And she beside him gazed at this, Then turn'd her great, sad eyes to his; He shook his head and look'd away, Then sadly smiled, and still did say, "To-morrow, child, another day." O thou to-morrow! Mystery! O day that ever runs before! What has thine hidden hand in store For mine, to-morrow, and for me? O thou to-morrow! what hast thou In store to make me bear the now? O day in which we shall forget The tangled troubles of to-day! O day that laughs at duns, at debt! O day of promises to pay! O shelter from all present storm! O day in which we shall reform! O day of all days for reform! Convenient day of promises! Hold back the shadow of the storm. O bless'd to-morrow! Chiefest friend, Let not thy mystery be less, But lead us blindfold to the end. XVII. Old Morgan eyed his men, look'd back Against the groves of tamarack, Then tapp'd his stirrup-foot, and stray'd His hard left hand along the mane Of his strong steed, and careless play'd His fingers through the silken skein, And seemed a time to touch the rein. And then he spurr'd him to her side, And reach'd his hand and, leaning wide, He smiling push'd her falling hair Back from her brow, and kiss'd her there. Yea, touch'd her softly, as if she Had been some priceless, tender flower, Yet touch'd her as one taking leave Of his one love in lofty tower Before descending to the sea Of battle on his battle eve. XVIII. A distant shout! quick oaths! alarms! The black men start up suddenly, Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms, And bare bright arms all instantly. But he, he slowly turns, and he Looks all his full soul in her face. He does not shout, he does not say, But sits serenely in his place A time, then slowly turns, looks back Between the trim-bough'd tamarack, And up the winding mountain way, To where the long strong grasses lay. He raised his glass in his two hands, Then in his left hand let it fall, Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er, Then reach'd his glass, waved cold commands, Then tapp'd his stirrup as before, Stood in the stirrup stern and tall, Then ran his hand along the mane Half nervous-like, and that was all. His head half settled on his breast, His face a-beard like bird a-nest, And then he roused himself, he spoke, He reach'd an arm like arm of oak, He struck a-west his great broad hand, And seem'd to hurl his hot command. He clutch'd his rein, struck sharp his heel, Look'd at his men, and smiled half sad, Half desperate, then hitch'd his steel, And all his stormy presence had, As if he kept once more his keel On listless seas where breakers reel.