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Lights of the great Sea Road, they brighten in long ranges,
Lone challenging lights Out of invisible towers leap on the dark, Pierce it and pass, while ever behind them a phantom country Vaguely appears, and again hurrying sweeps into night. As lamps incessantly crowd and fly through the heart of the city, Feverish sparks, he beholds here majestic Pass without haste, without pause, lamps on the Road of the Sea. So the night he watches, driving through dim waters
The dark garrulous keel; While ever the whispering water asks of the garrulous keel * What bearest thou ?'—and the keel makes answer, ‘Life,
THE LOOM OF LONDON.
Strange far lives, manifold, each from the other
And the round earth and the sun,
Threads on the loom of London
But the grey weavers toil,
Of thronged secular shrines and dim bazaars,
Rich-gleaming, silent-flooredThe colour of populous plains immense and of mighty rivers, And clouds flowing round the feet of the mountain walls of the
All the fair colours of time-enduring cities,
And sudden geething towns,
The colour of monstrous Life wallowing in great waters
The stealthy hunters crawl,
Under the green sea-
The solemn stain of blood.
Blindly the weavers toil,
'Life, Life we bear!' And again whispers to the walls of the unheeding city, ‘Life.'
THE QUEEN'S SONS.
The tide whispers her, “Hail,
Demons, things that devour,
'Not in purple arrayed nor crowned with any diadem Are these thy sons. From the deep heart of unrealised continents, Where as strangers they rule, they as strangers return,
Mother, here to thy heart. Many may not return, so hospitable the alien grave. 'One is the vital power that is urging them, whether incessant They move with the travelling tide or are scattered over Earth. The Sea glories, the Sea in a rapture of rushing surges Triumphs, his waves clap their innumerable hands,
Dancing before the Sun. “Mine are thy sons !” he calls to thee, “ Queen, rejoice in muy
THE DARK VISION.
But the Sea is immortal, he knows nothing, he cannot divine
Young as his great heart,
Yet when the breath of the Sea,
Bowed in the golden chair.
Debile, sinister, ridiculous,
All the heritage, the honour, the goodly estate,
Darkly behind her in shadow a shadow looming gigantic
The last, the impotent hour.
But she regards not. Away
Now, as through all years,
MARGARET L. Woods.
IN THE DARK HOUR.
The house overlooked the starlit bay, nearly ringed with a sparse fence of palms, and on its roof, a little scarlet figure on the white rugs, Incarnacion sat waiting till Scott should come. Below her, the reeking city was hushed to a murmur, through which there sounded from the Praça a far throb of drums and pipe-music; and overhead the sky was a dome of velvet, spangled with a glory of bold stars. Save to the east, where the blank white walls of the house overlooked the water, there was on all sides a shadowy prospect of parapets, for in Superban the houses are close together and folk live intimately upon their roofs. As she sat, Incarnacion could hear a voice that quavered and choked as some stricken man laboured with his prayers against the plague that was laying the city waste. Through all Superban such petitions went up, while daily and nightly the tale of deaths mounted and the corpses multiplied faster than the graves.
Incarnacion lit herself a cigarette, tucked her feet under her, and wondered why Scott did not come. But her chief quality was serenity; she did not give herself over to worry, content to let all problems solve themselves, as most problems will. She was a wee girl, preserving on the threshold of sun-ripened womanhood the soft and pathetic graces of a docile child. Her scarlet dress left her warm arms bare, and did not trespass on the slender throat; she had all the charm of intrinsic femininity which comes to fruit so soon in the climate of Mozambique and fades so early. It was this, no doubt, that had taken Scott and held him; gaunt, harsh, direct in his purposes as he was quick in his strength, Incarnaçion had given scope to the tenderness that lurked beneath his rude forcefulness.
He came at last. She heard his step on the stair, cast her cigarette from her, and sprang to meet him with a little laugh of delight. He took her in his arms and lifted her from her little bare feet to kiss her.
'O-oh, Jock, you break me,' she gasped, as he set her down. You are strong like a bull. What you bin away so long ?'
He smiled at her gravely as he let himself down on her rugs and put a long arm round her.
Copyright, 1909, by Perceval Gibbon, in the United States of America.