Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story

Part I

Max plac'd a ring on little Katie's hand, A silver ring that he had beaten out From that same sacred coin—first well-priz'd wage For boyish labour, kept thro' many years. "See, Kate," he said, "I had no skill to shape 5 "Two hearts fast bound together, so I grav'd "Just K. and M., for Katie and for Max." "But, look; you've run the lines in such a way, "That M. is part of K., and K. of M.," Said Katie, smiling. "Did you mean it thus? 10 "I like it better than the double hearts." "Well, well," he said, "but womankind is wise! "Yet tell me, dear, will such a prophecy "Not hurt you sometimes, when I am away? "Will you not seek, keen ey'd, for some small break 15 "In those deep lines, to part the K. and M. "For you? Nay, Kate, look down amid the globes "Of those large lilies that our light canoe "Divides, and see within the polish'd pool "That small, rose face of yours,—so dear, so fair,— 20 "A seed of love to cleave into a rock, "And bourgeon thence until the granite splits "Before its subtle strength. I being gone— "Poor soldier of the axe—to bloodless fields "(Inglorious battles, whether lost or won) 25 'That sixteen-summer'd heart of yours may say: "'I but was budding, and I did not know "'My core was crimson and my perfume sweet; "'I did not know how choice a thing I am; "'I had not seen the sun, and blind I sway'd 30 "'To a strong wind, and thought because I sway'd, "'Twas to the wooer of the perfect rose— "'That strong, wild wind has swept beyond my ken— "'The breeze I love sighs thro' my ruddy leaves.'" "O, words!" said Katie, blushing, "only words! 35 "You build them up that I may push them down; "If hearts are flow'rs, I know that flow'rs can root— "Bud, blossom, die—all in the same lov'd soil; "They do so in my garden. I have made "Your heart my garden. If I am a bud 40 "And only feel unfoldment feebly stir "Within my leaves, wait patiently; some June, "I'll blush a full-blown rose, and queen it, dear, "In your lov'd garden. Tho' I be a bud, "My roots strike deep, and torn from that dear soil 45 "Would shriek like mandrakes—those witch things I read "Of in your quaint old books. Are you content?" "Yes—crescent-wise—but not to round, full moon. "Look at yon hill that rounds so gently up "From the wide lake; a lover king it looks, 50 "In cloth of gold, gone from his bride and queen: "And yet delay'd, because her silver locks "Catch in his gilded fringes; his shoulders sweep "Into blue distance, and his gracious crest, "Not held too high, is plum'd with maple groves;— 55 "One of your father's farms. A mighty man, "Self-hewn from rock, remaining rock through all." "He loves me, Max," said Katie. "Yes, I know— "A rock is cup to many a crystal spring. "Well, he is rich; those misty, peak-roof'd barns— 60 "Leviathans rising from red seas of grain— "Are full of ingots, shaped like grains of wheat. "His flocks have golden fleeces, and his herds "Have monarchs worshipful, as was the calf "Aaron call'd from the furnace; and his ploughs, 65 "Like Genii chained, snort o'er his mighty fields. "He has a voice in Council and in Church—" "He work'd for all," said Katie, somewhat pain'd. "Aye, so, dear love, he did; I heard him tell "How the first field upon his farm was ploughed. 70 "He and his brother Reuben, stalwart lads, "Yok'd themselves, side by side, to the new plough; "Their weaker father, in the grey of life "(But rather the wan age of poverty "Than many winters), in large, gnarl'd hands 75 "The plunging handles held: with mighty strains "They drew the ripping beak through knotted sod, "Thro' tortuous lanes of blacken'd, smoking stumps; "And past great flaming brush heaps, sending out "Fierce summers, beating on their swollen brows. 80 "O, such a battle! had we heard of serfs "Driven to like hot conflict with the soil, "Armies had march'd and navies swiftly sail'd "To burst their gyves. But here's the little point— "The polish'd di'mond pivot on which spins 85 "The wheel of Difference—they OWN'D the rugged soil, "And fought for love—dear love of wealth and pow'r, "And honest ease and fair esteem of men; "One's blood heats at it!" "Yet you said such fields "Were all inglorious," Katie, wondering, said. 90 "Inglorious? Yes; they make no promises "Of Star or Garter, or the thundering guns "That tell the earth her warriors are dead. "Inglorious! Aye, the battle done and won "Means not—a throne propp'd up with bleaching bones; 95 "A country sav'd with smoking seas of blood; "A flag torn from the foe with wounds and death; "Or Commerce, with her housewife foot upon "Colossal bridge of slaughter'd savages, "The Cross laid on her brawny shoulder, and 100 "In one sly, mighty hand her reeking sword, "And in the other all the woven cheats "From her dishonest looms. Nay, none of these. "It means—four walls, perhaps a lowly roof; "Kine in a peaceful posture; modest fields; 105 "A man and woman standing hand in hand "In hale old age, who, looking o'er the land, "Say: 'Thank the Lord, it all is mine and thine!' "It means, to such thew'd warriors of the Axe "As your own father;—well, it means, sweet Kate, 110 "Outspreading circles of increasing gold, "A name of weight; one little daughter heir, "Who must not wed the owner of an axe, "Who owns naught else but some dim, dusky woods "In a far land; two arms indifferent strong—" 115 "And Katie's heart," said Katie, with a smile; For yet she stood on that smooth, violet plain, Where nothing shades the sun; nor quite believed Those blue peaks closing in were aught but mist Which the gay sun could scatter with a glance. 120 For Max, he late had touch'd their stones, but yet He saw them seam'd with gold and precious ores, Rich with hill flow'rs and musical with rills. "Or that same bud that will be Katie's heart, "Against the time your deep, dim woods are clear'd, 125 "And I have wrought my father to relent." "How will you move him, sweet? Why, he will rage "And fume and anger, striding o'er his fields, "Until the last-bought king of herds lets down "His lordly front, and rumbling thunder from 130 "His polish'd chest, returns his chiding tones. "How will you move him, Katie, tell me how?" "I'll kiss him and keep still—that way is sure, Said Katie, smiling. "I have often tried." "God speed the kiss," said Max, and Katie sigh'd, 135 With pray'rful palms close seal'd, "God speed the axe!"

