England and Yesterday — Columba and the Stork

COLUMBA AND THE STORK.

The cliffs of Iona were red, with the moon to lee, A finger of rock in the infinite wind and the sea;

And white on the cliffs as a volley of spray down-flying, The beautiful stork of Eiré indriven and dying.

I stole from the choir; I fed him, I bathed his breast, Till in late sunshine he lifted his wing to the west.

Oh, the bells of the Abbey were calling clearer and bolder, And I feared the pale admonishing face at my shoulder.

Columb the saint’s!

but I said, with mine arm in air, (Of that banished body and homesick spirit aware,) “The bird is of Eiré; out of the storm I bore him;

And lo, he is free, with the valleys of Eiré before him.

” Of the man that was Eiré-born, and in exile yet, This the reproach I had, and cannot forget, This the reproach I had, and never another: “Blessed art thou, to have lightened the heart of my brother!

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