“O Garvin, bonny Garvin,
To have thee as I will,
I would that never more on earth
The dawn came over hill.”

* * * * *

Then on the snowy pillow,
Her hair about her face,
He laid her in the quiet room,
And wiped away all trace

Of tears from the poor eyelids
That were so sad for him,
And soothed her into sleep at last
As the great stars grew dim.

    Tender as April twilight
    He sang, and the song grew
    Vague as the dreams which roam about
    This world of dust and dew: 

    “O Yanna, Adrianna,
    Dear Love, look forth to sea
    And all year long until the yule,
    Dear Heart, keep watch for me!

    “O Yanna, Adrianna,
    I hear the calling sea,
    And the folk telling tales among
    The hills where I would be.

    “O Yanna, Adrianna,
    Over the hills of sea
    The wind calls and the morning comes,
    And I must forth from thee.

    “But Yanna, Adrianna,
    Keep watch above the sea;
    And when the weary time is o’er,
    Dear Life, come back to me!”

    “O Garvin, bonny Garvin—­”
    She murmurs in her dream,
    And smiles a moment in her sleep
    To hear the white gulls scream.

    Then with the storm foreboding
    Far in the dim gray South,
    He kissed her not upon the cheek
    Nor on the burning mouth,

    But once above the forehead
    Before he turned away;
    And ere the morning light stole in,
    That golden lock was gray.

    “O Yanna, Adrianna—­”
    The wind moans to the sea;
    And down the sluices of the dawn
    A shadow drifts alee.

THE MARRING OF MALYN

I

THE MERRYMAKERS

    Among the wintry mountains beside the Northern sea
    There is a merrymaking, as old as old can be.

    Over the river reaches, over the wastes of snow,
    Halting at every doorway, the white drifts come and go.

    They scour upon the open, and mass along the wood,
    The burliest invaders that ever man withstood.

    With swoop and whirl and scurry, these riders of the drift
    Will mount and wheel and column, and pass into the lift.

    All night upon the marshes you hear their tread go by,
    And all night long the streamers are dancing on the sky.

    Their light in Malyn’s chamber is pale upon the floor,
    And Malyn of the mountains is theirs for evermore.

    She fancies them a people in saffron and in green,
    Dancing for her.  For Malyn is only seventeen.

    Out there beyond her window, from frosty deep to deep,
    Her heart is dancing with them until she falls asleep.