The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter

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The Collected Poems of

Dora Sigerson Shorter

THE COLLECTED POEMS

The Phantom Deer

THE PHANTOM DEER

“Do you hunt alone to-day, O Red Richard! Pray you tell me, do you hunt all your lone?” “Ay, I am for the chase, little cousin, And wish no other spearing save my own.”

“And whither are you going, O Red Richard! That I may from the terrace watch your way?” “All deep within the magic woods of Toonagh, It is there that my hunting is to-day.”

He vaulted to the saddle of his palfrey, And laid across his arm the bridle-rein; And he drew her to his knee, all fair and rosy, Laughed—“A kiss, child, to bring me home again.”

Then he rode on all so gay, so forgetting, His light kiss as a flame upon her cheek; But she went back alone into her chamber, There to weep like her tender heart would break.

“O my love! though you love me not, Red Richard, As you ride with your heart all whole and gay”— She drew from her breast a magic potion, Saying, “Sweet will your hunting be to-day.”

“Three drops for you I drink, O Cousin Richard! Three drops that you may have your heart's desire; As a white deer I shall spring the glades before you. Right merry shall you follow till you tire.”

Now came upon the pathway of Red Richard, As he rode through the arbours of the wood, A white doe, so beautiful and trembling That all disarmed and wondering he stood.

“Very sweet you are and fair,” said Red Richard, “Pretty doe, like a woman soft and white; I could swear yours were the dark eyes of my cousin That gaze with the sad mystery of night.”

Then he laughed, and the deer, all quickly turning, Sprang before him through the glades deep and green; Hot, he followed with his spear ever ready— Oh, such hunting as this was never seen!

He followed her all fast by stream and valley, He followed her all close through bog and briar; Thrice she lured him round the woods by his castle, But vanished ere he had his red desire.

And he rode home all slow and heavy-hearted, And from his weary steed he flung him down; There he saw on the terrace watching for him A little maid all clad in snowy gown.

And he cried, “Come you hither, little cousin, I swear that it was one as fair as you, Clad in white, with her eyes as dark and splendid, Who has fooled me so the glowing morning through.

“I promise to you, pretty,” laughed Red Richard, “To-morrow I shall bring her to your feet”; Then she said, smiling low, the little cousin, “Oh, to-morrow may your hunting be as sweet!”

When the dawn was pale and young came Red Richard Through his castle gate into the magic wood; And there upon his path, aloof and trembling, The slender doe all palpitating stood.

And he chased her then by rock and by river, He chased her long by meadow and by hill: Thrice she took him through the gardens of his castle, But she vanished ere his spear had had its will.

And so home, foiled and furious, rode Red Richard; He flung himself all weary in his chair, And beside him came the white little maiden, Saying, “Cousin, was your hunting very fair?”

Then he laughed. “But to-morrow I shall win her, Though she go where no foot has ever been. To your feet will I bring her, pretty cousin; Oh, such hunting as mine was never seen!”

Up at dawn, glad and eager, rose Red Richard; The quickest steed in all the land had he, And he rode to the magic woods of Toonagh— There the white doe was grazing peacefully.

And then upon the tender moss behind her, So softly and so swiftly did he ride, Then she bounded but a pace from her resting Ere his hot spear was red within her side.

And he tracked her through the mist and through shadow, He followed the wet crimson on his way; And he vowed he would have her dead or living, Or follow her until the Judgment Day.

All red was the pathway to his castle, And all eager and full fierce was his quest, Till he came upon the corpse of his cousin— With his sharp spear deep buried in her breast.

So it is that the magic woods of Toonagh Are haunted by the spirit of a deer: She wanders by the castle of Red Richard— Within her side the wounding of a spear.

The Rape of the Baron's Wine

THE RAPE OF THE BARON'S WINE

Who was stealing the Baron's wine, Golden sherry and port so old, Precious, I wot, as drops of gold? Lone to-night he came to dine,

Flung himself in his oaken chair, Kicked the hound that whined for bread; “God I the thief shall swing!” he said, Thrust his hand through his ruffled hair.