O, light canoe, where dost thou glide? Below thee gleams no silver'd tide. But concave Heaven's chiefest pride.

Above thee burns Eve's rosy bar; 140 Below thee throbs her darling star; Deep 'neath thy keel her round worlds are!

Above, below, O sweet surprise. To gladden happy lover's eyes; No earth, no wave—all jewell'd skies! 145

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Part II

The South Wind laid his moccasins aside, Broke his gay calumet of flow'rs, and cast His useless wampum, beaded with cool dews, Far from him, northward: his long, ruddy spear Flung sunward, whence it came, and his soft locks 5 Of warm, fine haze grew silver as the birch, His wigwam of green leaves began to shake; The crackling rice-beds scolded harsh like squaws; The small ponds pouted up their silver lips; The great lakes ey'd the mountains, whisper'd "Ugh! 10 "Are ye so tall, O chiefs? Not taller than "Our plumes can reach," and rose a little way, As panthers stretch to try their velvet limbs, And then retreat to purr and bide their time. At morn the sharp breath of the night arose 15 From the wide prairies, in deep-struggling seas, In rolling breakers, bursting to the sky; In tumbling surfs, all yellow'd faintly thro' With the low sun—in mad, conflicting crests, Voic'd with low thunder from the hairy throats 20 Of the mist-buried herds; and for a man To stand amid the cloudy roll and moil, The phantom waters breaking overhead, Shades of vex'd billows bursting on his breast, Torn caves of mist wall 'd with. a sudden gold, 25 Reseal'd as swift as seen—broad, shaggy fronts, Fire-ey'd and tossing on impatient horns The wave impalpable—was but to think A dream of phantoms held him as he stood. The late, last thunders of the summer crash'd, 30 Where shrieked great eagles, lords of naked clifts. The pulseless forest, lock'd and interlock'd So closely, bough with bough, and leaf with leaf, So serf'd by its own wealth, that while from high The Moons of Summer kiss'd its green-gloss'd locks, 35 And round its knees the merry West Wind danc'd, And round its ring, compacted emerald, The South Wind crept on moccasins of flame, And the red fingers of th' impatient Sun Pluck'd at its outmost fringes—its dim veins 40 Beat with no life—its deep and dusky heart, In a deep trance of shadow, felt no throb To such soft wooing answer: thro' its dream Brown rivers of deep waters sunless stole; Small creeks sprang from its mosses, and amaz'd, 45 Like children in a wigwam curtain'd close Above the great, dead heart of some red chief, Slipp'd on soft feet. swift stealing through the gloom, Eager for light and for the frolic winds. In this shrill Moon the scouts of Winter ran 50 From the ice-belted north, and whistling shafts Struck maple and struck sumach—and a blaze Ran swift from leaf to leaf, from bough to bough; Till round the forest flash'd a belt of flame And inward lick'd its tongues of red and gold 55 To the deep, tranced inmost heart of all. Rous'd the still heart—but all too late, too late, Too late, the branches welded fast with leaves, Toss'd, loosen'd, to the winds—too late the Sun Pour'd his last vigor to the deep, dark cells 60 Of the dim wood. The keen, two-bladed Moon Of Falling Leaves roll'd up on crested mists; And where the lush, rank boughs had foiled the Sun In his red prime, her pale, sharp fingers crept After the wind and felt about the moss, 65 And seem 'd to pluck from shrinking twig and stem The burning leaves—while groan'd the shudd'ring wood. Who journey'd where the prairies made a pause, Saw burnish'd ramparts flaming in the sun, With beacon fires, tall on their rustling walls. 