{North Coast and other Poems 1868}

NORTH COAST

AND OTHER

POEMS.

MEG BLANE.

(NORTH COAST, 18—.)

     ‘LORD, hearken to me!
          Help all poor men at sea!                                                           [1:2]
          Thy breath is on their cheeks,—
     Their cheeks are wan wi’ fear;
          Nae man speaks,
     For wha could hear?
     The long-haired sea-wives scream,                                                  [1:7]
          The wind cries loud;
     Ghaistly the fireflaughts gleam                                                          [1:9]
          On tattered sail and shroud;                                                   2  [1:10]
     Under the red mast-light
          The hissing waters slip;                                                              [1:12]
     Thick reeks the storm o’ night
          Round him that steers the ship,                                                  [1:14]
     And his een are blind,
And he kens not where they run.
     LORD, be kind!
     Whistle back Thy wind,
For the sake of CHRIST Thy Son.’                                                      [1:19]

And as she prayed she knelt not on her knee,                                       [2:1]
But, standing on the threshold, looked to sea;                                       [2:2]
     Yet all was blackness and a watery roar,                                         [2:3]
Save when the red light, glistening far away,                                          [2:4]
     Ghastlied the line of foam upon the shore,                                        [2:5]
And showed the ribbéd reef and surfy bay.                                           [2:6]
     There was no sign of life across the dark,
     No piteous light from fishing-boat or bark,
Albeit for such she listed so to pray.                                                     [2:9]
With tattered plaid wrapt tight around her form,
     She stood a space, blown on by wind and rain;                              [2:11]
Then, sighing deep, she turnéd from the storm,                                     [2:12]
     And crept into her lonely hut again.                                                 [2:13]

It was a wooden hut under the height,                                                   [3:1]
     Shielded in the black shadow of the crag:
One blow of such a wind as blew that night
     Could rend so rude a dwelling like a rag;                                      4  [3:4]
But, gathering in the crannies overhead,                                                [3:5]
Down fell the spouting rain heavy as lead,                                             [3:6]
     So that the old walls and the rafters thin                                           [3:7]
Drippéd and steaméd, gloaming in the surf,                                           [3:8]
And the black rain-drops through the roof of turf                                  [3:9]
     Splashed momently on the mud floor within.                                   [3:10]
There, swinging from the roof, an earthen lamp                                    [3:11]
Waved to the wind and glimmered in the damp,
     And made strange shadows round the chamber bare                      [3:13]
And on the household things of the poor place,                                    [3:14]
And glimmered faintly on the woman’s face                                         [3:15]
     Sooted with rain, and on her wringing hair.                                     [3:16]
          It was a piteous spot wherein to dwell,                                      [3:17]
          And yet she loved it well.

          ‘O mither, are ye there?'                                                            [4:1]
A deep voice filled the dark, and she could hear.                                  [4:2]
     With hard hand she pushed back her dripping hair,                          [4:3]
And kissed him. ‘Whisht, my bairn, for mither’s near.’                          [4:4]
     Then on the shuttle bed a figure thin
          Sat rubbing sleeping eyes:                                                          [4:6]
A bearded man, with heavy hanging chin,
     And on his face a light not over-wise.
‘Water!’ he said; and deep his thirst was quelled                                     5
Out of the broken pitcher she upheld,
And yawning sleepily, he gazed around,
And stretched his limbs again, and soon slept sound.
Stooping, she smoothed his pillow ’neath his head,                              [4:13]
     Still gazing down with eyes dewy and mild,                                     [4:14]
And while she gazed, softly he slumberéd,
          That bearded man, her child.
And a child’s dreams were his; for as he lay,
He uttered happy cries as if at play,
And his strong hand was lifted up on high,                                           [4:19]
In act to catch the bird or butterfly;                                                     [4:20]
And often to his bearded lips there came
               That lonely woman’s name;
And though the storm of ocean roared so near,                                   [4:23]
               That one sweet word
               Was all the woman heard,
          And all she cared to hear.

Not old in years, though youth had passed away,
And the meek hair was tinged with silver gray,                                      [5:2]
Close to the gloaming of the day of life,                                                [5:3]
She stood, calm featured like a wedded wife;
And yet no wedded wife was she, but one
     Whose foot had left the pathways of the just,                                     6
And meekly, since her penance had been done,                                    [5:7]
     Her true eyes sought men’s faces, not the dust.                                [5:8]
Her tearful days were over: she had found
Firm footing, work to do upon the ground;
The elements had welded her at length                                                [5:11]
          To their own truth and strength.

