7

   Then once more, cloaked and ready, he set out,
   Tripping the footsteps of the eager boy
   Along the dappled cobbles, while the rout
   Within the tavern jeered at his employ.
   Through new-burst elm leaves filtered the white moon,
   Who peered and splashed between the twinkling boughs,
   Flooded the open spaces, and took flight
   Before tall, serried houses in platoon,
   Guarded by shadows.  Past the Custom House
   They took their hurried way in the Spring-scented night.

       8

   Before a door which fronted a canal
   The boy halted.  A dim tree-shaded spot.
   The water lapped the stones in musical
   And rhythmic tappings, and a galliot
   Slumbered at anchor with no light aboard.
   The boy knocked twice, and steps approached.  A flame
   Winked through the keyhole, then a key was turned,
   And through the open door Max went toward
   Another door, whence sound of voices came.
   He entered a large room where candelabra burned.

       9

   An aged man in quilted dressing gown
   Rose up to greet him.  "Sir," said Max, "you sent
   Your messenger to seek throughout the town
   A lawyer.  I have small accomplishment,
   But I am at your service, and my name
   Is Max Breuck, Counsellor, at your command."
   "Mynheer," replied the aged man, "obliged
   Am I, and count myself much privileged.
   I am Cornelius Kurler, and my fame
   Is better known on distant oceans than on land.

       10

   My ship has tasted water in strange seas,
   And bartered goods at still uncharted isles.
   She's oft coquetted with a tropic breeze,
   And sheered off hurricanes with jaunty smiles."
   "Tush, Kurler," here broke in the other man,
   "Enough of poetry, draw the deed and sign."
   The old man seemed to wizen at the voice,
   "My good friend, Grootver,—" he at once began.
   "No introductions, let us have some wine,
   And business, now that you at last have made your choice."

       11

   A harsh and disagreeable man he proved to be,
   This Grootver, with no single kindly thought.
   Kurler explained, his old hands nervously
   Twisting his beard.  His vessel he had bought
   From Grootver.  He had thought to soon repay
   The ducats borrowed, but an adverse wind
   Had so delayed him that his cargo brought
   But half its proper price, the very day
   He came to port he stepped ashore to find
   The market glutted and his counted profits naught.

       12

   Little by little Max made out the way
   That Grootver pressed that poor harassed old man.
   His money he must have, too long delay
   Had turned the usurer to a ruffian.
   "But let me take my ship, with many bales
   Of cotton stuffs dyed crimson, green, and blue,
   Cunningly patterned, made to suit the taste
   Of mandarin's ladies; when my battered sails
   Open for home, such stores will I bring you
   That all your former ventures will be counted waste.

       13

   Such light and foamy silks, like crinkled cream,
   And indigo more blue than sun-whipped seas,
   Spices and fragrant trees, a massive beam
   Of sandalwood, and pungent China teas,
   Tobacco, coffee!"  Grootver only laughed.
   Max heard it all, and worse than all he heard
   The deed to which the sailor gave his word.
   He shivered, 'twas as if the villain gaffed
   The old man with a boat-hook; bleeding, spent,
   He begged for life nor knew at all the road he went.

       14

   For Kurler had a daughter, young and gay,
   Carefully reared and shielded, rarely seen.
   But on one black and most unfriendly day
   Grootver had caught her as she passed between
   The kitchen and the garden.  She had run
   In fear of him, his evil leering eye,
   And when he came she, bolted in her room,
   Refused to show, though gave no reason why.
   The spinning of her future had begun,
   On quiet nights she heard the whirring of her doom.

       15

   Max mended an old goosequill by the fire,
   Loathing his work, but seeing no thing to do.
   He felt his hands were building up the pyre
   To burn two souls, and seized with vertigo
   He staggered to his chair.  Before him lay
   White paper still unspotted by a crime.
   "Now, young man, write," said Grootver in his ear.
   "`If in two years my vessel should yet stay
   From Amsterdam, I give Grootver, sometime
   A friend, my daughter for his lawful wife.'  Now swear."

       16

   And Kurler swore, a palsied, tottering sound,
   And traced his name, a shaking, wandering line.
   Then dazed he sat there, speechless from his wound.
   Grootver got up:  "Fair voyage, the brigantine!"
   He shuffled from the room, and left the house.
   His footsteps wore to silence down the street.
   At last the aged man began to rouse.
   With help he once more gained his trembling feet.
   "My daughter, Mynheer Breuck, is friendless now.
   Will you watch over her?  I ask a solemn vow."