70 And when the vast, horn'd herds at sunset drew Their sullen masses into one black cloud, Rolling thund'rous o'er the quick pulsating plain, They seem'd to sweep between two fierce red suns Which, hunter-wise, shot at their glaring balls 75 Keen shafts, with scarlet feathers and gold barbs. By round, small lakes with thinner forests fring'd, More jocund woods that sung about the feet And crept along the shoulders of great cliffs, The warrior stags, with does and tripping fawns, 80 Like shadows black upon the throbbing mist Of evening's rose, flash'd thro' the singing woods— Nor tim'rous, sniff'd the spicy, cone-breath'd air; For never had the patriarch of the herd Seen, limn'd against the farthest rim of light 85 Of the low-dipping sky, the plume or bow Of the red hunter; nor, when stoop'd to drink, Had from the rustling rice-beds heard the shaft Of the still hunter hidden in its spears; His bark canoe close-knotted in its bronze, 90 His form as stirless as the brooding air, His dusky eyes, too, fix'd, unwinking, fires; His bow-string tighten'd till it subtly sang To the long throbs, and leaping pulse that roll'd And beat within his knotted, naked breast. 95 There came a morn. The Moon of Falling Leaves, With her twin silver blades, had only hung Above the low-set cedars of the swamp For one brief quarter, when the Sun arose Lusty with light and full of summer heat, 100 And, pointing with his arrows at the blue, Clos'd, wigwam curtains of the sleeping Moon, Laugh'd with the noise of arching cataracts, And with the dove-like cooing of the woods, And with the shrill cry of the diving loon, 105 And with the wash of saltless, rounded seas, And mock'd the white Moon of the Falling Leaves. "Esa! esa! shame upon you, Pale Face! "Shame upon you, Moon of Evil Witches! "Have you kill'd the happy, laughing Summer? 110 "Have you slain the mother of the flowers "With your icy spells of might and magic? "Have you laid her dead within my arms? "Wrapp'd her, mocking, in a rainbow blanket? "Drown'd her in the frost-mist of your anger? 115 "She is gone a little way before me; "Gone an arrow's flight beyond my vision; "She will turn again and come to meet me, "With the ghosts of all the slain flowers. "In a blue mist round her shining tresses, 120 "In a blue smoke in her naked forests— "She will linger, kissing all the branches; "She will linger, touching all the places, "Bare and naked, with her golden fingers, "Saying, 'Sleep, and dream of me, my children; 125 "'Dream of me, the mystic Indian Summer; "'I, who, slain by the cold Moon of Terror, "'Can return across the Path of Spirits, "'Bearing still my heart of love and fire, "'Looking with my eyes of warmth and splendour, 130 "'Whisp'ring lowly thro' your sleep of sunshine, "'I, the laughing Summer, am not turn'd "'Into dry dust, whirling on the prairies,— "'Into red clay, crush'd beneath the snowdrifts. "'I am still the mother of sweet flowers 135 "'Growing but an arrow's flight beyond you— "'In the Happy Hunting Ground—the quiver "'Of great Manitou, where all the arrows "'He has shot from his great bow of Pow'r, "'With its clear, bright, singing cord of Wisdom, 140 "'Are re-gather'd, plum 'd again and brighten'd, "'And shot out, re-barb'd with Love and Wisdom; "'Always shot, and evermore returning. "'Sleep, my children, smiling in your heart-seeds "'At the spirit words of Indian Summer!' 145 "Thus, O Moon of Falling Leaves, I mock you! "Have you slain my gold-ey'd squaw, the Summer?" The mighty morn strode laughing up the land, And Max, the labourer and the lover, stood Within the forest's edge, beside a tree; 150 The mossy king of all the woody tribes, Whose clatt'ring branches rattl'd, shuddering, As the bright axe cleav'd moon-like thro' the air, Waking strange thunders, rousing echoes link'd From the full, lion-throated roar, to sighs 155 Stealing on dove-wings thro' the distant aisles. Swift fell the axe, swift follow'd roar on roar, Till the bare woodland bellow'd in its rage, As the first-slain slow toppl'd to his fall. "O King of Desolation, art thou dead?" 160 Thought Max, and laughing, heart and lips, leap'd on The vast, prone trunk. "And have I slain a King? "Above his ashes will I build my house— "No slave beneath its pillars, but—a King! " Max wrought alone, but for a half-breed lad, 165 With tough, lithe