Bolt and bar and double chain Held secure the cellar door; And the watchman placed before, Kept a faithful watch in vain.

Every day the story came, “Master, come! I hear it drip!” The wine is wet on the robber's lip, Who the robber, none could name.

All the folk in County Clare Found a task for every day By the Baron's gate to stray. Came to gossip, stayed to stare.

Nothing here to satisfy Souls for tragedy awake; Just the castle by the lake. Calmest spot beneath the sky.

But the whispered story grew, When the Baron went to dine, That a devil shared his wine, Had his soul in danger too.

Every morn the Baron rose More morose and full of age; Passed the day in sullen rage, Barred his gates on friends or foes.

Lone to-night he came to dine, Struck the hound that asked a share, Heard a step upon the stair— “Come, the thief is at your wine!”

Baron of Killowen keep Running down the vaulted way. To the cellar dark by day, Took the ten steps at a leap.

There he listened with the throng Of frighted servants at the door, He heard the wine drip on the floor. And sea-mew's laughter loud and long.

Of oaken beam, of bolt and chain They freed the door, and crowded through, Their eyes a horror claimed in vain, Nor ghost nor devil met their view.

They searched behind the hogshead, where The watchful spider spied and span; They sighed to see the wine that ran A crimson torrent, wasting there.

They even searched the gloomy well That legend said rose from the lake; They saw bright bubbles rise and break, But nothing stranger here befell.

The Baron swore—the Baron said, “Now all be gone, alone I'll stay, There shall not rise another day Without this thief, alive or dead.”

So still he stood, no sound was there. But wasting wine fell drop and drip; Save that, the silence seemed to slip Its threatening fingers through his hair.

And then at last an echo flew, The splash of waters thrown apart; He cursed the beating of his heart Because the thief was listening too.

The slipping scrape of scales he hears. And sea-mew laughter, loud and sweet; He dares not move his frightened feet. His pulse beats with a thousand fears.

At that strange monster in the gloom He points his pistol quick, and fires; Before the powder spark expires He hears a sea-bird's scream of doom.

He saw one gleam of foam-white arms. Of sea-green eyes, of sloak brown hair; He had a glance to find her fair. When he had slain her thousand charms.

The Baron of Killowen slew A strange sea-maiden, young and fair; And all the folk in county Clare Will tell you that the tale is true.

And when the Baron came to dine, His guests could never understand. That he should say, with glass in hand, “I would the thief were at my wine!”

The Woman Who Went to Hell

THE WOMAN WHO WENT TO HELL

AN IRISH LEGEND

Young Dermod stood by his mother's side, And he spake right stern and cold; “Now, why do you weep and wail,” he said, “And joy from my bride withhold?

“And why do you keen and cry,” said he, “So loud on my marriage day? The wedding guests they now eager wait, All clad in their rich array.

“The priest is ready with book and stole, And you do this grievous thing: You keep me back from the altar rail— My bride from her wedding ring.”

His mother she rose, and she dried her tears, She took him by his right hand— “The cause,” she said, "of my grief and pain Too soon must you understand.

“Oh, one-and-twenty long years ago I walked in your father's farm, I broke a bough from a ripe peach-tree, And carried it on my arm.

“My heart was light as a thistle-seed— I had but been wed a year— I dreamt of joy that would soon be mine— A babe in my arms so dear.

“There came to me there a stranger man, And these are the words he spake: ‘The fruit you carry I fain would buy, I pray you my gold to take.’

“The fruit I carried he then did buy— You lying beneath my heart— I tended to him the ripe peach-bough He tore the gold branch apart.

“He whispered then in my frightened ear The name of the Evil One, ‘And this have I bought to-day,’ he said— The soul of your unborn son.

