  THE TWO ANGELSI STOOD and saw the angel of the dawn, Whose rest had been in heaven the dark night through, Pressing, with jewelled feet, the silent lawn In radiant robes of dew. And slowly to the west, in ebon gloom, Upbearing in his lifted hands on high The scroll of destiny—of life and doom— The night-watch passËd by. But ere he turned his step from earth away I gazed upon his countenance again, And, lo! I thought upon his brow there lay A shadow as of pain. But he, the brother-angel of the day, Bore on his breast the beaming star of hope, And in his golden chalice balm, alway, On bruisËd hearts to drop. And so to men there cometh evermore One angel fraught with promise, making glad; And one who taketh from the stricken sore Much anguish, wild and sad. THE wild birds strangely call, And silent dawns and purple eves are here, Where Southern stars upon his grave look down, Calm-eyed and wondrous clear! No strife his resting mars! And yet we deem far off from tropic steeps His spirit cleaves the pathway of the storm, Where dark Tantallon keeps. For still in plaintive woe, By haunting mem'ry of his yearning led, The wave-worn Mother of the misty strand Mourns for her absent dead: "Ah! bear him gently home, To where Dunedin's streets are quaint and gray, And ruddy lights across the steaming rains Shine soft at close of day!" AT the postern gate of Day Stands Apollo, clad in light, Trilling forth a summons gay To the wrinkled warder Night: "Ho! old laggard, what has kept? Dost not hear this challenge mine? Well I wot thy beard has dipt In the wassail's ruddy wine. Song and story, gibe and jest, With thy boon companions all; To the donjon of the West Now betake thee, Seneschal. Ward and watch, and vigil keen, Still thy beacon fires confest, Blazing in the blue serene; Hie thee, warrior, to thy rest!" And in armor silver-dight, As becomes a knight to win, At the postern held by Night Crowned Apollo enters in. |
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