Part 12 (1/2)

”Drink,” muttered Michael, ”drink. We two shall sleep to-night.”

He tilted up the hat, and Lion drank.

Lion lay still a moment, gathering power, Then rose, as Michael gave him more, and sank.

Then, like a dying bird whom death makes tower, He raised himself above the bloodied flower And struck with all his force in Michael's side.

”You should not have done that,” his stricken comrade cried.

”No; for I meant to tell you, Lion; meant To tell you; but I cannot now; I die.

That hit me to the heart and I am spent.

Mary and I have parted; she and I Agreed she must return, lad. That is why I came to see you. She is coming here, Back to your home to-night. Oh, my beloved dear,

”You come to tread a b.l.o.o.d.y path of flowers.

All the gold flowers are covered up with blood, And the bright bugles blow along the towers; The bugles triumph like the Plate in flood.”

His spilled life trickled down upon the mud Between weak, clutching fingers. ”Oh,” he cried, ”This isn't what we planned here years ago.” He died.

Lion lay still while the cold tides of death Came br.i.m.m.i.n.g up his channels. With one hand He groped to know if Michael still drew breath.

His little hour was running out its sand.

Then, in a mist, he saw his Mary stand Above. He cried aloud, ”He was my brother.

I was his comrade sworn, and we have killed each other.

”Oh desolate grief, beloved, and through me.

We wise who try to change. Oh, you wild birds, Help my unhappy spirit to the sea.

The golden bowl is scattered into sherds.”

And Mary knelt and murmured pa.s.sionate words To that poor body on the dabbled flowers: ”Oh, beauty, oh, sweet soul, oh, little love of ours--

”Michael, my own heart's darling, speak; it's me, Mary. You know my voice. I'm here, dear, here.

Oh, little golden-haired one, listen. See, It's Mary, Michael. Speak to Mary, dear.

Oh, Michael, little love, he cannot hear; And you have killed him, Lion; he is dead.

My little friend, my love, my Michael, golden head.

”We had such fun together, such sweet fun, My love and I, my merry love and I.

Oh, love, you shone upon me like the sun.

Oh, Michael, say some little last good-bye.”

Then in a great voice Lion called, ”I die.

Go home and tell my people. Mary. Hear.

Though I have wrought this ruin, I have loved you, dear.

”Better than he; not better, dear, as well.

If you could kiss me, dearest, at this last.

We have made b.l.o.o.d.y doorways from our h.e.l.l, Cutting our tangle. Now, the murder past, We are but pitiful poor souls; and fast The darkness and the cold come. Kiss me, sweet; I loved you all my life; but some lives never meet

”Though they go wandering side by side through Time.

Kiss me,” he cried. She bent, she kissed his brow: ”Oh, friend,” she said, ”you're lying in the slime.”

”Three blind ones, dear,” he murmured, ”in the slough, Caught fast for death; but never mind that now; Go home and tell my people. I am dying, Dying, dear, dying now.” He died; she left him lying,