“‘The fruit you carry, which I did buy, Will ripen before I claim; And when the bells for his wedding ring Again you shall hear my name.’”

Now Dermod rose from his mother's side, And all loud and long laughed he. He bore her down to the wedding-guests, All sorrowful still was she.

“Now, cry no more, sweet mother,” he said, “For you are a doleful sight And who is there in the banquet-hall Can claim my soul to-night?”

Then one rose up from the wedding throng. But his face no man could see, And he said, “Now bid your dear farewell, For your soul belongs to me.”

Young Dermod stood like a stricken man. His mother she swooned away; But his love ran quick to the stranger's side. And to him she this did say:—

“If you will let his young soul go free, I will serve you true and well, For seven long years to be your slave In the bitterest place of hell.”

“Seven long years, if you be my slave, I will let his soul go free.” The stranger drew her then by the hand, And into the night went he.

Seven long years did she serve him true By the blazing gates of hell, And on every soul that entered in The tears of her sorrow fell.

Seven long years did she keep the place, To open the doors accurst, And every soul that her tear-drops knew — It would neither burn nor thirst.

And once she let in her father dear. And once passed her brother through, Once came a friend she had loved full well, Oh, bitter it was to do!

On the last day of the seven long years She stood by her master's knee — “A boon, a boon for the work well done I pray that you grant to me.

“A boon, a boon, that I carry forth What treasure my strength can bring.” “That you may do,” said the Evil One, “And all for a little thing.

“All you can carry you may take forth By serving me seven years more.” Bitter she wept for the world and love. But took her sad place by the door.

Seven long years did she serve him well Until the last day was done, And all the souls that she had let in, They clung to her one by one.

And all the souls that she had let through They clung to her dress and hair, Until the burden that she brought forth Was heavy as she could bear.

The first who stopped her upon her way Was an angel with sword aflame, “The Lord has sent for your load,” he said, “St. Michael it is my name.”

The woman drew back his gown of white, And the cloven hoof did see. “Oh, God, be with me to-night,” she cried, “For bitter my sorrows be.

“I will not give it to you,” she wept, Quick grasping her burden tight; And all the souls that surrounded her Clung closer in dire affright.

The next who stopped her upon her way Was a maid all fair to see, And “Sister, your load is great,” she said, “So give it, I pray, to me.”

“The Virgin, I am, God sent me forth That you to your love might go,” The woman she saw the phantom's eyes And paled at their fierce red glow:

“I will not give it to you,” said she, And wept full many a tear. And all the souls that her burden made Cried out in desperate fear.

The third who met her upon her way Was a Man with face so fair: She knelt her down at his wounded feet, And she laid her burden there.

“Oh I will give it to You” she said, And fell in a swoon so deep, The flying souls and their cries of joy Did not wake her from her sleep.

Seven long days did her slumber last, And, oh, but her dream was sweet, She thought she wandered in God's far land, The bliss of her hopes complete!

And when she woke on the seventh day To her love's home did she go. And there she met neither man nor maid Who ever her face did know.

And lo! she saw set a wedding feast, And tall by her own love's side There leaned a maiden, all young and fair, Who never should be his bride.

“A drink, a drink, my little page boy, A drink I do pray you bring.” She took the goblet up in her hand, And dropped in her golden ring.

“He who would marry, my little page, I pray he may drink with me, ‘To the old true love he has forgot,’ And this must his toasting be.”

When her false lover had got the cup He drained it both deep and dry, “To my dead love that I mourned so long, I would that she now were nigh.”

He took from the cup the golden ring, And he turned it in his hand; He said, “Whoever has sent this charm I cannot her power withstand.”

“Oh she is weary, and sad, and old,” The little page boy replied; But Dermod strode through the startled guests, And stood by his own love's side.

He took her up in his two strong arms, And “Have you come home?” he said, “Twice seven long years I mourned you well As silent among the dead.”

