English

Pimen. Once more, one final anecdote, and then
My manuscript will be complete, the task
On me, a sinner, laid by God, fulfilled.
'T is not for naught that during all these years
The Lord hath made me witness many things,
And taught me all the art of writing books.
When in the future some industrious monk
Shall find my hard-accomplished, nameless work,
He will, like me, illume his little lamp,
And, brushing off the dust of centuries,
Will copy down my truthful chronicle.

But whose that wandering from that 's seen
Athwart the morning fog to creep
From out yon hut, and on the steep
Beneath which Lena's waters sweep
Pace with slow step and 'wildered mien?
His arquebus slung at his back,
His short caftan, and cap of black,
Seem to denote him a Cossack
From Dnieper's shores. Stern is his face,
And full of grief, for cankering thought
Hath furrowed deep that brow, and wrought
The stamp of age on manhood's grace.
See! to the west his hands extending,
Wild lustre breaking from his eyes,

LXI

Hughley Steeple

The vane on Hughley steeple
Veers bright, a far-known sign,
And there lie Hughley people,
And there lie friends of mine.
Tall in their midst the tower
Divides the shade and sun,
And the clock strikes the hour
And tells the time to none.

To south the headstones cluster,
The sunny mounds lie thick;
The dead are more in muster

LX

Now hollow fires burn out to black,
And lights are guttering low:
Square your shoulders, lift your pack,
And leave your friends and go.

Oh never fear, man, nought's to dread,
Look not left nor right:
In all the endless road you tread
There's nothing but the night.

LIX

The Isle of Portland

The star-filled seas are smooth to-night
From France to England strown;
Black towers above the Portland light
The felon-quarried stone.

On yonder island, not to rise,
Never to stir forth free,
Far from his folk a dead lad lies
That once was friends with me.

Lie you easy, dream you light,
And sleep you fast for aye;
And luckier may you find the night

LVIII

When I came last to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale,
Two friends kept step beside me,
Two honest lads and hale.

Now Dick lies long in the churchyard,
And Ned lies long in jail,
And I come home to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale.

LVII

You smile upon your friend to-day,
To-day his ills are over;
You hearken to the lover's say,
And happy is the lover.

'Tis late to hearken, late to smile,
But better late than never:
I shall have lived a little while
Before I die for ever.

LVI

The Day of Battle

" Far I hear the bugle blow
To call me where I would not go,
And the guns begin the song,
" Soldier, fly or stay for long. "

" Comrade, if to turn and fly
Made a soldier never die,
Fly I would, for who would not?
'Tis sure no pleasure to be shot.

" But since the man that runs away
Lives to die another day,
And cowards' funerals, when they come,
Are not wept so well at home,

" Therefore, though the best is bad,
Stand and do the best, my lad;

LV

Westward on the high-hilled plains
Where for me the world began,
Still, I think, in newer veins
Frets the changeless blood of man.

Now that other lads than I
Strip to bathe on Severn shore,
They, no help, for all they try,
Tread the mill I trod before.

There, when hueless is the west
And the darkness hushes wide,
Where the lad lies down to rest

LIII

The True Lover

The lad came to the door at night,
When lovers crown their vows,
And whistled soft and out of sight
In shadow of the boughs.

" I shall not vex you with my face
Henceforth, my love, for aye;
So take me in your arms a space
Before the east is grey.

" When I from hence away am past
I shall not find a bride,
And you shall be the first and last