       17

   Max laid his hand upon the old man's arm,
   "Before God, sir, I vow, when you are gone,
   So to protect your daughter from all harm
   As one man may."  Thus sorrowful, forlorn,
   The situation to Max Breuck appeared,
   He gave his promise almost without thought,
   Nor looked to see a difficulty.  "Bred
   Gently to watch a mother left alone;
   Bound by a dying father's wish, who feared
   The world's accustomed harshness when he should be dead;

       18

   Such was my case from youth, Mynheer Kurler.
   Last Winter she died also, and my days
   Are passed in work, lest I should grieve for her,
   And undo habits used to earn her praise.
   My leisure I will gladly give to see
   Your household and your daughter prosperous."
   The sailor said his thanks, but turned away.
   He could not brook that his humility,
   So little wonted, and so tremulous,
   Should first before a stranger make such great display.

       19

   "Come here to-morrow as the bells ring noon,
   I sail at the full sea, my daughter then
   I will make known to you.  'Twill be a boon
   If after I have bid good-by, and when
   Her eyeballs scorch with watching me depart,
   You bring her home again.  She lives with one
   Old serving-woman, who has brought her up.
   But that is no friend for so free a heart.
   No head to match her questions.  It is done.
   And I must sail away to come and brim her cup.

       20

   My ship's the fastest that owns Amsterdam
   As home, so not a letter can you send.
   I shall be back, before to where I am
   Another ship could reach.  Now your stipend—"
   Quickly Breuck interposed.  "When you once more
   Tread on the stones which pave our streets.—Good night!
   To-morrow I will be, at stroke of noon,
   At the great wharf."  Then hurrying, in spite
   Of cake and wine the old man pressed upon
   Him ere he went, he took his leave and shut the door.

       21

   'Twas noon in Amsterdam, the day was clear,
   And sunshine tipped the pointed roofs with gold.
   The brown canals ran liquid bronze, for here
   The sun sank deep into the waters cold.
   And every clock and belfry in the town
   Hammered, and struck, and rang.  Such peals of bells,
   To shake the sunny morning into life,
   And to proclaim the middle, and the crown,
   Of this most sparkling daytime!  The crowd swells,
   Laughing and pushing toward the quays in friendly strife.

       22

   The "Horn of Fortune" sails away to-day.
   At highest tide she lets her anchor go,
   And starts for China.  Saucy popinjay!
   Giddy in freshest paint she curtseys low,
   And beckons to her boats to let her start.
   Blue is the ocean, with a flashing breeze.
   The shining waves are quick to take her part.
   They push and spatter her.  Her sails are loose,
   Her tackles hanging, waiting men to seize
   And haul them taut, with chanty-singing, as they choose.

       23

   At the great wharf's edge Mynheer Kurler stands,
   And by his side, his daughter, young Christine.
   Max Breuck is there, his hat held in his hands,
   Bowing before them both.  The brigantine
   Bounces impatient at the long delay,
   Curvets and jumps, a cable's length from shore.
   A heavy galliot unloads on the walls
   Round, yellow cheeses, like gold cannon balls
   Stacked on the stones in pyramids.  Once more
   Kurler has kissed Christine, and now he is away.

       24

   Christine stood rigid like a frozen stone,
   Her hands wrung pale in effort at control.
   Max moved aside and let her be alone,
   For grief exacts each penny of its toll.
   The dancing boat tossed on the glinting sea.
   A sun-path swallowed it in flaming light,
   Then, shrunk a cockleshell, it came again
   Upon the other side.  Now on the lee
   It took the "Horn of Fortune".  Straining sight
   Could see it hauled aboard, men pulling on the crane.

       25

   Then up above the eager brigantine,
   Along her slender masts, the sails took flight,
   Were sheeted home, and ropes were coiled.  The shine
   Of the wet anchor, when its heavy weight
   Rose splashing to the deck.  These things they saw,
   Christine and Max, upon the crowded quay.
   They saw the sails grow white, then blue in shade,
   The ship had turned, caught in a windy flaw
   She glided imperceptibly away,
   Drew farther off and in the bright sky seemed to fade.

       26

   Home, through the emptying streets, Max took Christine,
   Who would have hid her sorrow from his gaze.
   Before the iron gateway, clasped between
   Each garden wall, he stopped.  She, in amaze,
   Asked, "Do you enter not then, Mynheer Breuck?
   My father told me of your courtesy.
   Since I am now your charge, 'tis meet for me
   To show such hospitality as maiden may,
   Without disdaining rules must not be broke.
   Katrina will have coffee, and she bakes today."

