16 THE LAST SHIP


    Firiel looked out at three o''clock:


    the grey night was going;


    far away a golden cock


    clear and shrill was crowing.


    The trees were dark, and the dawn pale,


    waking birds were cheeping,


    a wind moved cool and frail


    through dim leaves creeping.


    She watched the gleam at window grow,


    till the long light was shimmering


    on land and leaf; on grass below


    grey dew was glimmering.


    Over the floor her white feet crept,


    down the stair they twinkled,


    through the grass they dancing stepped


    all with dew besprinkled.


    Her gown had jewels upon its hem,


    as she ran down to the river,


    and leaned upon a willow-stem,


    and watched the water quiver.


    A kingfisher plunged down like a stone


    in a blue flash falling,


    bending reeds were softly blown,


    lily-leaves were sprawling.


    A sudden music to her came,


    as she stood there gleaming


    with free hair in the morning''s flame


    on her shoulders streaming.


    Flutes there were, and harps were wrung,


    and there was sound of singing,


    like wind-voices keen and young


    and far bells ringing.


    A ship with golden beak and oar


    and timbers white came gliding;


    swans went sailing on before,


    her tall prow guiding.


    Fair folk out of Elvenland


    in silver-grey were rowing,


    and three with crowns she saw there stand


    with bright hair flowing.


    With harp in hand they sang their song


    to the slow oars swinging:


    ''Green is the land, the leaves are long,


    and the birds are singing.


    Many a day with dawn of gold


    this earth will lighten,


    many a flower will yet unfold,


    ere the cornfields whiten.


    ''Then whither go ye, boatmen fair,


    down the river gliding?


    To twilight and to secret lair


    in the great forest hiding?


    To Northern isles and shores of stone


    on strong swans flying,


    by cold waves to dwell alone


    with the white gulls crying?''


    ''Nay!'' they answered. ''Far away


    on the last road faring,


    leaving western havens grey,


    the seas of shadow daring,


    we go back to Elvenhome,


    where the White Tree is growing,


    and the Star shines upon the foam


    on the last shore flowing.


    ''To mortal fields say farewell,


    Middle-earth forsaking!


    In Elvenhome a clear bell


    in the high tower is shaking.


    Here grass fades and leaves fall,


    and sun and moon wither,


    and we have heard the far call


    that bids us journey thither'',


    The oars were stayed. They turned aside:


    ''Do you hear the call, Earth-maiden?


    Firiel! Firiel!'' they cried.


    ''Our ship is not full-laden.


    One more only we may bear.


    Come! For your days are speeding.


    Come! Earth-maiden elven-fair,


    our last call heeding.''


    Firiel looked from the river-bank,


    one step daring;


    then deep in clay her feet sank,


    and she halted staring.


    Slowly the elven-ship went by


    whispering through the water:


    ''I cannot come'' they heard her cry.


    ''I was born Earth''s daughter!''


    No jewels bright her gown bore,


    as she walked back from the meadow


    under roof and dark door,


    under the house-shadow.


    She donned her smock of russet brown,


    her long hair braided,


    and to her work came stepping down.


    Soon the sunlight faded.


    Year still after year flows


    down the Seven Rivers;


    cloud passes, sunlight glows,


    reed and willow quivers


    at morn and eve, but never more


    westward ships have waded


    in mortal waters as before,


    and their song has faded.