50
POEMS.
EXILE.
EN may be banished, and a blood-price set,Tracking their helpless steps in every land,
Arming against their life each base man's hand,
But light and air and memory are met
In holy league, to help and save them yet,
From all of death which souls cannot withstand:
The subtlest cruelty which ever planned,
Can never make them pray they may forget
Because they are forgotten.
They may go,
Driven of earth and tossed by salt sea's foam,
Till every breath one slow dull pain become;
It is not exile. Only exiles know:
Nor distance makes, nor nearness saves the blow;
The exile had of exile died at home.
MY SHIP.
Y brothers' ships sail out by night, by day;My brothers' feet run merry on the shore,
They need not weep, believing they no more.
Shall find the loved ones who have sailed away,
So frequent go their ships, to-morrow may
See one return for them.
The ship that bore
My loved from me lies where she lay before;
My heart grows sick within me as I pray
