Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MARAUDERS, by JOEL T. ROGERS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MARAUDERS, by                    
First Line: Now the sun is low, and the winds are dead
Last Line: Flapping their vans to the westward.
Subject(s): Courtship; Hearts; Love; Relationships; Wandering & Wanderers


I

NOW the sun is low, and the winds are dead,
And over the meadows there walk three maids,
While the last gold spear of the sunlight fades.

Now the cheeks of the first are poppy red,
And the second has a golden head,
But the eyes of the third are grey as lead,
And the black hair falls on her shoulder.

"I was sixteen on Saint Catherine's day,"
Says the first. And the other, "Well a-day!
Last night I dreamed of a suitor gay."

"I know a lord lives far away,"
Says the third, "And he is mine own true lover."

"It is time we think of men," they say,
As they go their way through the clover.

"The man I love must love me dear."

"He whom I marry must know no fear."

But the third maid drops a silent tear
For she thinks of the stranger lover.

And on they go while the night draws near
Over the fields to the northward.

II

Now the moon is high, and the winds begin,
And out of the woodlands there ride three men,
While a cloud wreath veils the moon again.

Now the eyes of the first are bale and thin,
And the second has a cloven chin,
But the face of the third is hard as sin,
And the long gun gleams on his shoulder.

"Perchance some maidens may come this way,"
Says the first. And the second, "Well a-day!
A pretty prize for a bold foray."

"The time is long before the day,"
Says the third, "There is space enough for evil."

"We ride in luck tonight," they say
As they see the maids through the clover.

"The foremost maid is half divine."

"The fair-haired maid I take for mine."

But the third man utters never a line,
For he sees the dark-haired maiden.

And they give their horses the bitter tine,
Spurring them on to the southward.

III

Now the moon is low, and the winds make moan,
And over the moorland there go three steeds
While the waters lap in the river reeds.

Now the limbs of the first are huge of bone,
And the second has a heart of stone,
But the third one is a raw thewed roan
And the muscles leap on his shoulder.

"The weight of our saddles is light today,"
Says the first. And the other, "Well a-day!
They rode us far, but they had to pay."

"One time too much to ride the way,"
Says the third, "And that is the end of the story."

"The stealing of maids is death," they say,
As they breast the strength of the river.

"The first maid wept, for her heart grew numb."

"The fair-haired smiled, half glad to come."

But the third steed gallops along as dumb,
For he dreams of the dark-haired maiden.

And their hoof beats thud like a muffled drum
Thundering on to the eastward.

IV

Now the sun is high, and the winds a-rage,
And far in the branches there sit three crows,
While the tall trees writhe, and the tempest blows.

Now the eyes of the first are grave and sage,
And the second is of ancient age,
But the third is king, and a mighty mage,
And the grey plumes droop on his shoulder.

"The dead men dance as they were gay,"
Says the first. And the other, "Well a-day!
Three fine fat morsels of human clay."

"Time enough now for their sins to pray,"
Says the third, "While they hang for the theft of the maidens."

"The kinsmen's vengeance was swift," they say,
As they sharpen their beaks and their talons.

"The maidens might love them and grow well fain."

"A woman loves always a man of main."

But they look for the mage to speak in vain
For he thinks of the stranger lover.

And they leave the dead to the wind and the rain,
Flapping their vans to the westward.





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