He kissed her twice on her faded cheek, And thrice on her snow-white hair. “And this is my own true wife,” he said To the guests who gathered there.

“Oh she is withered and old,” they cried, “And her hair is pale as snow. 'Twere better you took the fair young girl, And let the sad old love go.”

“I will not marry the fair young girl. No woman I wed but this, The sweet white rose of her cheek,” said he, “Shall redden beneath my kiss.

“There is no beauty in all the land That can with her face compare.” He led her up to the table head. And set her beside him there.

My Lady's Slipper

MY LADY'S SLIPPER

A TRUE STORY

I

I am a man who hath known trouble, O'Ruarc of the Lake. On my life's glass joy rose as a bubble To glitter and break.

She laid in mine her hands long and slender, So softly sweet, Little curls on her head tasselled like tender Gold autumn wheat.

Brown leaves around her whirling and falling, Blown to her cheek. I, with my heart for her loud in its calling, Still could not speak!

Wife of my foe thus pleading before me, There seemed no wrong: With my mad passions that stifled and tore me Who could be strong?

What had she shown me there in her weeping, On her white arm? Black, cruel bruises vividly keeping Tales of alarm.

What had she begged me there in the morning, God judge me well? What had she said, that I without warning Struggled in Hell?

“Take me and save me, be my defender, Hide me away.” She from my old foe bid me befriend her. How could I stay?

Here was revenge for the old bitter wronging, Here to my hand; Here was the love of my life—of my longing, Could I withstand?

Thrice did I turn to fly from my danger, God judge me true, Vowed that my love to her love was a stranger. This did I do.

But when I looked on her, heard her calling, Kneeling so low, There the sun's sheen on golden locks falling. How could I go?

“Dearly beloved, shaken with sorrow, Branded with blows. Which way does honour lie? think! for to-morrow Only God knows!”

One man should use her so: he in whose keeping Broken she lay; One man should love her so, see her there weeping. And turn away.

He were inhuman. Riding behind me Home did she speed. Which way did honour lie? Love did so blind me, Great was her need.

There at my door did I linger awhile Tending my horse, Saw her flit up the long steps, and her smile Bore no remorse.

On her pale brow was a look of soft peace. Upward she went; Never a glance in her welcome release Backward she bent.

Red was her cloak, and her face like a flower Dear to behold; Little red slippers she wore in that hour Buckled with gold.

Up the white steps like a flash of red flame, In through the door; Quick did I follow to tremble her name— Saw her no more.

Saw her no more from that hour—she had gone, Vanished away, Like a bright light on my lone path that shone, Then let me stray.

II

I had a neighbour—he was my friend, Since in the wood Lone our two houses were, each gable-end United stood.

This was a manor once built for a knight In days of old. But with the centuries love and their fight Squandered the gold.

So for my friend, when inheritance came Coffers were bare. Just the old keep and the weight of a name, This was his share.

Then he divided the house into two— I took a part. Now in my grief for his guidance I flew, Knowing his heart.

“At dawn he departed,” the little page said.— Time without end. Oh, on what broken wings laggard hours fled! He was my friend.

So the years passed me and shed in their flight Dust and decay; Ruin and rust on the old manor clings, Crumbling away.

Only my desolate chambers remain, Racked by the wind; All down the years go I seeking in vain— Never to find.

Vanished my love—my friend—not a cry! Leaving life's race, Like the bright meteors that slip in the sky. Leap into space.

III

The shadows are long, I crouch by the fire, Bitter with years, See all the shades of my former desire Ghostly through tears.

Down the long hall to me, weary of play, Comes my young hound; At my feet, tumbled, his dusty toy lay— What had he found?

There in the firelight glitter of gold, God make me strong! A little red slipper I tremulous hold. Lost for so long.

So musty and faded, mouldy with years, Where hidden and how! Here, after searching, much passion and tears. Come to me now.