This woman was no slight and tear-strung thing,
Whose easy tears fall sweet on suffering,                                              [6:2]
But one in whom no stranger’s eyes would seek
          For pity mild and meek.
Man’s height was hers—man’s strength and will thereto,
     Her shoulders broad, her step man-like and long;
’Mong fishermen she dwelt, a rude, rough crew,
     And more than one had found her fist was strong.                            [6:8]
And yet her face was gentle, though the sun
          Had made it dark and dun;
               Her silver-threaded hair
Was combed behind her ears with cleanly care;
And she had eyes liquid and sorrow-fraught,
     And round her mouth were delicate lines, that told
She was a woman sweet with her own thought,
     Though built upon a large, heroic mould.

               Who did not know Meg Blane?
What hearth but heard the deeds that Meg had done?
               What fisher of the main
But knew her, and her little-witted son?
For in the fiercest waters of the coast                                                   [7:5]
Her black boat hovered and her net was tost,                                       [7:6]
And lonely in the watery solitude
The son and mother fished for daily food.
When on calm nights the herring hosts went by,
     Her black boat followed the red smacks from shore,                      [7:10]
And smoking in the stern the man would lie                                         [7:11]
     While Meg was hoisting sail or plying oar;
Till, a black speck against the morning sky,                                              8
     The boat came homeward, with its silver store.
And Meg was cunning in the ways of things,
     And watched what every changing lineament                                  [7:16]
     Of wind and sea and cloud and water meant,                                 [7:17]
Knowing how Nature threatens ere she springs.
     She knew the clouds as shepherds know their sheep,
To eyes unskilled alike, yet different each;
     She knew the wondrous voices of the deep;                                   [7:21]
The tones of sea-birds were to her a speech.
     Much faith was hers in GOD, who was her Guide;                           [7:23]
Courage was hers such as GOD gives to few,
     For she could face His terrors fearless-eyed,
Yet keep the still weird woman’s nature true.                                      [7:26]
     Lives had she snatched out of the waste by night,
               When stormy winds were blowing,                                       [7:28]
     And to sick-beds her presence carried light,                                   [7:29]
     When like a thin sail lessening out of sight                                       [7:30]
Some rude, rough life to the unknown sea was going;                          [7:31]
     For he who scorned a feeble woman’s wail                                    [7:32]
Would heark to one so strong and brave as she,
     Whose face had braved the lightning and the gale,
               And scarce grown pale,                                                       [7:35]
Save when it looked on other lives at sea.                                           [7:36]

Yet often, as she lay a-sleeping there,                                                      9
     She started up, blushing as if in shame,                                            [8:2]
And stretched out arms embracing the thin air,                                      [8:3]
               And named an unknown name;                                             [8:4]
And there was a strange listening in her face                                         [8:5]
     If sudden footsteps sounded in her ear;                                            [8:6]
And when strange seamen came unto the place
     She read their faces in a quiet fear;                                                  [8:8]
And finding not the object of her quest,
Her hand she presséd hard upon her breast,                                        [8:10]
And wore a white look, and drew feeble breath,
               Like one that hungereth.

It was a night of summer, yet the wind
     Had wafted from the hills the rain-clouds dank,                                [9:2]
Blown out heaven’s thousand eyes and made it blind,                           [9:3]
Though now and then the moon gleamed moist behind                          [9:4]
     The rack, till, smitten by the drift, she sank.
               But the deep roared;                                                             [9:6]
Sucked to the black cloud, spumed the foamy main,                             [9:7]
     While lightning rent the storm-rack like a sword,
And earthward rolled the gray smoke of the rain.                                  [9:9]

’Tis late, and yet the woman doth not rest,
But sitteth with chin drooping on her breast:
Weary she is, yet will not take repose;                                                   10
Tiréd her eyes, and yet they cannot close;                                           [10:4]
She rocketh to and fro upon her chair,
               And stareth at the air.                                                          [10:6]

Far, far away her thoughts were travelling:
     They could not rest—they wandered far and fleet,
Like wild white birds that o’er the waters wing,                                   [11:3]
     And cannot find a place to rest their feet;
And in her ear a thin voice murmuréd,
               ‘If he be dead—be dead!’                                                   [11:6]
Then, even then, the woman’s face went white
     And awful, and her eyes were fixed in fear,
For suddenly all the wild cries of night                                                 [11:9]
     Were hushed: the wind lay down, and she could hear                    [11:10]
Strange voices gather round her in the gloom,
Sounds of invisible feet across the room,
     And after that the rustle of a shroud,
               And then a creaking door,
     And last the coronach, full shrill and loud,
Of women clapping hands and weeping sore.

