THE MISSED MEET 161 



As one would indicate Peru, just where the distance met 

 the blue, 

 His arm described an arc. 

 And fuming left him Harbottle, Sillitoe, 

 Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby 

 on the grey. 



All thro' the waning afternoon they pricked towards the 

 dead white moon : 

 No trace, no sign of lord or loon : 

 Before them backed away 

 The same long bleak horizon line, 

 The same grimacing whins, 

 The same daft sheep, the same croaked whine, the same 

 wide down, outrolled, supine, 

 As like as any pins ; 

 Dogged, depressed, rode Harbottle, Sillitoe, 

 Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby 

 on the grey. 



By whins and sheep, morose, adroop, until the sun's long 

 westering stoop 

 Shot out before the jaded troop 

 His last expiring ray : 

 It flickered through the wood-smoke's haze 

 Domestic, fragrant, warm. 

 On happy homesteads, miry ways, and lighted in a final 

 blaze 

 Upon — a scarlet form ! 

 Then leapt the hearts of Harbottle, Sillitoe, 

 Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby 

 on the grey. 



