THE lightning tossed its tangled boughs And great winds ran about: At midnight all the cattle rose And took to sudden rout. And, whirled in seething floods of rain, We followed in their wake, While ebbed and surged the driving storm Like waves which lift and break. Mad was the night and mad the flight; We prayed beneath our breath— For, 'mid that sea of tossing horns, Beneath those hoofs, lay death. Then in the same mysterious way They paused as they began ... And down our backs the trickling drops In ceaseless rivulets ran, As round and round the herd we rode For hour on hour of rain, Singing them songs of lusty cheer Lest they should rise again. |