“What is in hiding? Oh, track me the way— Find her, my hound!” Up the steep stairs he goes, eager for play, Gambolling around.

Up to the turret room, close to the wall, Barking he goes; Tears till the wainscoting crumbling falls Under his blows.

Rotten with age, here a panel unseen Slips 'neath my hand; Into the silence of love that has been, I shuddering stand.

This is the secret hidden away. Built in the wall— Between the two houses a room cold and gray, Gloomy and small.

Huddled and crumbling, stretched on the ground, Mould and decay; Dust to dust mingled, the secret is found. So here they lay.

In one embrace down the desolate years Over my head Did they lie smiling and know of my tears, Cruel and dead.

Here the grey spider had circled them o'er, Hand to hand tied, In their clasped fingers lay hidden his store, There, too, he spied.

I was the fool then who linked in that clasp Each skeleton hand; Thus!—will I be he who loosens the grasp, How was it planned?

Here is a phial: was death then so sweet, Honour or life? This was the only way lovers could meet— She was a wife.

Wrapped in death's silence, safe from my scorn; He was my friend: It was his love whom I bore home that mom, His to the end!

Was it the woman who plotted and spied, Using my heart Just for a stone there to step where the tide Kept them apart?

Was he a coward, lying lowly to wait, Giving me blame? Vain do I strike him, avenging my fate. Cursed be his name!

She was my love: did she bid him believe I for his sake Cast away honour to stoop and deceive. Bore him the stake?

He was my friend: dare I doubt him and know? What if it be Nothing he knew of her coming—the blow That fell on me?

Knowing his honour, it might be she came, Since he was still. What did she care for my torture or shame?— I served her will.

Knowing his weakness under her eyes, Boldly she flew Into his arms, hushed his blame and surprise, If this be true.

Speak to me once, for God's sake, till I know What was the worst! My friend, my beloved, did you both plan the blow Made me accurst?

Speak to me once. O dear voices, for! Wait to forgive! Tell me your secret: the echoes reply— I alone live.

Only the bark of my dog in the tower. Glad in his play; “Red was her cloak, and her face like a flower”; Hide it away!

Earl Roderick's Bride

EARL RODERICK'S BRIDE

It was the Black Earl Roderick Who rode towards the south; The frown was heavy on his brow, The sneer upon his mouth.

Behind him rode a hundred men All gay with plume and spear; But not a one did lilt a song His weary way to cheer.

So stern was Black Earl Roderick Upon his wedding day, To none spoke he a single word Who met him on his way.

And when he reached the castle old, Wherein his bride did wait, He blew three blasts upon the horn That hung beside the gate.

“Now who be you who blow so strong, And all so gaily ride?” “It is the Black Earl Roderick Who comes to claim his bride.”

“Come in, come in, Earl Roderick, Come in, the hour is late; The priest is ready in his stole, The wedding guests await.”

And then the stern Earl Roderick From his fierce steed came down; The sneer still curled upon his lip, His eyes still held the frown.

He strode right haughtily and quick Into the banquet hall, And stood among the wedding guests, The greatest of them all.

He gave scant greeting to the throng, He waved the guests aside; “Now haste, for I, Earl Roderick, Will wait long for no bride.

“And I must in the saddle be Before the night is grey; So, quickly with the marriage lines, And let us ride away.”

While spoke the great Earl Roderick There came into the hall His little bride, all trembling, As though she soon must fall.

Her mother held her snow-white hand And wept most bitterly; She whispered, “If I had my will This thing should never be.”

Her father muttered in his beard, “Thus do the clans unite; Yet were there other way, I vow, This troth they should not plight.”

And when the two were wedded one, He raised his hand and said, “This is the link that binds the clans; God's blessing on her head.”

But now the stern Earl Roderick His presence did deny; He mounted on his fretting steed With but a scant goodbye.

His bride he set before him there, And rode upon his way, And all his sullen men at arms With wedding favours gay.

