THE NEOLITH 



BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS 



ONLY the murmur of bees and the twinkle and throb of the 

 heat 

 On the league-long height, and the shade from a granite 



stone. 



Sole standing in utter loneliness superbly alone 

 A monolith ruggedly heaves, with the roseal ling at his feet. 



Roll upon roll of the Moor flung out on a sky-line free ; 

 Clouds at the zenith blue ; in the flower-clad earth beneath 

 The dust of a neolith : one who has swept this heath 

 As the chieftain of vanished hordes and their fate and their 

 destiny. 



When he died, that no mocking phantom, or jealous shade 

 Of him mighty, should darken their lodge in the distant glen, 

 They brought their lord hither, on shoulders of mourning 



men, 

 And tore at their hair and howled long and fierce music made. 



Then they sought for a stone of girth, that should evermore 



mark his place 



And be seen for remembrance, afar on the frowning hill, 

 Of that leader of men, whose right arm and resistless will 

 Had lifted his clan to power and to splendour and pride of 



place. 



He was cooped with his knees to his chin in a granite kist, 

 And a granite flake over his head that should last till doom. 

 So near doth he seem that one feels him not dead in his tomb, 

 But crouching, alive and alert, with a warrior's axe in his fist. 



Does he hear the old gods of the thunder? Can summer sun 

 Reach down to his pit? May his ears still discern the rain 

 Hissing over the heather? Knows he if the purple stain 

 From a cloud-shadow dims his grey stone? When the ponies 

 run 



Can he mark the dull drumming above of their unshod feet? 



69 



