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1890
THE DEAD child lay in the shroud, | |
| And the widow watched beside; | |
| And her mother slept, and the Channel swept | |
| The gale in the teeth of the tide. | |
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| But the mother laughed at all. | 5 |
| “I have lost my man in the sea, | |
| “And the child is dead. Be still,” she said, | |
| “What more can ye do to me?” | |
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| The widow watched the dead, | |
| And the candle guttered low, | 10 |
| And she tried to sing the Passing Song | |
| That bids the poor soul go. | |
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| And “Mary take you now,” she sang, | |
| “That lay against my heart.” | |
| And “Mary smooth your crib to-night,” | 15 |
| But she could not say “Depart.” | |
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| Then came a cry from the sea, | |
| But the sea-rime blinded the glass, | |
| And “Heard ye nothing, mother?” she said, | |
| “’Tis the child that waits to pass.” | 20 |
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| And the nodding mother sighed. | |
| “’Tis a lambing ewe in the whin, | |
| “For why should the christened soul cry out | |
| “That never knew of sin?” | |
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| “O feet I have held in my hand, | 25 |
| “O hands at my heart to catch, | |
| “How should they know the road to go, | |
| “And how should they lift the latch?” | |
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| They laid a sheet to the door, | |
| With the little quilt atop, | 30 |
| That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt, | |
| But the crying would not stop. | |
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| The widow lifted the latch | |
| And strained her eyes to see, | |
| And opened the door on the bitter shore | 35 |
| To let the soul go free. | |
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| There was neither glimmer nor ghost, | |
| There was neither spirit nor spark, | |
| And “Heard ye nothing, mother?” she said, | |
| “’Tis crying for me in the dark.” | 40 |
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| And the nodding mother sighed: | |
| “’Tis sorrow makes ye dull; | |
| “Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern, | |
| “Or the wail of the wind-blown gull?” | |
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| “The terns are blown inland, | 45 |
| “The grey gull follows the plough. | |
| “’T was never a bird, the voice I heard, | |
| “O mother, I hear it now!” | |
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| “Lie still, dear lamb, lie still; | |
| “The child is passed from harm, | 50 |
| “’Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest, | |
| “And the feel of an empty arm.” | |
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| She put her mother aside, | |
| “In Mary’s name let be! | |
| “For the peace of my soul I must go,” she said, | 55 |
| And she went to the calling sea. | |
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| In the heel of the wind-bit pier, | |
| Where the twisted weed was piled, | |
| She came to the life she had missed by an hour | |
| For she came to a little child. | 60 |
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| She laid it into her breast, | |
| And back to her mother she came, | |
| But it would not feed and it would not heed, | |
| Though she gave it her own child’s name. | |
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| And the dead child dripped on her breast, | 65 |
| And her own in the shroud lay stark; | |
| And “God forgive us, mother,” she said, | |
| “We let it die in the dark!” | |
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