       27

   She straight unhasped the tall, beflowered gate.
   Curled into tendrils, twisted into cones
   Of leaves and roses, iron infoliate,
   It guards the pleasance, and its stiffened bones
   Are budded with much peering at the rows,
   And beds, and arbours, which it keeps inside.
   Max started at the beauty, at the glare
   Of tints.  At either end was set a wide
   Path strewn with fine, red gravel, and such shows
   Of tulips in their splendour flaunted everywhere!

       28

   From side to side, midway each path, there ran
   A longer one which cut the space in two.
   And, like a tunnel some magician
   Has wrought in twinkling green, an alley grew,
   Pleached thick and walled with apple trees; their flowers
   Incensed the garden, and when Autumn came
   The plump and heavy apples crowding stood
   And tapped against the arbour.  Then the dame
   Katrina shook them down, in pelting showers
   They plunged to earth, and died transformed to sugared food.

       29

   Against the high, encircling walls were grapes,
   Nailed close to feel the baking of the sun
   From glowing bricks.  Their microscopic shapes
   Half hidden by serrated leaves.  And one
   Old cherry tossed its branches near the door.
   Bordered along the wall, in beds between,
   Flickering, streaming, nodding in the air,
   The pride of all the garden, there were more
   Tulips than Max had ever dreamed or seen.
   They jostled, mobbed, and danced.  Max stood at helpless stare.

       30

   "Within the arbour, Mynheer Breuck, I'll bring
   Coffee and cakes, a pipe, and Father's best
   Tobacco, brought from countries harbouring
   Dawn's earliest footstep.  Wait."  With girlish zest
   To please her guest she flew.  A moment more
   She came again, with her old nurse behind.
   Then, sitting on the bench and knitting fast,
   She talked as someone with a noble store
   Of hidden fancies, blown upon the wind,
   Eager to flutter forth and leave their silent past.

       31

   The little apple leaves above their heads
   Let fall a quivering sunshine.  Quiet, cool,
   In blossomed boughs they sat.  Beyond, the beds
   Of tulips blazed, a proper vestibule
   And antechamber to the rainbow.  Dyes
   Of prismed richness:  Carmine.  Madder.  Blues
   Tinging dark browns to purple.  Silvers flushed
   To amethyst and tinct with gold.  Round eyes
   Of scarlet, spotting tender saffron hues.
   Violets sunk to blacks, and reds in orange crushed.

       32

   Of every pattern and in every shade.
   Nacreous, iridescent, mottled, checked.
   Some purest sulphur-yellow, others made
   An ivory-white with disks of copper flecked.
   Sprinkled and striped, tasselled, or keenest edged.
   Striated, powdered, freckled, long or short.
   They bloomed, and seemed strange wonder-moths new-fledged,
   Born of the spectrum wedded to a flame.
   The shade within the arbour made a port
   To o'ertaxed eyes, its still, green twilight rest became.

       33

   Her knitting-needles clicked and Christine talked,
   This child matured to woman unaware,
   The first time left alone.  Now dreams once balked
   Found utterance.  Max thought her very fair.
   Beneath her cap her ornaments shone gold,
   And purest gold they were.  Kurler was rich
   And heedful.  Her old maiden aunt had died
   Whose darling care she was.  Now, growing bold,
   She asked, had Max a sister?  Dropped a stitch
   At her own candour.  Then she paused and softly sighed.

       34

   Two years was long!  She loved her father well,
   But fears she had not.  He had always been
   Just sailed or sailing.  And she must not dwell
   On sad thoughts, he had told her so, and seen
   Her smile at parting.  But she sighed once more.
   Two years was long; 'twas not one hour yet!
   Mynheer Grootver she would not see at all.
   Yes, yes, she knew, but ere the date so set,
   The "Horn of Fortune" would be at the wall.
   When Max had bid farewell, she watched him from the door.

       35

   The next day, and the next, Max went to ask
   The health of Jufvrouw Kurler, and the news:
   Another tulip blown, or the great task
   Of gathering petals which the high wind strews;
   The polishing of floors, the pictured tiles
   Well scrubbed, and oaken chairs most deftly oiled.
   Such things were Christine's world, and his was she
   Winter drew near, his sun was in her smiles.
   Another Spring, and at his law he toiled,
   Unspoken hope counselled a wise efficiency.

