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Low
Tide on Grand Pré: A Book of Lyrics
by
Bliss Carman
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A
NORTHERN VIGIL
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HERE
by the gray north sea,
In the wintry heart
of the wild,
Comes the old dream of thee,
Guendolen, mistress
and child.
The heart of the forest grieves
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5 |
In
the drift against my door;
A voice is under the eaves,
A footfall on the
floor.
Threshold, mirror and hall,
Vacant and strangely
aware,
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10 |
Wait
for their soul’s recall
With the dumb expectant
air.
Here when the smouldering west
Burns down into
the sea,
I take no heed of rest
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15 |
| And
keep the watch for thee.
I sit by the fire and hear
The restless wind
go-by,
On the long dirge and drear,
Under the low bleak
sky.
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20 |
When day puts out to sea
And night makes in
for land,
There is no lock for thee,
Each door awaits thy
hand!
When night goes over the hill
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25 |
And
dawn comes down the dale,
It’s O for the wild sweet will
That shall no more
prevail!
When the zenith moon is round,
And snow-wraiths
gather and run,
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30 |
And
there is set no bound
To love beneath the
sun,
O wayward will, come near
The old mad willful
way,
The soft moth at my ear
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35 |
| With
words too sweet to say!
Come, for the night is cold,
The ghostly moonlight
fills
Hollow and rift and fold
Of the eerie Ardise
hills!
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40 |
The windows of my room
Are dark with bitter
frost,
The stillness aches with doom
Of something loved
and lost.
Outside, the great blue star
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45 |
Burns
in the ghostland pale,
Where giant Algebar
Holds on the endless
trail.
Come, for the years are long,
And silence keeps
the door,
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50 |
Where
shapes with the shadows throng
The firelit chamber
floor.
Come, for thy kiss was warm,
With the red embers’
glare
Across thy folding arm
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55 |
| And
dark tumultuous hair!
And though thy coming rouse
The sleep-cry of
no bird,
The keepers of the house
Shall tremble at
thy word.
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60 |
Come, for the soul is free!
In all the vast dreamland
There is no lock for thee,
Each door awaits thy
hand.
Ah, not in dreams at all,
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65 |
Fleering,
perishing, dim,
But thy old self, supple and tall,
Mistress and child
of whim!
The proud imperious guise,
Impetuous and serene,
|
70 |
The
sad mysterious eyes,
And dignity of mien!
Yea, wilt thou not return,
When the late hill-winds
veer,
And the bright hill-flowers burn
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75 |
| With
the reviving year?
When April comes, and the sea
Sparkles as if it
smiled,
Will they restore to me
My dark Love, empress
and child?
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80 |
The
curtains seem to part;
A sound is on the
stair,
As if at the last…I start;
Only the wind is
there.
Lo,
now far on the hills |
85 |
The
crimson fumes uncurled,
Where the caldron mantles and spills
Another dawn on the
world! |
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