| AND there we were together again— | |
| Together again, we three: | |
| Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all, | |
| They had come for the night with me. | |
| |
| The spirit of joy was in Morgan’s wrist, | 5 |
| There were songs in Fingal’s throat; | |
| And secure outside, for the spray to drench, | |
| Was a tossed and empty boat. | |
| |
| And there were the pipes, and there was the punch, | |
| And somewhere were twelve years; | 10 |
| So it came, in the manner of things unsought, | |
| That a quick knock vexed our ears. | |
| |
| The night wind hovered and shrieked and snarled, | |
| And I heard Fingal swear; | |
| Then I opened the door—but I found no more | 15 |
| Than a chalk-skinned woman there. | |
| |
| I looked, and at last, “What is it?” I said— | |
| “What is it that we can do?” | |
| But never a word could I get from her | |
| But “You—you three—it is you!” | 20 |
| |
| Now the sense of a crazy speech like that | |
| Was more than a man could make; | |
| So I said, “But we—we are what, we three?” | |
| And I saw the creature shake. | |
| |
| “Be quick!” she cried, “for I left her dead— | 25 |
| And I was afraid to come; | |
| But you, you three—God made it be— | |
| Will ferry the dead girl home. | |
| |
| “Be quick! be quick!—but listen to that | |
| Who is that makes it?—hark!” | 30 |
| But I heard no more than a knocking splash | |
| And a wind that shook the dark. | |
| |
| “It is only the wind that blows,” I said, | |
| “And the boat that rocks outside.” | |
| And I watched her there, and I pitied her there— | 35 |
| “Be quick! be quick!” she cried. | |
| |
| She cried so loud that her voice went in | |
| To find where my two friends were; | |
| So Morgan came, and Fingal came, | |
| And out we went with her. | 40 |
| |
| ’T was a lonely way for a man to take | |
| And a fearsome way for three; | |
| And over the water, and all day long, | |
| They had come for the night with me. | |
| |
| But the girl was dead, as the woman had said, | 45 |
| And the best we could see to do | |
| Was to lay her aboard. The north wind roared, | |
| And into the night we flew. | |
| |
| Four of us living and one for a ghost, | |
| Furrowing crest and swell, | 50 |
| Through the surge and the dark, for that faint far spark, | |
| We ploughed with Azrael. | |
| |
| Three of us ruffled and one gone mad, | |
| Crashing to south we went; | |
| And three of us there were too spattered to care | 55 |
| What this late sailing meant. | |
| |
| So down we steered and along we tore | |
| Through the flash of the midnight foam: | |
| Silent enough to be ghosts on guard. | |
| We ferried the dead girl home. | 60 |
| |
| We ferried her down to the voiceless wharf, | |
| And we carried her up to the light; | |
| And we left the two to the father there, | |
| Who counted the coals that night. | |
| |
| Then back we steered through the foam again, | 65 |
| But our thoughts were fast and few; | |
| And all we did was to crowd the surge | |
| And to measure the life we knew;— | |
| |
| Till at last we came where a dancing gleam | |
| Skipped out to us, we three,— | 70 |
| And the dark wet mooring pointed home | |
| Like a finger from the sea. | |
| |
| Then out we pushed the teetering skiff | |
| And in we drew to the stairs; | |
| And up we went, each man content | 75 |
| With a life that fed no cares. | |
| |
| Fingers were cold and feet were cold, | |
| And the tide was cold and rough; | |
| But the light was warm, and the room was warm, | |
| And the world was good enough. | 80 |
| |
| And there were the pipes, and there was the punch, | |
| More shrewd than Satan’s tears: | |
| Fingal had fashioned it, all by himself, | |
| With a craft that comes of years. | |
| |
| And there we were together again— | 85 |
| Together again, we three: | |
| Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all, | |
| They were there for the night with me. | |
