THE POET EXPRESSES IT 51 



The author of 7he Bothie of Toher-na-Fuoltch, who 

 never heard of telepathy, since the word was not 

 invented in his day, has, to my mind, given this 

 universal feeling, this burning desire to be with and 

 comfort the absent one, its most perfect expression 

 in the following lines: 



Is it impossible, say you, these passionate, fervent impressions, 

 These projections of spirit to spirit, these inward embraces. 

 Should in strange ways, in her dreams, should visit her, strengthen 



her, shield her ? 

 Is it possible, rather, that these great floods of feeling 

 Setting in daily from me to her should, impotent wholly, 

 Bring neither sound nor motion to that sweet shore they heave to ? 

 Efflux here, and there no stir nor pulse of influx ! . . . 

 "Would I were dead," I keep saying, "that so I could go and 



uphold her!" 

 Surely, surely, when sleepless I lie in the mountain lamenting, 

 Surely, surely, she hears in her dreams a voice, " I am with thee," 

 Saying, " although not with thee, behold, for we mated in spirit. 

 There when we stood in the chamber and knew not the words we 



were saying." 

 Yea, if she felt me within her, when not with a finger I touched her. 

 Surely, she knows it, and feels it while sorrowing here in the 



moorland. 

 " Would I were dead," I keep saying, " that so I could go and 



uplift her." 



There we have it all! Is it for nothing this intense, 

 this intolerable craving of the soul for the absent 

 one, this cry of the heart and throwing out of the 

 arms, as it were, has been given him — this plangent 

 emotion which seems to lift and bear him out to that 

 sweet shore it heaves to? " Surely, surely! " he cries, 

 hoping against hope, "it cannot be impossible!" 

 And if impossible, then let death come, since then all 

 barriers will be overpassed and he would be there to 

 whisper, " I am with thee," to uphold her and uplift her ! 