sinews and deep Indian eyes, Lit with a Gallic sparkle. Max, the lover, found The labourer's arms grow mightier day by day— More iron-welded as he slew the trees; And with the constant yearning of his heart 170 Towards little Kate, part of a world away, His young soul grew and shew'd a virile front, Full muscl'd and large statur'd, like his flesh, Soon the great heaps of brush were builded high, And, like a victor, Max made pause to clear 175 His battle-field, high strewn with tangl'd dead. Then roar'd the crackling mountains, and their fires Met in high heaven, clasping flame with flame. The thin winds swept a cosmos of red sparks Across the bleak, midnight sky: and the sun 180 Walk'd pale behind the resinous, black smoke. And Max car'd little for the blotted sun, And nothing for the startl'd, outshone stars; For Love, once set within a lover's breast, Has its own Sun—its own peculiar sky, 185 All one great daffodil—on which do lie The sun, the moon, the stars—all seen at once, And never setting; but all shining straight Into the faces of the trinity,— The one belov'd, the lover, and sweet Love! 190 It was not all his own, the axe-stirr'd waste. In these new days men spread about the earth With wings at heel—and now the settler hears, While yet his axe rings on the primal woods, The shrieks of engines rushing o'er the wastes; 195 Nor parts his kind to hew his fortune out. And as one drop glides down the unknown rock And the bright-threaded stream leaps after it With welded billions, so the settler finds out His soliatry footsteps beaten out, 200 With the quick rush of panting, human waves Upheav'd by throbs of angry poverty, And driven by keen blasts of hunger, from Their native strands—so stem, so dark, so dear! 0, then, to see the troubl'd, groaning waves, 205 Throb down to peace in kindly, valley beds, Their turbid bosoms clearing in the calm Of sun-ey'd Plenty—till the stars and moon, The blessed sun himself, has leave to shine And laugh in their dark hearts! So shanties grew 210 Other than his amid the blacken'd stumps; And children ran with little twigs and leaves And flung them, shouting, on the forest pyres Where burn'd the forest kings—and in the glow Paus'd men and women when the day was done. 215 There the lean weaver ground anew his axe, Nor backward look'd upon the vanish'd loom, But forward to the ploughing of his fields, And to the rose of Plenty in the cheeks Of wife and children—nor heeded much the pangs 220 Of the rous'd muscles tuning to new work. The pallid clerk look'd on his blister'd palms And sigh'd and smil'd, but girded up his loins And found new vigour as he felt new hope. The lab'rer with train'd muscles, grim and grave, 225 Look'd at the ground and wonder'd in his soul, What joyous anguish stirr'd his darken'd heart, At the mere look of the familiar soil, And found his answer in the words—"Mine own!" Then came smooth-coated men, with eager eyes, 230 And talk'd of steamers on the cliff-bound lakes; And iron tracks across the prairie lands; And mills to crush the quartz of wealthy hills; And mills to saw the great, wide-arm'd trees; And mills to grind the singing stream of grain; 235 And with such busy clamour mingled still The throbbing music of the bold, bright Axe— The steel tongue of the Present, and the wail Of falling forests—voices of the Past. Max, social-soul'd, and with his practised thews, 240 Was happy, boy-like, thinking much of Kate, And speaking of her to the women-folk, Who, mostly, happy in new honeymoons Of hope themselves, were ready still to hear The thrice-told tale of Katie's sunny eyes 245 And Katie's yellow hair, and household ways; And heard so often, "There shall stand our home— "On yonder slope, with vines about the door!" That the good wives were almost made to see The snowy walls, deep porches, and the gleam 250 Of Katie's garments flitting through the rooms; And the black slope all bristling with burn'd stumps Was known amongst them all as "Max's House."