Then Meg knew well that ill was close at hand,                                    [12:1]
               On water or on land,
Because the glamour touched her lids like breath,                            11  [12:3]
     And burned her heart; but in a waking swoon                                 [12:4]
Quiet she stayed,—not stirring,—cold as death,
               And heard those voices croon;                                             [12:6]
Then suddenly she heard a human shout,

The hurried falling of a foot without,
Then a hoarse voice—a knocking at the door—
               ‘Meg, Meg! a ship ashore!’                                                [12:10]

Now mark the woman! She has risen her height,                                  [13:1]
Her dripping plaid is wrapt around her tight;
Tight clenchéd in her palm her fingers are;                                               12
Her eye is steadfast as a fixéd star.
One look upon her child—he sleepeth on—
One step unto the door, and she is gone:
Barefooted out into the dark she fares,
     And comes where, rubbing eyelids thick with sleep,
The half-clad fishers mingle oaths and prayers,
               And look upon the deep.                                                    [13:10]

               Black was the oozy lift,                                                        [14:1]
          Black was the sea and land;
Hither and thither, thick with foam and drift,
               Did the deep waters shift,                                                     [14:4]
     Swinging with iron clash on rock and sand.                                     [14:5]
Faintlier the heavy rain was falling,                                                       [14:6]
Faintlier, faintlier the wind was calling                                                  [14:7]
     With hollower echoes up the drifting dark,                                      [14:8]
And the swift rockets shooting through the night                                   [14:9]
Ghastlied the foamy reef with pale blue light,                                       [14:10]
     And showed the piteous outline of the bark
Rising and falling like a living thing,
               Shuddering, shivering,
While, howling beast-like, the white waters there                                [14:14]
Spat blindness in the dank eyes of despair.

Then one cried, ‘She has sunk!’ and on the shore                               [14:16]
     Men shook, and on the heights the women cried;
But, lo! the outline of the bark once more!                                              14
     While blue and faint the rocket rose and died.                               [14:19]
Ah, GOD, put out Thy hand! all for the sake
Of little ones, and weary hearts that wake!
     Be gentle! chain the fierce waves with a chain!
Let the gaunt seaman's little boys and girls
Sit on his knee and play with his black curls
               Yet once again!
And breathe the pale lad safely through the foam,                               [14:26]
Back to the hungry mother in her home!
And spare the bad man, with his glazéd eye;                                       [14:28]
Kiss him, for CHRIST’S sake, bid Thy Death go by—
               He hath no heart to die!

Now faintlier blew the wind, the thin rain ceased,
     The thick cloud cleared like smoke from off the strand,
For, lo! a faint blue glimmer in the east,—                                            [15:3]
               GOD putting out His hand!
And overhead the storm-rack thinnéd too,                                           [15:5]
               And through the smoky gorge
The wind drove past the stars, and faint they flew                                [15:7]
               Like sparks blown from a forge;                                           [15:8]
And now the thousand foamy eyes o’ the sea                                      [15:9]
               Hither and thither glimmered visibly,                                    [15:10]
And gray lights hither and thither travelléd,                                     15  [15:11]
Like dim shapes searching for the drownéd dead;
And where these shapes most thickly glamoured by,                           [15:13]
     Out on the ribbéd reef the black hulk lay,                                      [15:14]
And cast, against the glimmering eastern sky,                                      [15:15]
     Its shape gigantic on the falling spray.                                            [15:16]

Yet there upon the shore, the fishers fed                                              [16:1]
     Their eyes on horror, waiting for the close,
     When sudden in the midst a shrill voice rose;                                  [16:3]
               ‘The boat! the boat!’ it said.
Like creatures startled from a trance, they turned
     To her who spake: tall in the midst stood she,
With arms uplifted, and with eyes that yearned
               Out on the murmuring sea.                                                   [16:8]
Some, shrugging shoulders, homeward turned their eyes,
     And others answered back in brutal speech;
But some, brave hearted, uttering shouts and cries,                             [16:11]
     Followed the fearless woman up the beach.
A rush to seaward—black confusion—then
     A struggle with the sea upon the strand—                                      [16:14]
’Mid shrieks of women, cries of desperate men,
     The long oars smite, the black boat springs from land.                   [16:16]
               Around the thick spray flies;
The waves roll round and seem to overwhelm.                               16  [16:18]
     With blowing hair and onward-gazing eyes
The woman stands erect, and grips the helm. . . . .