       36

   Max Breuck was honour's soul, he knew himself
   The guardian of this girl; no more, no less.
   As one in charge of guineas on a shelf
   Loose in a china teapot, may confess
   His need, but may not borrow till his friend
   Comes back to give.  So Max, in honour, said
   No word of love or marriage; but the days
   He clipped off on his almanac.  The end
   Must come!  The second year, with feet of lead,
   Lagged slowly by till Spring had plumped the willow sprays.

       37

   Two years had made Christine a woman grown,
   With dignity and gently certain pride.
   But all her childhood fancies had not flown,
   Her thoughts in lovely dreamings seemed to glide.
   Max was her trusted friend, did she confess
   A closer happiness?  Max could not tell.
   Two years were over and his life he found
   Sphered and complete.  In restless eagerness
   He waited for the "Horn of Fortune".  Well
   Had he his promise kept, abating not one pound.

       38

   Spring slipped away to Summer.  Still no glass
   Sighted the brigantine.  Then Grootver came
   Demanding Jufvrouw Kurler.  His trespass
   Was justified, for he had won the game.
   Christine begged time, more time!  Midsummer went,
   And Grootver waxed impatient.  Still the ship
   Tarried.  Christine, betrayed and weary, sank
   To dreadful terrors.  One day, crazed, she sent
   For Max.  "Come quickly," said her note, "I skip
   The worst distress until we meet.  The world is blank."

       39

   Through the long sunshine of late afternoon
   Max went to her.  In the pleached alley, lost
   In bitter reverie, he found her soon.
   And sitting down beside her, at the cost
   Of all his secret, "Dear," said he, "what thing
   So suddenly has happened?"  Then, in tears,
   She told that Grootver, on the following morn,
   Would come to marry her, and shuddering:
   "I will die rather, death has lesser fears."
   Max felt the shackles drop from the oath which he had sworn.

       40

   "My Dearest One, the hid joy of my heart!
   I love you, oh! you must indeed have known.
   In strictest honour I have played my part;
   But all this misery has overthrown
   My scruples.  If you love me, marry me
   Before the sun has dipped behind those trees.
   You cannot be wed twice, and Grootver, foiled,
   Can eat his anger.  My care it shall be
   To pay your father's debt, by such degrees
   As I can compass, and for years I've greatly toiled.

       41

   This is not haste, Christine, for long I've known
   My love, and silence forced upon my lips.
   I worship you with all the strength I've shown
   In keeping faith."  With pleading finger tips
   He touched her arm.  "Christine!  Beloved!  Think.
   Let us not tempt the future.  Dearest, speak,
   I love you.  Do my words fall too swift now?
   They've been in leash so long upon the brink."
   She sat quite still, her body loose and weak.
   Then into him she melted, all her soul at flow.

       42

   And they were married ere the westering sun
   Had disappeared behind the garden trees.
   The evening poured on them its benison,
   And flower-scents, that only night-time frees,
   Rose up around them from the beamy ground,
   Silvered and shadowed by a tranquil moon.
   Within the arbour, long they lay embraced,
   In such enraptured sweetness as they found
   Close-partnered each to each, and thinking soon
   To be enwoven, long ere night to morning faced.

       43

   At last Max spoke, "Dear Heart, this night is ours,
   To watch it pale, together, into dawn,
   Pressing our souls apart like opening flowers
   Until our lives, through quivering bodies drawn,
   Are mingled and confounded.  Then, far spent,
   Our eyes will close to undisturbed rest.
   For that desired thing I leave you now.
   To pinnacle this day's accomplishment,
   By telling Grootver that a bootless quest
   Is his, and that his schemes have met a knock-down blow."

       44

   But Christine clung to him with sobbing cries,
   Pleading for love's sake that he leave her not.
   And wound her arms about his knees and thighs
   As he stood over her.  With dread, begot
   Of Grootver's name, and silence, and the night,
   She shook and trembled.  Words in moaning plaint
   Wooed him to stay.  She feared, she knew not why,
   Yet greatly feared.  She seemed some anguished saint
   Martyred by visions.  Max Breuck soothed her fright
   With wisdom, then stepped out under the cooling sky.

       45

   But at the gate once more she held him close
   And quenched her heart again upon his lips.
   "My Sweetheart, why this terror?  I propose
   But to be gone one hour!  Evening slips
   Away, this errand must be done."  "Max!  Max!
   First goes my father, if I lose you now!"
   She grasped him as in panic lest she drown.
   Softly he laughed, "One hour through the town
   By moonlight!  That's no place for foul attacks.
   Dearest, be comforted, and clear that troubled brow.

