THE BETROTHED. 135 



I will take no heed of their raiment, no food for 



their mouth withal, 

 So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the 



showers fall. 



I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will 



I temper their hides. 

 And the Moor and the Mormons shall envy, 



who read of the tale of my brides. 



For Maggie has written a letter to give me my 



choice between 

 The wee little whimpering Love and the great 



god, NICK O'TEEN. 



And I have been servant of Love, for barely a 



twelvemonth clear. 

 But I have been priest of Partagas a matter of 



seven year ; 



And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked 



with the cheery light 

 Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and 



Pleasure and Work and Fight. 



And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie 



and I must prove, 

 But the only light on the marshes is the Will- 



o'-the Wisp of Love. 



Will it see me safe through my journey, or 

 leave me bogged in the mire ? 



Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I fol- 

 low the fitful fire ? 



