, for the sight of the priest was death. Three were the days of his running, as the gods appointed of yore, Two the nights of his sleeping alone in the place of gore: The drunken slumber of frenzy twice he drank to the lees, On the sacred stones of the High-place under the sacred trees; With a lamp at his ashen head he lay in the place of the feast, And the sacred leaves of the banyan rustled around the priest. Last, when the stated even fell upon terrace and tree, And the shade of the lofty island lay leagues away to sea, And all the valleys of verdure were heavy with manna and musk, The wreck of the red-eyed priest came gasping home in the dusk. He reeled across the village, he staggered along the shore, And between the leering tikis crept groping through his door. There went a stir through the lodges, the voice of speech awoke; Once more from the builded platforms arose the evening smoke. And those who were mighty in war, and those renowned for an art Sat in their stated seats and talked of the morrow apart. II. THE LOVERS