O, Love builds on the azure sea, And Love builds on the golden sand; 255 And Love builds on the rose-wing'd cloud. And sometimes Love builds on the land.

O, if Love build on sparkling sea— And if Love build on golden strand— And if Love build on rosy cloud— 260 To Love these are the solid land.

O, Love will build his lily walls, And Love his pearly roof will rear,— On cloud or land, or mist or sea— Love's solid land is everywhere! 265

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Part III

The great farm house of Malcolm Graem stood Square shoulder'd and peak roof'd upon a hill, With many windows looking everywhere; So that no distant meadow might lie hid, Nor corn-field hide its gold—nor lowing herd 5 Browse in far pastures, out of Malcolm's ken. He lov'd to sit, grim, grey, and somewhat stern, And thro' the smoke-clouds from his short clay pipe Look out upon his riches; while his thoughts Swung back and forth between the bleak, stem past, 10 And the near future, for his life had come To that close balance, when, a pendulum, The memory swings between the "Then" and "Now"; His seldom speech ran thus two diff'rent ways: "When I was but a laddie, thus I did"; 15 Or, "Katie, in the fall I'll see to build "Such fences or such sheds about the place; "And next year, please the Lord, another barn." Katie's gay garden foam'd about the walls, 'Leagur'd the prim-cut modern sills, and rush'd 20 Up the stone walls—and broke on the peak'd roof. And Katie's lawn was like a poet's sward, Velvet and sheer and di'monded with dew; For such as win their wealth most aptly take Smooth, urban ways and blend them with their own; 25 And Katie's dainty raiment was as fine As the smooth, silken petals of the rose; And her light feet, her nimble mind and voice, In city schools had learn'd the city's ways, And grafts upon the healthy, lovely vine 30 They shone, eternal blossoms 'mid the fruit. For Katie had her sceptre in her hand And wielded it right queenly there and here, In dairy, store-room, kitchen—ev'ry spot Where women's ways were needed on the place. 35 And Malcolm took her through his mighty fields, And taught her lore about the change of crops; And how to see a handsome furrow plough'd; And how to choose the cattle for the mart; And how to know a fair day's work when done; 40 And where to plant young orchards; for he said, "God sent a lassie, but I need a son— "Bethankit for His mercies all the same." And Katie, when he said it, thought of Max— Who had been gone two winters and two springs, 45 And sigh'd, and thought, "Would he not be your son?" But all in silence, for she had too much Of the firm will of Malcolm in her soul To think of shaking that deep-rooted rock; But hop'd the crystal current of his love 50 For his one child, increasing day by day, Might fret with silver lip until it wore Such channels thro' the rock that some slight stroke Of circumstance might crumble down the stone. The wooer, too, had come, Max prophesied; 55 Reputed wealthy; with the azure eyes And Saxon-gilded locks—the fair, clear face, And stalwart form that most women love, And with the jewels of some virtues set On his broad brow. With fires within his soul 60 He had the wizard skill to fetter down To that mere pink, poetic, nameless glow, That need not fright a flake of snow away— But, if unloos'd, could melt an adverse rock Marrow'd with iron, frowning in his way. 65 And Malcolm balanc'd him by day and night; And with his grey-ey'd shrewdness partly saw He was not one for Kate; but let him come, And in chance moments thought: "Well, let it be— "They make a bonnie pair—he knows the ways 70 "Of men and things: can hold the gear I give, "And, if the lassie wills it, let it be." And then, upstarting from his midnight sleep, With hair erect and sweat upon his brow Such as no labor e'er had beaded there; 75 Would cry aloud, wide-staring thro' the dark— "Nay, nay; she shall not wed him—rest in peace." Then fully waking, grimly laugh and say: "Why did I speak and answer when none spake?" But still lie staring, wakeful, through the shades; 80 List'ning to the silence, and beating still The ball of Alfred's merits to