THE RETURN OF MORGAN AND FINGAL
The forest and the sunset and the sky-line,
No matter where it was that I was looking:
The flame beyond the boundary, the music,
The foam and the white ships, and two old men
Were things that would not leave me. And that night
There came to me a dream—a shining one,
With two old- angels- in-it. They had wings,
And they "were sitting where a silver light
Suffused them, face to face. The wings of one
Began to palpitate as I approached,
But I was yet unseen when a dry voice
Cried thinly, with unpatronizing triumph,
"I've got you, Isaac; high, low, jack, and the game."
Isaac and Archibald have gone their way
To the silence of the loved and well-forgotten.
I knew them, and I may have laughed at them;
But there's a laughing that has honor in it,
And I have no regret for light words now.
Rather I think sometimes they may have made
Their sport of me; but they would not do that,
They were too old for that. They were old men,
And I may laugh at them because I knew them.
THE RETURN OF MORGAN AND FINGAL
And there we were together again —
Together again, we three:
Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all,
They had come for the night with me.
The spirit of joy was in Morgan's wrist,
There were songs in Fingal's throat ;
And secure outside, for the spray to drench,
Was a tossed and empty boat.
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