BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



" The great rush of grey * Northern water,' 



The green ridge of bank, 

 The ' sorrel ' with curved sweep of quarter 



Curl'd close to clean flank, 

 The Royalist saddlefast squarely, 

 And, where the bright uplands stretch fairly. 

 Behind, beyond pistol-shot barely, 

 The Roundheaded rank. 



" A long launch, with clinging of muscles, 



And clenching of teeth ! 

 The loose doublet ripples and rustles ! 



The swirl shoots beneath ! " 

 Enough. In return for your garland — 

 In lieu of the flowers from your far land — 

 Take wild growths of dreamland or starland. 



Take weeds for your wreath. 



Yet rhyme had not fail'd me for reason. 



Nor reason for rhyme ; 

 Sweet song ! had I sought you in season. 



And found you in time. 



You beckon in your bright beauty yonder, 



And I, waxing fainter yet fonder, 



Now weary too soon when I wander — 



Now fall when I climb. 

 170 