       46

   One hour, Dear, and then, no more alone.
   We front another day as man and wife.
   I shall be back almost before I'm gone,
   And midnight shall anoint and crown our life."
   Then through the gate he passed.  Along the street
   She watched his buttons gleaming in the moon.
   He stopped to wave and turned the garden wall.
   Straight she sank down upon a mossy seat.
   Her senses, mist-encircled by a swoon,
   Swayed to unconsciousness beneath its wreathing pall.

       47

   Briskly Max walked beside the still canal.
   His step was firm with purpose.  Not a jot
   He feared this meeting, nor the rancorous gall
   Grootver would spit on him who marred his plot.
   He dreaded no man, since he could protect
   Christine.  His wife!  He stopped and laughed aloud.
   His starved life had not fitted him for joy.
   It strained him to the utmost to reject
   Even this hour with her.  His heart beat loud.
   "Damn Grootver, who can force my time to this employ!"

       48

   He laughed again.  What boyish uncontrol
   To be so racked.  Then felt his ticking watch.
   In half an hour Grootver would know the whole.
   And he would be returned, lifting the latch
   Of his own gate, eager to take Christine
   And crush her to his lips.  How bear delay?
   He broke into a run.  In front, a line
   Of candle-light banded the cobbled street.
   Hilverdink's tavern!  Not for many a day
   Had he been there to take his old, accustomed seat.

       49

   "Why, Max!  Stop, Max!"  And out they came pell-mell,
   His old companions.  "Max, where have you been?
   Not drink with us?  Indeed you serve us well!
   How many months is it since we have seen
   You here?  Jan, Jan, you slow, old doddering goat!
   Here's Mynheer Breuck come back again at last,
   Stir your old bones to welcome him.  Fie, Max.
   Business!  And after hours!  Fill your throat;
   Here's beer or brandy.  Now, boys, hold him fast.
   Put down your cane, dear man.  What really vicious whacks!"

       50

   They forced him to a seat, and held him there,
   Despite his anger, while the hideous joke
   Was tossed from hand to hand.  Franz poured with care
   A brimming glass of whiskey.  "Here, we've broke
   Into a virgin barrel for you, drink!
   Tut!  Tut!  Just hear him!  Married!  Who, and when?
   Married, and out on business.  Clever Spark!
   Which lie's the likeliest?  Come, Max, do think."
   Swollen with fury, struggling with these men,
   Max cursed hilarity which must needs have a mark.

       51

   Forcing himself to steadiness, he tried
   To quell the uproar, told them what he dared
   Of his own life and circumstance.  Implied
   Most urgent matters, time could ill be spared.
   In jesting mood his comrades heard his tale,
   And scoffed at it.  He felt his anger more
   Goaded and bursting;—"Cowards!  Is no one loth
   To mock at duty—"  Here they called for ale,
   And forced a pipe upon him.  With an oath
   He shivered it to fragments on the earthen floor.

       52

   Sobered a little by his violence,
   And by the host who begged them to be still,
   Nor injure his good name, "Max, no offence,"
   They blurted, "you may leave now if you will."
   "One moment, Max," said Franz.  "We've gone too far.
   I ask your pardon for our foolish joke.
   It started in a wager ere you came.
   The talk somehow had fall'n on drugs, a jar
   I brought from China, herbs the natives smoke,
   Was with me, and I thought merely to play a game.

       53

   Its properties are to induce a sleep
   Fraught with adventure, and the flight of time
   Is inconceivable in swiftness.  Deep
   Sunken in slumber, imageries sublime
   Flatter the senses, or some fearful dream
   Holds them enmeshed.  Years pass which on the clock
   Are but so many seconds.  We agreed
   That the next man who came should prove the scheme;
   And you were he.  Jan handed you the crock.
   Two whiffs!  And then the pipe was broke, and you were freed."

       54

   "It is a lie, a damned, infernal lie!"
   Max Breuck was maddened now.  "Another jest
   Of your befuddled wits.  I know not why
   I am to be your butt.  At my request
   You'll choose among you one who'll answer for
   Your most unseasonable mirth.  Good-night
   And good-by,—gentlemen.  You'll hear from me."
   But Franz had caught him at the very door,
   "It is no lie, Max Breuck, and for your plight
   I am to blame.  Come back, and we'll talk quietly.

