_Northumbria.--A Dirge._
Dirge the sorrows by time made dim:
_Seas are sullen in rain and mist._
Regret the woes that behind us swim:
_Sullen's the north and grey the east._
Black boats speck the horizon's rim:
_The north is heavy and grey the east._
They plash to shore in unison grim:
_The breakers roar through rain and mist._
Ah! the ravening Dane of old!
_Joys are born of time and sorrow._
He was beautiful, cruel and bold:
_Death yesterday is life to-morrow._
The slain lie stark on bented mounds:
_Winds are calling in rain and mist._
There's blood and smoke and wide red wounds,
And black boats make to north and east.
Through murky weltering seas they row:
_Dirge the eyes their deeds made dim._
Wives at their conning smile and glow,
And hail them on the horizon's rim.
There's peace on low mounds and shallow dells,
Yellow rag-wort and sea-reed grey,
And thrumming and booming of village bells:
_Dirge the lives of that faded day._