Within her bowers; They mourned, and they tended her, For six hours. At the first hour after midnight, The Queen nor spoke nor stirred; At the second, by her bedside, No breath they heard; They said, "Is she living?" At the third. At the fourth hour they watched sadly At her feet and her head; At the fifth, standing idle, No word they said; At the sixth, "Bring candles For one dead." Swept low down across the East, Through the morning grey, A flock of white clouds swiftly, Dim, far away; Like a flight of white wings:-- What were they? Through the palace suddenly, Through every floor, Wailed a wind and whistled, Shook every door, Rattled through the windows, Then passed o'er. And as they stood with tapers tall Around the Queen, there came A soft and far-off fluttering Over her frame, And from between her sleeping lips, One faint flame. They take her hand, they call on her, She answers them likewise; She sits upright, she looks around, With her blue eyes, And a smile as of thy secrets, Paradise! Winter is here, and has not brought The Traveller of renown; Why has he not come back again To court and town? Rumours and questionings pass Up and down. Is it only the wolves of the Northland Know where his bones lie white? Only the swans could tell us, In southward flight? Is it only the wind could whisper To the night? The Queen sits still and smiling, She hears the talk prevail, She speaks no word, she gives no glance, She tells no tale; In the golden shadow always She is pale. ---H. E. Hamilton-King. LITTLE WILLIE [Illustration: 0089] |Twas good St John's, and the mountain woods Were gay with summer sheen, A mother wept for her little Willie, All in his grave so green. 'Twas Yule, and on the mountain-side The wind was shrill and cold; The mother wept for her little Willie, Who lay within the mould. O cold, cold is a winter grave, O but a shroud is thin-- A wee hand tapp'd upon the door, "O mother, let me in." "I dare not let thee in, Willie," The sister up and said, "For mother's away at Jane's lykewake,-- Go to thy graveyard bed." "O cold and lonely is the night, Madly the fierce winds rave; How should I sleep?--The shroud is wet That wraps me in the grave." She sign'd the cross upon her brow, The cross upon her breast, With:--"Avoid thee, ghost, and aroint thee, ghost, And get thee to thy rest." 'Twas midnight, brightly glow'd the hearth, The wind howl'd down the lin; A wee hand tapp'd upon the door, "O mother, let me in." Up sprung the father to his feet, And many a cross sign'd he, With:--"Angels defend us from thee, child, And from the like of thee." "O cold, cold is the winter snow,