and fro— Saying, between the silent arguments: "But would the mother like it, could she know? "I would there was a way to ring a lad 85 "Like a silver coin, and so find out the true; "But Kate shall say him 'Nay' or say him 'Yea' "At her own will." And Katie said him "Nay," In all the maiden, speechless, gentle ways A woman has. But Alfred only laugh'd 90 To his own soul, and said in his wall'd mind: "O, Kate, were I a lover, I might feel "Despair flap o'er my hopes with raven wings; "Because thy love is giv'n to other love. "And did I love—unless I gain'd thy love, 95 "I would disdain the golden hair, sweet lips, "Air-blown form and true violet eyes; "Nor crave the beauteous lamp without the flame; "Which in itself would light a charnel house. "Unlov'd and loving, I would find the cure 100 "Of Love's despair in nursing Love's disdain— "Disdain of lesser treasure than the whole. "One cares not much to place against the wheel "A di'mond lacking flame—nor loves to pluck "A rose with all its perfume cast abroad 105 "To the bosom of the gale. Not I, in truth! "If all man's days are three-score years and ten, "He needs must waste them not, but nimbly seize "The bright, consummate blossom that his will "Calls for most loudly. Gone, long gone the days 110 "When Love within my soul for ever stretch'd "Fierce hands of flame, and here and there I found "A blossom fitted for him—all up-fill'd "With love as with clear dew—they had their hour "And burn'd to ashes with him, as he droop'd 115 "In his own ruby fires. No Phoenix he, "To rise again because of Katie's eyes, "On dewy wings, from ashes such as his! "But now, another Passion bids me forth, "To crown him with the fairest I can find, 120 "And makes me lover—not of Katie's face, "But of her father's riches! 0, high fool, "Who feels the faintest pulsing of a wish "And fails to feed it into lordly life! "So that, when stumbling back to Mother Earth, 125 "His freezing lip may curl in cold disdain "Of those poor, blighted fools who starward stare "For that fruition, nipp'd and scanted here. "And, while the clay o'ermasters all his blood— "And he can feel the dust knit with his flesh— 130 "He yet can say to them, 'Be ye content; "'I tasted perfect fruitage thro' my life, "'Lighted all lamps of passion, till the oil "'Fail'd from their wicks; and now, O now, I know "'There is no Immortality could give 135 "'Such boon as this—to simply cease to be! "'There lies your Heaven, O ye dreaming slaves, "'If ye would only live to make it so; "'Nor paint upon the blue skies lying shades "'Of—what is not. Wise, wise and strong the man 140 "'Who poisons that fond haunter of the mind, "'Craving for a hereafter with deep draughts "'Of wild delights—so fiery, fierce, and strong, "'That when their dregs are deeply, deeply drain'd, "'What once was blindly crav'd of purblind Chance, 145 "'Life, life eternal—throbbing thro' all space, "'Is strongly loath'd—and with his face in dust. "'Man loves his only Heav'n—six feet of Earth!' "So, Katie, tho' your blue eyes say me 'Nay,' "My pangs of love for gold must needs be fed, 150 "And shall be, Katie, if I know my mind." Events were winds close nestling in the sails Of Alfred's bark, all blowing him direct To his wish'd harbour. On a certain day, All set about with roses and with fire; 155 One of three days of heat which frequent slip, Like triple rubies, in between the sweet, Mild, emerald days of summer, Katie went, Drawn by a yearning for the ice-pale blooms, Natant and shining— firing all the bay 160 With angel fires built up of snow and gold. She found the bay close pack'd with groaning logs, Prison'd between great arms of close-hing'd wood. All cut from Malcolm's forests in the west, And floated hither to his noisy mills; 165 And all stamp'd with the potent "G." and "M.," Which much he lov'd to see upon his goods, The silent courtiers owning him their king. Out clear beyond, the rustling ricebeds sang, And the cool lilies starr'd the shadow'd wave. "This is a day for lily-love," said Kate, While she made bare the lilies of her feet, And sang a lily-song that Max had made, That spoke of lilies—always meaning Kate.

