Volume Ii Part 77 (1/2)

”No.”

”Ah! she has scratched it so. It is Fleda's.”

Hugh shut his eyes again, and Mr. Carleton seeing that he had settled himself to sleep, went to the window with the paper.

It hardly told him anything he did not know before, though set in a fresh light.

”Cold blew the east wind, And thick fell the rain ?

I look'd for the tops Of the mountains in vain; Twilight was gathering, And dark grew the west, And the wood-fire's crackling Toned well with the rest.

”Speak fire, and tell me ?

Thy flickering flame Fell on me in years past ?

Say, am I the same?

Has my face the same brightness In those days it wore ?

My foot the same lightness, As it crosses the floor?

”Methinks there are changes ?

I am weary to-night ?

I once was as tireless As the bird on her flight: My bark, in full measure, Threw foam from the prow ?

Not even for pleasure Would I care to move now.

” 'Tis not the foot only That lieth thus still ?

I am weary in spirit ?

I am listless in will.

My eye vainly peereth Through the darkness, to find Some object that cheereth ?

Some light for the mind.

”What shadows come o'er me ?

What things of the past ?

Bright things of my childhood That fled all too fast; The scenes where light roaming, My foot wandered free, Come back through the gloamin' ?

Come all back to me.

”The cool autumn evening, The fair summer morn ?

The dress and the aspect Some dear ones have worn ?

The suns.h.i.+ny places ?

The shady hill side ?

The words and the faces That might not abide.

”Die out, little fire ?