And while she watched, a throng of folk Attracted by the crash and flare, Had gathered round, though no one spoke But all stood terror-stricken there, With lifted eyes and indrawn breath, Until the lad was snatched from death Upon the very pit’s edge, when, As Robert picked him up, and turned, A sigh ran through the crowd; and fear Gave place to joy, as cheer on cheer Sang through the kindled air...
But still she never uttered word, As though she neither saw nor heard; Till as, at last, her lad drew near, She saw him bend with tender care Over the sobbing child who lay Safe in his arms, and hug him tight Against his breast--his brow alight With eager, loving eyes that burned In his transfigured face aflame... And even when the parents came It almost seemed that he was loth To yield them up their little son; As though the lad were his by right Of rescue, from the pit’s edge won.
Then, as his eyes met hers, she felt An answering thrill of tenderness Run, quickening, through her breast; and both Stood quivering there, with envious eyes, And stricken with a strange distress, As quickly homeward through the night The happy parents bore their boy...
And then, about her reeling bright, The whole night seemed to her to melt In one fierce, fiery flood of joy.
All night I lay on Devil’s Edge, Along an overhanging ledge Between the sky and sea: And as I rested ’waiting sleep, The windless sky and soundless deep In one dim, blue infinity Of starry peace encompassed me.
And I remembered, drowsily, How ’mid the hills last night I ’d lain Beside a singing moorland burn; And waked at dawn, to feel the rain Fall on my face, as on the fern That drooped about my heather-bed: And how by noon the wind had blown The last grey shred from out the sky, And blew my homespun jacket dry, As I stood on the topmost stone That crowns the cairn on Hawkshaw Head, And caught a gleam of far-off sea; And heard the wind sing in the bent Like those far waters calling me: When, my heart answering to the call, I followed down the seaward stream, By silent pool and singing fall; Till with a quiet, keen content, I watched the sun, a crimson ball, Shoot through grey seas a fiery gleam, Then sink in opal deeps from sight.