Ballads of Peace in War | Page 9

a voice would tell
The mystery away:
What was the red long
pain befell
The bird of grief all day?
"Maelanfaid," airy voices call,
"MacOcha Molv is dead,
Who killed
no creature great or small,
Who helped all life instead:
Now griefs
of bird and blossom fall
Around his funeral bed."
34
THE YOUNG ADVENTURERS
We will go adventuring, will you come adventuring,
Hail, to all who
sail with us the seven pleasant seas:
All the shores with lily bells, all
the flutes of woodland dells Are calling like a legend upon a fragrant
breeze.
Throw away the haughty cares, children here are millionaires, Laughter
take for baggage and give your laugh a song;
We must sail the seas of
grass, round the isles of clover pass, And delve in leagues of
shadowland, when clouds come along.

Caves are walled with treasure trove, rich as any south-sea cove,
Bullion of the meadow where the gold sun flows;
Round the reefs of mignonette, up the waves of violet,
Fragrant go
our sails and spars with attar of the rose.
On, gay adventurers, bravely ride the billowy furze,
Golden foil and
dewy pearls are swaying to a tune:
Quaff the brew of red raspberry
through the vine veils gossamery. Till we turn when night comes down
alleys of the moon.
Yea, with laughter in our sails and our hearts a book of tales, Down the
silver roadways, a homeward hymn we say:--
Praise the Lord ye great
and small, flower and weed majestical, For pleasant seas that God gave
adventurers today.
35
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
(For Osceola and Pocahontas)
Was it a hundred years ago,
Or was it but yesterday,
When we
found the roads that grow
Blossom and song of May?
Maybe it was
but yesterday,
Or a hundred years ago.
The roads from Bersabee to Dan
Are old and quickly tire,
But to the
heart of child or man
Youth is a fairy fire:
Our youthful roads, they
never tire
>From Bersabee to Dan.
Ponce de Leon found no spring,
But legend's long, long ruth;
But
the grace of God is a magic thing
Abides with chivalrous youth:

The grace of God that brings no ruth
For them who find the spring.
There is a land, there is a May
Beyond the graveyard tree;
Ten
thousand years are like a day
Of a youth that we shall see:
Our

young hearts pass the graveyard tree
To a land forever in May.
36
THE BONNIE PRINCE O' SPRING
The little green soldiers are here at last,
With their waving blades and
spears;
And across the hills they are marching fast
With the drill of
a thousand years:
And I wave afar, and I shout, Hurrah!
Till I hear
their echoing cheers.
A bonnie prince is at their head,
And his love the legions know:
For
he gives them rest where the twigs are red
At the hedges cool in a
row:
And afoot are they soon to a birdlike tune
On the northward
march to go.
Oh, I am leal to the marching men,
To my bonnie Prince I'm true;

For he tells me the way to his tented glen,
And the secret password
too:
And he sets in my hair a blossom to wear,
Like his own good
horsemen do.
Then I will follow on all the day
Where the bonnie Prince has led,

Till we drive the Winter foeman away
And throne my Prince instead:

And sing willaloo! With the birds, willaloo!
For the Winter King is
dead.
37
ON A TRAIN
(For Christine and Tom)
Oases are charming 'mid the Afric sands,
Beautiful is summer after
rain;
But the sweetest blossoms may be eyes and hands,
And two
playful children on a train.

Aileen and her brother, home from holiday,
Left behind them
Narragansett town;
Innocence like music followed all the way,

Summer glowed upon the cheeks of brown.
She that was their escort read a magazine:
They were young, and
trains are dull at night;
All the passing signals, red and blue and green,

Counted up the miles for young delight.
I was there behind them, earnest in a book:
Lo, the journey turned to
fairyland,
When, like magic mirrors, dusty windows took
Aileen's
dancing eyes and waving hand!
That is how it happened on a creeping train,
How a play began
without a word,--
Peekaboo reflections in a window-pane,
Such a
story-hour was never heard.
Aileen and her brother, strangers were to me;
They were friendly for
the cloth I wore;
And through leagues of window, youthful play
could see
We were friends to be for evermore.
So we passed the hamlets, passed the miles of night
In a fairyland of
silent games,
Till the travel ended in the Worcester light,--
Yet we
parted, strangers in our names.
38
On a Train
But a fortnight later, by an autumn tree,
Aileen and her brother came
my way,
And another, glad to tell the names of them and me,
And
to hear how travellers can play.
Life is but a journey, say we evermore,
Passing lights the years have,
like a train;
Three good friends will travel up to heaven's door,
With
the world a merry window-pane.

39
THE COLUMBINE
Gray lonely rocks about thee stand,
Ignored of sun and dew,
Yet is
thy