Now fearless heart, Meg Blane, or all must die!
Let not the skilled hand thwart the steadfast eye!                                 [17:2]
The ridgéd wave comes near,—crag-like it towers                              [17:3]
Above ye, scattering round its foamy showers:                                    [17:4]
One flutter of the hand, and all is done!
Now steel thy heart, thou woman-hearted one!
                Softly the good helm guides;
Round to the ridgéd waves the boat leaps light,—                               [17:8]
Hidden an instant,—on the foamy height,                                       17   [17:9]
     Dripping and quivering like a sea-bird, rides.                                 [17:10]
Now through the ragged rift the moon looms pale,                              [17:11]
               Driven before the gale,
And makes a silver trouble with her breath,                                        [17:13]
Till duskily the water shimmereth;                                                       [17:14]
And, lo! she gleameth on the reef, and on                                           [17:15]
     The black hull, as the fisher-boat comes nigh.                                [17:16]
A crash!—the wreck upon the reef is gone!                                       [17:17]
     A scream!—and all is still beneath the sky,
     Save the weird waters as they foam and cry.                                 [17:19]

II.

DAWN; and the deep was still. Without her door,                              [1:1]
Meg, shading eyes against the morning sun,
Gazed seaward. After trouble, there was peace.
Smooth, many-coloured, as a ring-dove’s neck,
Stretchéd the deep, and on its eastern rim                                             [1:5]
The cool, sweet light, with rainy yellow beams,                                     [1:6]
Gleamed like a sapphire. Overhead, soft airs
To feathery cirrhus flecked the deepening blue;                                     [1:8]
Beneath, the smooth sea’s breathing made a breeze;                             [1:9]
And up the weedy beach the blue waves crept,
Breaking in one thin line of creamy foam.                                             [1:11]

     Seaward the woman gazed, with keen eye fixed                                19
On a dark shape that floated on the calm,
Drifting as seaweed; still and black it lay,                                              [2:3]
The outline of a lifeless human shape:
And yet it was no drownéd mariner,
For she who looked was smiling, and her face
Looked merry; still more merry when a boat,
With pale and timorous fishermen, drew nigh;
And as the fearful fishers paused and gazed,                                         [2:9]
A boat’s length distant, leaning on their oars,
The shape took life—raised up a dripping head,                                  [2:11]
Screaming—flung up its body in white foam,                                        [2:12]
And, with a laugh they echoed with a curse,                                         [2:13]
Dived headlong, as a monster of the deep                                            [2:14]
Plunges deep down when startled on its couch
Of glassy waters. ’Twas the woman’s child,
The witless water-haunter—Angus Blane.

     For Angus Blane, not fearless as the wise                                        [3:1]
Are fearless, loved the waters like a thing                                              [3:2]
Born in their still depths of the slimy ooze.                                             [3:3]
A child, he sported on their rim, and crept                                            [3:4]
Splashing with little hands amid the foam;                                              [3:5]
And when his limbs were stronger, and he reached
A young man’s stature, the old sea had grown                                  20  [3:7]
Dear and familiar as his mother’s face.                                                  [3:8]
Far out he swam, on windless summer days,
Floating like some sea-monster far from land,                                      [3:10]
Plunging from terror-stricken fishermen,                                               [3:11]
With eldrich cry and wild unearthly face;                                              [3:12]
And in the untrodden deeps below the sea,                                          [3:13]
Awaking wondrous echoes, that had slept
Since first the watery Spirit stirred and breathed.                                 [3:15]
On summer gloamings, in the bay for hours                                          [3:16]
He glistened like a sea-snake in the moon,
Splashing with trail of glistening phosphor-fire,
And laughing shrill till echo answeréd,                                                  [3:19]
And the pale helmsman on the passing boat,
Thinking some demon of the waters cried,                                           [3:21]
Shivered and prayed. His playmates were the waves,
The sea his playground. On his ear were sounds                                  [3:23]
Kinder than human voices; on his soul,                                                [3:24]
Though misted with his witless thoughts, there passed                          [3:25]
A motion and a glamour that at times                                                   [3:26]
Broke through his lips, and troubled witless words                               [3:27]
With weird sea-music. When he was a child                                        [3:28]
Children had mocked him—he had shunned their sports,                     [3:29]
And haunted ocean places,—nurturing                                                [3:30]
The bright, fierce, animal splendour of a soul                                           21
That ne’er was clouded through the pensive mists                                [3:32]
Of mind that smoke the souls of wiser men.                                         [3:33]
Only in winter seasons he was sad;
For then the loving Spirit of the Deep
Repulsed him, and its smile was kind no more;                                     [3:36]
And on the strand he wandered; from deep caves                                [3:37]
Gazed at the tempest; and from day to day                                          [3:38]
Moaned to his mother for the happy time
When the white swallows glisten from the South,                                 [3:40]
And summer glimmers through the rain, and brings                               [3:41]
Smiles and a windless silence to the sea.                                              [3:42]

