The Souls Of The Slain

I      The thick lids of Night closed upon me      Alone at the Bill      Of the Isle by the Race {1} -      Many-caverned, bald, wrinkled of face -     And with darkness and silence the spirit was on me      To brood and be still. II      No wind fanned the flats of the ocean,      Or promontory sides,      Or the ooze by the strand,      Or the bent-bearded slope of the land,     Whose base took its rest amid everlong motion      Of criss-crossing tides. III      Soon from out of the Southward seemed nearing      A whirr, as of wings      Waved by mighty-vanned flies,      Or by night-moths of measureless size,     And in softness and smoothness well-nigh beyond hearing      Of corporal things. IV      And they bore to the bluff, and alighted -      A dim-discerned train      Of sprites without mould,      Frameless souls none might touch or might hold -     On the ledge by the turreted lantern, farsighted      By men of the main. V      And I heard them say "Home!" and I knew them      For souls of the felled      On the earth's nether bord      Under Capricorn, whither they'd warred,     And I neared in my awe, and gave heedfulness to them      With breathings inheld. VI      Then, it seemed, there approached from the northward      A senior soul-flame      Of the like filmy hue:      And he met them and spake: "Is it you,     O my men?" Said they, "Aye! We bear homeward and hearthward      To list to our fame!" VII      "I've flown there before you," he said then:      "Your households are well;      But - your kin linger less      On your glory arid war-mightiness     Than on dearer things." - "Dearer?" cried these from the dead then,      "Of what do they tell?" VIII      "Some mothers muse sadly, and murmur      Your doings as boys -      Recall the quaint ways      Of your babyhood's innocent days.     Some pray that, ere dying, your faith had grown firmer,      And higher your joys. IX      "A father broods: 'Would I had set him      To some humble trade,      And so slacked his high fire,      And his passionate martial desire;     Had told him no stories to woo him and whet him      To this due crusade!" X      "And, General, how hold out our sweethearts,      Sworn loyal as doves?"      - "Many mourn; many think      It is not unattractive to prink     Them in sables for heroes. Some fickle and fleet hearts      Have found them new loves." XI      "And our wives?" quoth another resignedly,      "Dwell they on our deeds?"      - "Deeds of home; that live yet      Fresh as new - deeds of fondness or fret;     Ancient words that were kindly expressed or unkindly,      These, these have their heeds." XII      - "Alas! then it seems that our glory      Weighs less in their thought      Than our old homely acts,      And the long-ago commonplace facts     Of our lives - held by us as scarce part of our story,      And rated as nought!" XIII      Then bitterly some: "Was it wise now      To raise the tomb-door      For such knowledge? Away!"      But the rest: "Fame we prized till to-day;     Yet that hearts keep us green for old kindness we prize now      A thousand times more!" XIV      Thus speaking, the trooped apparitions      Began to disband      And resolve them in two:      Those whose record was lovely and true     Bore to northward for home: those of bitter traditions      Again left the land, XV      And, towering to seaward in legions,      They paused at a spot      Overbending the Race -      That engulphing, ghast, sinister place -     Whither headlong they plunged, to the fathomless regions      Of myriads forgot. XVI      And the spirits of those who were homing      Passed on, rushingly,      Like the Pentecost Wind;      And the whirr of their wayfaring thinned     And surceased on the sky, and but left in the gloaming      Sea-mutterings and me.     December 1899.