Jessie Cameron
        "Jessie, Jessie Cameron,
                 Hear me but this once," quoth he.
        "Good luck go with you, neighbour's son,
                 But I'm no mate for you," quoth she.
        Day was verging toward the night
                 There beside the moaning sea,
        Dimness overtook the light
                 There where the breakers be.
        "O Jessie, Jessie Cameron,
                 I have loved you long and true."--
        "Good luck go with you, neighbour's son,
                 But I'm no mate for you."
        
        She was a careless, fearless girl,
                 And made her answer plain;
        Outspoken she to earl or churl,
                 Kind-hearted in the main,
        But somewhat heedless with her tongue,
                 And apt at causing pain;
        A mirthful maiden she and young,
                 Most fair for bliss or bane.
        "O, long ago I told you so,
                 I tell you so to-day:
        Go you your way, and let me go
                 Just my own free way."
        
        The sea swept in with moan and foam
                 Quickening the stretch of sand;
        They stood almost in sight of home;
                 He strove to take her hand.
        "O, can't you take your answer then,
                 And won't you understand?
        For me you're not the man of men,
                 I've other plans are planned.
        You're good for Madge, or good for Cis,
                 Or good for Kate, may be:
        But what's to me the good of this
                 While you're not good for me?"
        
        They stood together on the beach,
                 They two alone,
        And louder waxed his urgent speech,
                 His patience almost gone:
        "O, say but one kind word to me,
                 Jessie, Jessie Cameron."--
        "I'd be too proud to beg," quoth she,
                 And pride was in her tone.
        And pride was in her lifted head,
                 And in her angry eye,
        And in her foot, which might have fled,
                 But would not fly.
        
        Some say that he had gypsy blood,
                 That in his heart was guile:
        Yet he had gone through fire and flood
                 Only to win her smile.
        Some say his grandam was a witch,
                 A black witch from beyond the Nile,
        Who kept an image in a niche
                 And talked with it the while.
        And by her hut far down the lane
                 Some say they would not pass at night,
        Lest they should hear an unked strain
                 Or see an unked sight.
                
        Alas, for Jessie Cameron!--
                 The sea crept moaning, moaning nigher:
        She should have hastened to be gone,--
                 The sea swept higher, breaking by her:
        She should have hastened to her home
                 While yet the west was flushed with fire,
        But now her feet are in the foam,
                 The sea-foam, sweeping higher.
        O mother, linger at your door,
                 And light your lamp to make it plain;
        But Jessie she comes home no more,
                 No more again.
        
        They stood together on the strand,
                 They only, each by each;
        Home, her home, was close at hand,
                 Utterly out of reach.
        Her mother in the chimney nook
                 Heard a startled sea-gull screech,
        But never turned her head to look
                 Towards the darkening beach:
        Neighbours here and neighbours there
                 Heard one scream, as if a bird
        Shrilly screaming cleft the air:--
                 That was all they heard.
        
        Jessie she comes home no more,
                 Comes home never;
        Her lover's step sounds at his door
                 No more forever.
        And boats may search upon the sea
                 And search along the river,
        But none know where the bodies be:
                 Sea-winds that shiver,
        Sea-birds that breast the blast,
                 Sea-waves swelling,
        Keep the secret first and last
                 Of their dwelling.
        
        Whether the tide so hemmed them round
                 With its pitiless flow,
        That when they would have gone they found
                 No way to go;
        Whether she scorned him to the last
                 With words flung to and fro,
        Or clung to him when hope was past,
                 None will ever know:
        Whether he helped or hindered her,
                 Threw up his life or lost it well,
        The troubled sea, for all its stir,
                 Finds no voice to tell.
        
        Only watchers by the dying
                 Have thought they heard one pray,
        Wordless, urgent; and replying,
                 One seem to say him nay:
        And watchers by the dead have heard
                 A windy swell from miles away,
        With sobs and screams, but not a word
                 Distinct for them to say:
        And watchers out at sea have caught
                 Glimpse of a pale gleam here or there,
        Come and gone as quick as thought,
                 Which might be hand or hair.
        
        
        
        
                