     And as the deepening of strange melody,
Caught from the unknown shores beyond the seas,
Was the outspreading of his life to her
Who bare him; yea, at times, the woman's womb
Seemed laden with the throes of him unborn,                                        [4:5]
So close his being clave unto her flesh,
So strangely linked his spirit with her own.                                            [4:7]
For the forebodings of her heart, when first                                           [4:8]
She saw the mind-mists in his infant eyes,
And knew him witless, turned as years went on                                   [4:10]
Into more spiritual, mysterious love                                                      [4:11]
Than common mothers feel; and he had power                                       22
To make her nature deeper, more alive
Unto the spiritual feet that walk                                                           [4:14]
Our dark and troubled waters. Thence was born
Much of her courage on the sea, her trust                                            [4:16]
In the sea’s MASTER; thence, moreover, grew                                     [4:17]
Her faith in visions, warnings, fantasies,
Such as came thronging on her heart when most                                  [4:19]
Her eyes looked inward—to the place wherein                                    [4:20]
She hid a secret sorrow.                                                                     [4:21]

                                          While she gazed,                                        [5:1]
Smiling, the bearded face of Angus rose
Nearer to shore, and panting in the sun,
Laughed at the fishers. Then the woman turned,                                    [5:4]
And took, with man-like step and slow, a path
That, creeping through the shadows of the cliffs,
Wound to the clachan. In the clear, bright dawn
Lay Thornock glittering, while, thin and blue,
Curled peat-smoke from the line of fisher-huts                                      [5:9]
That parted the high shingle from the land.
The sea was low: amid the tangled weeds                                            [5:11]
And many-coloured rocks and sparkling pools,                                   [5:12]
Went stooping men and women, seeking spoil,
Treasure or drift-wood floating from the wreck;                                      23
Beyond, some stood in fish-boats, peering down,
Seeking the drownéd dead; and, near at hand,
So near, a tall man might have waded thither
With a dry beard, the reef loomed black with weed,                            [5:18]

And there the sea-fowl ever and anon                                                 [5:19]
Rose like a cloud of foam, whirled in the air,                                        [5:20]
And, screaming, settled. But not thitherward
Wandered Meg Blane. Along the huts she went—                               [5:22]
Among the rainy pools where, shouting, played                                    [5:23]
Brown and barefooted bairns—among the nets
Stretched steaming in the sun—until she reached                             24  [5:25]
The cottage she was seeking. At the door,
Smoking his pipe, a grizzly fisher sat,                                                   [5:27]
Looking to sea. With him she spake awhile,
Then, with a troubled look, entered the hut,
And sought the inner chamber.

                                                   Faint and pale
Light glimmered through a loop-hole in the wall,                                    [6:2]
A deep white streak across the rush-strewn floor,                                 [6:3]
All else in shadow; and the room was still,
Save for a heavy breathing, as of one
In quiet sleep. Within the wall’s recess,
On the rude bed of straw the sleeper lay,
His head upon his arm, the sick thin light                                               [6:8]
Touching his upturned face; while Meg drew near,                                [6:9]
And gazed upon him with a stranger’s eyes,
Quiet and pitying. Though his sleep was sound,
His dreams were troubled. Throwing up his arms,
He seemed to beckon, muttering; then his teeth
Clenched tight, a white smile wrinkled on his brow,                              [6:14]
And still he lay like one awaiting doom;
But suddenly, in agony supreme,
He breathed like one who struggles, sinks, and drowns.                       [6:17]
Struggling, with wavering arms and quivering limbs,                         25  [6:18]
And screaming in his throat, he fought for life;
Till, half-awakening with the agony,
His glazéd eyes he oped and glaréd round,                                          [6:21]
While Meg drew shivering back into the shade;
And then, with deeper breath, as if relieved,