Page:Poems Cook.djvu/26

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TRACY DE VORE AND HUBERT GREY.
He calls aloud: "Hist, Hubert Grey!
Quick, back with me on my gallant bay;
Why have ye kept so long away?
The darling heir is dying fast;
This day, this hour, may be his last;—
Come, haste thee, quick, I say !"

The door flings back-the herdsman's wife
Comes forth with wondering look;
"Tis strange!" she cries, "three hours ago
He started, with his staff and how,
And the castle way he took!

"He talk'd of gathering for the heir
A bunch of wild flowers, sweet and rare—
He talk'd of climbing Morna's height,
Where the large blue-bells grow;
They overhang-yes, yes-oh heaven!
That dark ravine below!

"Hubert! my child! where art thou gone?
Thy mother calls to thee!"
No answer!" To the rock!" she cries—
"On, Oswald! on, with me!"

Together, up the craggy path,
Speed Oswald and the herdsman's wife:
She calls and listens—calls again—
Her heart with fear is rife.

And Oswald gives the well-known sign;
He whistles shrill and clear;
He winds his horn, and blows the blast,
That Hubert loved to hear.

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