Then all was silent, till there smote my ear
A movement in the stream that checked my breath: 
Was it the slow plash of a wading deer? 
But something said, ’This water is of Death! 
The Sisters wash a shroud,—­ill thing to hear!’

I, looking then, beheld the ancient Three
Known to the Greek’s and to the Northman’s creed,
That sit in shadow of the mystic Tree,
Still crooning, as they weave their endless brede,
One song:  ‘Time was, Time is, and Time shall be.’ 20

No wrinkled crones were they, as I had deemed,
But fair as yesterday, to-day, to-morrow
To mourner, lover, poet, ever seemed;
Something too high for joy, too deep for sorrow,
Thrilled in their tones, and from their faces gleamed.

‘Still men and nations reap as they have strawn,’
So sang they, working at their task the while;
’The fatal raiment must be cleansed ere dawn: 
For Austria?  Italy? the Sea-Queen’s isle? 
O’er what quenched grandeur must our shroud be drawn? 30

’Or is it for a younger, fairer corse,
That gathered States like children round his knees,
That tamed the wave to be his posting-horse,
Feller of forests, linker of the seas,
Bridge-builder, hammerer, youngest son of Thor’s?

’What make we, murmur’st thou? and what are we? 
When empires must be wound, we bring the shroud,
The time-old web of the implacable Three: 
Is it too coarse for him, the young and proud? 
Earth’s mightiest deigned to wear it,—­why not he?’ 40

‘Is there no hope?’ I moaned, ’so strong, so fair! 
Our Fowler whose proud bird would brook erewhile
No rival’s swoop in all our western air! 
Gather the ravens, then, in funeral file
For him, life’s morn yet golden in his hair?

’Leave me not hopeless, ye unpitying dames! 
I see, half seeing.  Tell me, ye who scanned
The stars, Earth’s elders, still must noblest aims
Be traced upon oblivious ocean-sands? 
Must Hesper join the wailing ghosts of names?’ 50

’When grass-blades stiffen with red battle-dew,
Ye deem we choose the victor and the slain: 
Say, choose we them that shall be leal and true
To the heart’s longing, the high faith of brain? 
Yet there the victory lies, if ye but knew.

’Three roots bear up Dominion:  Knowledge, Will,—­
These twain are strong, but stronger yet the third,—­
Obedience,—­’tis the great tap-root that still,
Knit round the rock of Duty, is not stirred,
Though Heaven-loosed tempests spend their utmost skill. 60

’Is the doom sealed for Hesper?  ’Tis not we
Denounce it, but the Law before all time: 
The brave makes danger opportunity;
The waverer, paltering with the chance sublime,
Dwarfs it to peril:  which shall Hesper be?

’Hath he let vultures climb his eagle’s seat
To make Jove’s bolts purveyors of their maw? 
Hath he the Many’s plaudits found more sweet
Than Wisdom? held Opinion’s wind for Law? 
Then let him hearken for the doomster’s feet! 70