       55

   You have no business, that is why we laughed,
   Since you had none a few minutes ago.
   As to your wedding, naturally we chaffed,
   Knowing the length of time it takes to do
   A simple thing like that in this slow world.
   Indeed, Max, 'twas a dream.  Forgive me then.
   I'll burn the drug if you prefer."  But Breuck
   Muttered and stared,—"A lie."  And then he hurled,
   Distraught, this word at Franz:  "Prove it.  And when
   It's proven, I'll believe.  That thing shall be your work.

       56

   I'll give you just one week to make your case.
   On August thirty-first, eighteen-fourteen,
   I shall require your proof."  With wondering face
   Franz cried, "A week to August, and fourteen
   The year!  You're mad, 'tis April now.
   April, and eighteen-twelve."  Max staggered, caught
   A chair,—"April two years ago!  Indeed,
   Or you, or I, are mad.  I know not how
   Either could blunder so."  Hilverdink brought
   "The Amsterdam Gazette", and Max was forced to read.

       57

   "Eighteen hundred and twelve," in largest print;
   And next to it, "April the twenty-first."
   The letters smeared and jumbled, but by dint
   Of straining every nerve to meet the worst,
   He read it, and into his pounding brain
   Tumbled a horror.  Like a roaring sea
   Foreboding shipwreck, came the message plain:
   "This is two years ago!  What of Christine?"
   He fled the cellar, in his agony
   Running to outstrip Fate, and save his holy shrine.

       58

   The darkened buildings echoed to his feet
   Clap-clapping on the pavement as he ran.
   Across moon-misted squares clamoured his fleet
   And terror-winged steps.  His heart began
   To labour at the speed.  And still no sign,
   No flutter of a leaf against the sky.
   And this should be the garden wall, and round
   The corner, the old gate.  No even line
   Was this!  No wall!  And then a fearful cry
   Shattered the stillness.  Two stiff houses filled the ground.

       59

   Shoulder to shoulder, like dragoons in line,
   They stood, and Max knew them to be the ones
   To right and left of Kurler's garden.  Spine
   Rigid next frozen spine.  No mellow tones
   Of ancient gilded iron, undulate,
   Expanding in wide circles and broad curves,
   The twisted iron of the garden gate,
   Was there.  The houses touched and left no space
   Between.  With glassy eyes and shaking nerves
   Max gazed.  Then mad with fear, fled still, and left that place.

       60

   Stumbling and panting, on he ran, and on.
   His slobbering lips could only cry, "Christine!
   My Dearest Love!  My Wife!  Where are you gone?
   What future is our past?  What saturnine,
   Sardonic devil's jest has bid us live
   Two years together in a puff of smoke?
   It was no dream, I swear it!  In some star,
   Or still imprisoned in Time's egg, you give
   Me love.  I feel it.  Dearest Dear, this stroke
   Shall never part us, I will reach to where you are."

       61

   His burning eyeballs stared into the dark.
   The moon had long been set.  And still he cried:
   "Christine!  My Love!  Christine!"  A sudden spark
   Pricked through the gloom, and shortly Max espied
   With his uncertain vision, so within
   Distracted he could scarcely trust its truth,
   A latticed window where a crimson gleam
   Spangled the blackness, and hung from a pin,
   An iron crane, were three gilt balls.  His youth
   Had taught their meaning, now they closed upon his dream.

       62

   Softly he knocked against the casement, wide
   It flew, and a cracked voice his business there
   Demanded.  The door opened, and inside
   Max stepped.  He saw a candle held in air
   Above the head of a gray-bearded Jew.
   "Simeon Isaacs, Mynheer, can I serve
   You?"  "Yes, I think you can.  Do you keep arms?
   I want a pistol."  Quick the old man grew
   Livid.  "Mynheer, a pistol!  Let me swerve
   You from your purpose.  Life brings often false alarms—"

       63

   "Peace, good old Isaacs, why should you suppose
   My purpose deadly.  In good truth I've been
   Blest above others.  You have many rows
   Of pistols it would seem.  Here, this shagreen
   Case holds one that I fancy.  Silvered mounts
   Are to my taste.  These letters `C. D. L.'
   Its former owner?  Dead, you say.  Poor Ghost!
   'Twill serve my turn though—"  Hastily he counts
   The florins down upon the table.  "Well,
   Good-night, and wish me luck for your to-morrow's toast."

