This page has been validated.
The Were-Wolf
Come, babe, away!
But lie thou till dawn be grey,
Who must be dead by day.
But lie thou till dawn be grey,
Who must be dead by day.
This cannot last;
But, ere the sickening blast,
All sorrow shall be past;
But, ere the sickening blast,
All sorrow shall be past;
And kings shall be
Low bending at thy knee,
Worshipping life from thee.
Low bending at thy knee,
Worshipping life from thee.
For men long sore
To hope of what's before,—
To leave the things of yore.
To hope of what's before,—
To leave the things of yore.
Mine, and not thine,
How deep their jewels shine!
Peace laps thy head, not mine."
How deep their jewels shine!
Peace laps thy head, not mine."
Old Trella came tottering from her corner, shaken to additional palsy by an aroused memory. She strained her dim eyes towards the singer, and then bent her head, that the one ear yet sensible to sound might avail of every note. At the close, groping forward, she murmured with the high-pitched quaver of old age:
"So she sang, my Thora; my last and brightest. What is she like, she whose
58