"White Lady of the silver'd lakes, 175 Chaste Goddess of the sweet, still shrines, The jocund river fitful makes, By sudden, deep gloom'd brakes, Close shelter'd by close weft and woof of vine, Spilling a shadow gloomy-rich as wine, 180 Into the silver throne where thou dost sit, Thy silken leaves all dusky round thee knit!

"Mild soul of the unsalted wave! White bosom holding golden fire! Deep as some ocean-hidden cave 185 Are fix'd the roots of thy desire, Thro' limpid currents stealing up, And rounding to the pearly cup. Thou dost desire, With all thy trembling heart of sinless fire, 190 But to be fill'd With dew distill'd From clear, fond skies that in their gloom Hold, floating high, thy sister moon. Pale chalice of a sweet perfume, 195 Whiter-breasted than a dove— To thee the dew is—love!"

Kate bared her little feet, and pois'd herself On the first log close grating on the shore; And with bright eyes of laughter, and wild hair— 200 A flying wind of gold—from log to log Sped, laughing as they wallow'd in her track, Like brown-scal'd monsters rolling, as her foot Spurn'd each in turn with its rose-white sole. A little island, out in middle wave, 205 With its green shoulder held the great drive brac'd Between it and the mainland: here it was The silver lilies drew her with white smiles; And as she touch'd the last great log of all, It reel'd, upstarting, like a column brac'd 210 A second on the wave—and when it plung'd Rolling upon the froth and sudden foam, Katie had vanish'd, and with angry grind The vast logs roll'd together,—nor a lock Of drifting, yellow hair—an upflung hand, 215 Told where the rich man's chiefest treasure sank Under his wooden wealth. But Alfred, laid With pipe and book upon the shady marge Of the cool isle, saw all, and seeing hurl'd Himself, and hardly knew it, on the logs. 220 By happy chance a shallow lapp'd the isle On this green bank; and when his iron arms Dash'd the bark'd monsters, as frail stems of rice, A little space apart, the soft, slow tide But reach'd his chest, and in a flash he saw 225 Kate's yellow hair, and by it drew her up, And lifting her aloft, cried out, "O, Kate!" And once again said, "Katie! is she dead?" For like the lilies broken by the rough And sudden riot of the armor'd logs, 230 Kate lay upon his hands; and now the logs Clos'd in upon him, nipping his great chest, Nor could he move to push them off again For Katie in his arms." And now," he said, "If none should come, and any wind arise 235 "To weld these woody monsters 'gainst the isle, "I shall be crack'd like any broken twig; "And as it is, I know not if I die, "For I am hurt—aye, sorely, sorely hurt!" Then look'd on Katie's lily face, and said, 240 "Dead, dead or living? Why, an even chance. "O lovely bubble on a troubl'd sea, "I would not thou shouldst lose thyself again "In the black ocean whence thy life emerg'd, "But skyward steal on gales as soft as love, 245 "And hang in some bright rainbow overhead, "If only such bright rainbow spann'd the earth." Then shouted loudly, till the silent air Rousd like a frighten'd bird, and on its wings Caught up his cry and bore it to the farm. 250 There Malcolm, leaping from his noontide sleep, Upstarted as at midnight, crying out. "She shall not wed him—rest you, wife, in peace!" They found him, Alfred, haggard-ey'd and faint, But holding Katie ever towards the sun, 255 Unhurt, and waking in the fervent heat. And now it came that Alfred, being sick Of his sharp hurts and tended by them both, With what was like to love, being born of thanks, Had choice of hours most politic to woo, 260 And used his deed as one might use the sun, To ripen unmellow 'd fruit; and from the core Of Katie's gratitude hop'd yet to nurse A flow'r all to his liking—Katie's love. But Katie's mind was like the plain, broad shield 265 Of a table di'mond, nor had a score of sides; And in its shield, so precious and so plain, Was cut, thro' all its clear depths—Max's name. And so she said him "Nay" at last, in words Of such true-sounding silver that he knew 270 He might not win her at the present hour, But smil'd and thought—"I go, and come again! "Then shall we see. Our three-score years and ten "Are mines of treasure, if we hew them deep, "Nor stop too long in choosing out our tools!" 275