THE SPIRIT OF HIDDEN PLACES.[1]
Over the mountain's shoulder, round the unweathered cape,
In lands beyond the sky-line, there hides a nameless shape,—
Whether of fiend or goddess no mortal well may know;
But when she speaks—with flushing cheeks, they one by one must go.
To men in far old cities, scanning the curious chart,
Her voice would sound at midnight, like music in the heart;
Across the wrinkled parchment a glory seemed to fall,
And pageants pass like shapes in glass along the pictured wall.
She led the sails of Lisbon beyond the Afric shore,
Winning a world of wonders by seas unknown before.
She watched the sturdy captains of Holland's India fleet
Planting their post on that grim coast where the two oceans meet.
Yea, and in earlier ages, what ghostly race were they
Who left the eastward waters to tread the inland way?
- ↑ For permission to include these selections from Mr. Fallaw's poems, the Editor is indebted to Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Ltd., the owners of the copyright.