       64

   Into the night again he hurried, now
   Pale and in haste; and far beyond the town
   He set his goal.  And then he wondered how
   Poor C. D. L. had come to die.  "It's grown
   Handy in killing, maybe, this I've bought,
   And will work punctually."  His sorrow fell
   Upon his senses, shutting out all else.
   Again he wept, and called, and blindly fought
   The heavy miles away.  "Christine.  I'm well.
   I'm coming.  My Own Wife!"  He lurched with failing pulse.

       65

   Along the dyke the keen air blew in gusts,
   And grasses bent and wailed before the wind.
   The Zuider Zee, which croons all night and thrusts
   Long stealthy fingers up some way to find
   And crumble down the stones, moaned baffled.  Here
   The wide-armed windmills looked like gallows-trees.
   No lights were burning in the distant thorps.
   Max laid aside his coat.  His mind, half-clear,
   Babbled "Christine!"  A shot split through the breeze.
   The cold stars winked and glittered at his chilling corpse.

   Dear Virgin Mary, far away,
   Look down from Heaven while I pray.
   Open your golden casement high,
   And lean way out beyond the sky.
   I am so little, it may be
   A task for you to harken me.

   O Lady Mary, I have bought
   A candle, as the good priest taught.
   I only had one penny, so
   Old Goody Jenkins let it go.
   It is a little bent, you see.
   But Oh, be merciful to me!

   I have not anything to give,
   Yet I so long for him to live.
   A year ago he sailed away
   And not a word unto today.
   I've strained my eyes from the sea-wall
   But never does he come at all.

   Other ships have entered port
   Their voyages finished, long or short,
   And other sailors have received
   Their welcomes, while I sat and grieved.
   My heart is bursting for his hail,
   O Virgin, let me spy his sail.

       Hull down on the edge of a sun-soaked sea
       Sparkle the bellying sails for me.
       Taut to the push of a rousing wind
       Shaking the sea till it foams behind,
       The tightened rigging is shrill with the song:
       "We are back again who were gone so long."
   One afternoon I bumped my head.
   I sat on a post and wished I were dead
   Like father and mother, for no one cared
   Whither I went or how I fared.
   A man's voice said, "My little lad,
   Here's a bit of a toy to make you glad."

   Then I opened my eyes and saw him plain,
   With his sleeves rolled up, and the dark blue stain
   Of tattooed skin, where a flock of quail
   Flew up to his shoulder and met the tail
   Of a dragon curled, all pink and green,
   Which sprawled on his back, when it was seen.

   He held out his hand and gave to me
   The most marvellous top which could ever be.
   It had ivory eyes, and jet-black rings,
   And a red stone carved into little wings,
   All joined by a twisted golden line,
   And set in the brown wood, even and fine.

   Forgive me, Lady, I have not brought
   My treasure to you as I ought,
   But he said to keep it for his sake
   And comfort myself with it, and take
   Joy in its spinning, and so I do.
   It couldn't mean quite the same to you.

   Every day I met him there,
   Where the fisher-nets dry in the sunny air.
   He told me stories of courts and kings,
   Of storms at sea, of lots of things.
   The top he said was a sort of sign
   That something in the big world was mine.

       Blue and white on a sun-shot ocean.
       Against the horizon a glint in motion.
       Full in the grasp of a shoving wind,
       Trailing her bubbles of foam behind,
       Singing and shouting to port she races,
       A flying harp, with her sheets and braces.
   O Queen of Heaven, give me heed,
   I am in very utmost need.
   He loved me, he was all I had,
   And when he came it made the sad
   Thoughts disappear.  This very day
   Send his ship home to me I pray.

   I'll be a priest, if you want it so,
   I'll work till I have enough to go
   And study Latin to say the prayers
   On the rosary our old priest wears.
   I wished to be a sailor too,
   But I will give myself to you.

   I'll never even spin my top,
   But put it away in a box.  I'll stop
   Whistling the sailor-songs he taught.
   I'll save my pennies till I have bought
   A silver heart in the market square,
   I've seen some beautiful, white ones there.

   I'll give up all I want to do
   And do whatever you tell me to.
   Heavenly Lady, take away
   All the games I like to play,
   Take my life to fill the score,
   Only bring him back once more!

       The poplars shiver and turn their leaves,
       And the wind through the belfry moans and grieves.
       The gray dust whirls in the market square,
       And the silver hearts are covered with care
       By thick tarpaulins.  Once again
       The bay is black under heavy rain.
   The Queen of Heaven has shut her door.
   A little boy weeps and prays no more.

   But why did I kill him?  Why?  Why?
    In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
   My ears rack and throb with his cry,
    And his eyes goggle under his hair,
    As my fingers sink into the fair
   White skin of his throat.  It was I!

