128
POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR.
On, on he went by acres full of grain,
By trees and meadows reeling past his sight,
As to a man whirled onwards in a train
The land with spinning hedgerows seems in flight;
At last he stopped and leant a long, long while
Against a stile.
Hours passed; the clock struck ten; a hush of night,
In which even wind and water seemed at peace;
But here and there a glimmering cottage light
Shone like a glowworm through the slumberous trees;
Or from some far-off homestead through the dark
A watch-dog's bark.
But all at once Sam gave a stifled cry:
"There's fire," he muttered, "fire upon the hills!"
