And there was silence, and nothing there But silence and scents of eglantere,

And jasmine, and roses and rosemary, And they said: "As a lady should lie, lies she."

And they held their breath till they left the room, With a shudder, a glance at its stillness and gloom.

But he who loved her too well to dread The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead,

He lit his lamp, and he took the key And turned it--alone again, he and she.

He and she; but she would not speak, Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.

He and she; yet she would not smile, Though he called her the name she loved erewhile.

He and she; still she did not move To any pa.s.sionate whisper of love.

Then he said, "Cold lips and breast without breath, Is there no voice or language of death,

"Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, But to heart and soul distinct, intense?

"See now; I will listen with soul, not ear: What is the secret of dying, dear?

"Was it the infinite wonder of all That you ever could let life's flower fall?

"Or was it a greater marvel to feel The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?

"Was the miracle greater to find how deep Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep?

"Did life roll back its record, dear, And show, as they say it does, past things clear?

"And was it the innermost heart of the bliss To find out so, what a wisdom love is?

"O perfect dead! O dead most dear!

I hold the breath of my soul to hear.

"I listen as deep as to terrible h.e.l.l, As high as to heaven, and you do not tell.

"There must be pleasure in dying, sweet, To make you so placid, from head to feet!

"I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed,--

"I would say, though the Angel of Death had laid His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid,--

"You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise,

"The very strangest and suddenest thing Of all the surprises that dying must bring."

Ah, foolish world! O most kind dead!

Though he told me, who will believe it was said?

Who will believe that he heard her say, With the old sweet voice, in the dear old way,

"The utmost wonder is this--I hear And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear;

"And am your angel, who was your bride.

And know, that though dead, I have never died."

SHAPES OF DOOM

THE DEAD COACH: KATHERINE TYNAN

At night when sick folk wakeful lie, I heard the dead coach pa.s.sing by, Heard it pa.s.sing wild and fleet, And knew my time had come not yet.

Click-clack, click-clack, the hoofs went past, Who takes the dead coach travels fast, On and away through the wild night, The dead must rest ere morning light.

If one might follow on its track, The coach and horses midnight black, Within should sit a shape of doom That beckons one and all to come.

G.o.d pity them to-night who wait To hear the dead coach at their gate, And him who hears, though sense be dim, The mournful dead coach stop for him.

He shall go down with a still face, And mount the steps and take his place, The door be shut, the order said, How fast the pace is with the dead!

Click-clack, click-clack, the hour is chill, The dead coach climbs the distant hill.

Now, G.o.d, the Father of us all, Wipe Thou the widow's tears that fall!

DEID FOLK'S FERRY: ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON

'Tis They, of a veritie-- They are calling thin an' shrill; We maun rise an' put to sea, We maun gi'e the deid their will, We maun ferry them owre the faem, For they draw us as they list; We maun bear the deid folk hame Through the mirk an' the saft sea-mist.

"But how can I gang the nicht, When I'm new come hame frae sea?

When my heart is sair for the sicht O' my la.s.s that langs for me?"

"O your la.s.sie lies asleep, An' sae do your bairnes twa; The cliff-path's stey and steep, An' the deid folk cry an' ca'."

O sae hooly steppit we, For the nicht was mirk an' lown, Wi' never a sign to see, But the voices all aroun'.

We laid to the saut sea-sh.o.r.e, An' the boat dipped low i' th' tide, As she micht hae dipped wi' a score, An' our ain three sel's beside.

O the boat she settled low, Till her gunwale kissed the faem, An' she didna loup nor row As she bare the deid folk hame; But she aye gaed swift an' licht, An' we naething saw nor wist, Wha sailed i' th' boat that nicht Through the mirk an' the saft sea-mist.

There was never a sign to see, But a misty sh.o.r.e an' low; Never a word spak' we, But the boat she lichtened slow, An' a cauld sigh stirred my hair, An' a cauld hand touched my wrist, An' my heart sank cauld and sair I' the mirk an' the saft sea-mist.

Then the wind raise up wi' a maen, ('Twas a waefu' wind, an' weet).

Like a deid saul wud wi' pain, Like a bairnie wild wi' freit; But the boat rade swift an' licht, Sae we wan the land fu' sune, An' the sh.o.r.e showed wan an' white By a glint o' the waning mune.

We steppit oot owre the sand Where an unco' tide had been, An' Black Donald caught my hand An' coverit up his een: For there, in the wind an' weet, Or ever I saw nor wist, My Jean an' her weans lay cauld at my feet, In the mirk an' the saft sea-mist.

An' it's O for my bonny Jean!