   I killed him!  My God!  Don't you hear?
    I shook him until his red tongue
   Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
    Swollen lines of his lips.  And I clung
    With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
   The loose, heavy body in fear.

   Fear lest he should still not be dead.
    I was drunk with the lust of his life.
   The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
    And dabbled a chair.  And our strife
    Lasted one reeling second, his knife
   Lay and winked in the lights overhead.

   And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
    When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
   And the wail of the violins stirred
    My brute anger with visions of her.
    As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
   Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.

   I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
    With that music, an infernal din,
   Pounding rhythmic inside me.  Just Hark!
    One!  Two!  Three!  And my fingers sink in
    To his flesh when the violins, thin
   And straining with passion, grow stark.

   One!  Two!  Three!  Oh, the horror of sound!
    While she danced I was crushing his throat.
   He had tasted the joy of her, wound
    Round her body, and I heard him gloat
    On the favour.  That instant I smote.
   One!  Two!  Three!  How the dancers swirl round!

   He is here in the room, in my arm,
    His limp body hangs on the spin
   Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
    Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
    Round and round!  One!  Two!  Three!  And his sin
   Is red like his tongue lolling warm.

   One!  Two!  Three!  And the drums are his knell.
    He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
   As I drag him about in the swell
    Of the waltz.  With a menacing roar,
    The trumpets crash in through the door.
   One!  Two!  Three! clangs his funeral bell.

   One!  Two!  Three!  In the chaos of space
    Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
   Of death!  And so cramped is this place,
    I stifle and pant.  One!  Two!  Three!
    Round and round!  God!  'Tis he throttles me!
   He has covered my mouth with his face!

   And his blood has dripped into my heart!
    And my heart beats and labours.  One!  Two!
   Three!  His dead limbs have coiled every part
    Of my body in tentacles.  Through
    My ears the waltz jangles.  Like glue
   His dead body holds me athwart.

   One!  Two!  Three!  Give me air!  Oh!  My God!
    One!  Two!  Three!  I am drowning in slime!
   One!  Two!  Three!  And his corpse, like a clod,
    Beats me into a jelly!  The chime,
    One!  Two!  Three!  And his dead legs keep time.
   Air!  Give me air!  Air!  My God!

   The fountain bent and straightened itself
   In the night wind,
   Blowing like a flower.
   It gleamed and glittered,
   A tall white lily,
   Under the eye of the golden moon.
   From a stone seat,
   Beneath a blossoming lime,
   The man watched it.
   And the spray pattered
   On the dim grass at his feet.

   The fountain tossed its water,
   Up and up, like silver marbles.
   Is that an arm he sees?
   And for one moment
   Does he catch the moving curve
   Of a thigh?
   The fountain gurgled and splashed,
   And the man's face was wet.

   Is it singing that he hears?
   A song of playing at ball?
   The moonlight shines on the straight column of water,
   And through it he sees a woman,
   Tossing the water-balls.
   Her breasts point outwards,
   And the nipples are like buds of peonies.
   Her flanks ripple as she plays,
   And the water is not more undulating
   Than the lines of her body.

   "Come," she sings, "Poet!
   Am I not more worth than your day ladies,
   Covered with awkward stuffs,
   Unreal, unbeautiful?
   What do you fear in taking me?
   Is not the night for poets?
   I am your dream,
   Recurrent as water,
   Gemmed with the moon!"

   She steps to the edge of the pool
   And the water runs, rustling, down her sides.
   She stretches out her arms,
   And the fountain streams behind her
   Like an opened veil.

   In the morning the gardeners came to their work.
   "There is something in the fountain," said one.
   They shuddered as they laid their dead master
   On the grass.
   "I will close his eyes," said the head gardener,
   "It is uncanny to see a dead man staring at the sun."

       I

   The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted,
   in the round of light thrown by a candle.  Puffs of darkness sweep into
   the corners, and keep rolling through the room behind his chair.  The air
   is silver and pearl, for the night is liquid with moonlight.

   See how the roof glitters, like ice!

   Over there, a slice of yellow cuts into the silver-blue, and beside it stand
   two geraniums, purple because the light is silver-blue, to-night.

   See!  She is coming, the young woman with the bright hair.
   She swings a basket as she walks, which she places on the sill,
   between the geranium stalks.  He laughs, and crumples his paper
   as he leans forward to look.  "The Basket Filled with Moonlight",
   what a title for a book!

   The bellying clouds swing over the housetops.