And to his weary little bride He spoke no gentle word; She fluttered, weeping on his breast, Like to some wounded bird.

For in his heart the gloomy Earl Had spoke a bitter thing: “Oh, 'tis not on your hand I love To see my golden ring.

“I, wedding thus the stranger child, Keep the clans united, But set my own true love aside,— Broke the troth I plighted.”

It chanced when Black Earl Roderick Had but been wed a year, There came to him a serving-lass, Within her eye a tear.

“Alas,” she said “Earl Roderick, 'Tis well that you should know That each grey eye, lone wandering, My mistress dear doth go.

“She comes with sorrow in her eyes Home in the dawning light. My Lord, she is too weak and young To travel in the night.”

Now stern grew Black Earl Roderick, But answered not at all; He took his hunting harness down That hung upon the wall.

And quickly went he to the chase, And slowly came he back, And there he met his old sweetheart, Who stood across his track,

And, “Oh, proud Earl Roderick,” She said, “I bring to you A tale to bow your naughty head— Your mistress is untrue.

“She goes alone each night, they say, And mounts Hy-brasil hill, And there she lingers with her love Until the dawn comes chill.”

At this the stern Earl Roderick Grew paler than the dead, And bowed upon his heaving breast His proud and angry head.

“Till now,” he cried, “no stain has come Upon my honoured name. Lord, pity me, that in my time Should rise the flush of shame.”

He struck the gold spur in his steed, The wind behind him wailed; He drove the beast through stream and briar Until its strength nigh failed.

And when he reached Hy-brasil hill He searched it high and low, But ne'er a sight of his lost bride Did all his seeking show.

But there he met an ancient crone. To whom he spake his mind— “And have you seen my lady here, For her I cannot find?”

“I have not seen your lady here,” The withered dame replied; “But I have met a little lass, Who wrung her hands and cried.

“She was not clad in silken robe, Nor rode a palfrey white; She had no maidens in her train, Behind her rode no knight.

”But she crept weary up yon hill, And crouched upon the sord, I dare not think that she could be Spouse to so great a Lord.“

Now darkly frowned Earl Roderick, He turned his face away; And shame and anger in his heart Disturbed him with their sway,

For he had never cared to know What his young bride would wear; He gave her neither horse, nor hound, Nor jewels for her hair.

“And whither went this little lass. And who was by her side? I vow his blood shall drench my blade, And that before my bride.”

“There was no lover by her side; She went sad and alone, And when she reached the green hilltop She there did make her moan.

“And once her father's name she'd cry, And twice her mother's call, And thrice on Black Earl Roderick Who loved her not at all.

“And every night she came and wept. So long upon the hill, And watched the lights in her lost home Until the dawn grew chill.”

“What did you tell to her, old witch. When weeping she passed by?” “I took her pretty hand in mine And bid her not to cry.

“I traced upon her slender palm That luck was changing soon; I swore that peace would come to her Before another moon.

“I said that he who loved her well Would robe her all in silk, And bear her in a coach of gold With palfreys white as milk.

“I told, before three suns had set He'd kneel down by her side. That he she loved would love her well And she would be his bride.”

Now pallid grew Earl Roderick; He turned his charger home; Vowed in a tower he'd lock his bride. So she no more could roam.

But when he reached the castle grey He searched both high and low: But none had seen his pale lady, And none had seen her go.

There came to him a serving-maid, And in her eye a tear: “Oh, what has happened in the night? A banshee I did hear!”

There came to him his sister grey, And stern was her set face: “A curse upon the wandering feet That bring our house disgrace!”

But still the proud Earl Roderick No answer did he make. But locked his grief within his heart Until it seemed to break.

He went into his own chamber. And crouched within his chair. And lo! when he did raise his head, Behold I his bride was there!

She stood beside the open door, Her sad eyes on his face; But when he sprang to reach her side He found but empty space.