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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75834 ***
+
+Transcriber’s note: Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by
+underscores, _like this_.
+
+
+
+
+                            TWO NEW POEMS
+
+                    ROHALLION : THE LITTLE DRAGON
+
+
+                  By _Violet Jacob_, decorated with
+                 three designs by _A. Mason Trotter_
+
+
+                    EDINBURGH. THE PORPOISE PRESS
+                    FOUR STAFFORD STREET. MCMXXIV
+
+
+
+
+                  _OF THIS EDITION FIFTY NUMBERED
+                     COPIES HAVE BEEN PRINTED ON
+                    HODGKINSON’S HAND-MADE PAPER._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                 _Rohallion_
+
+
+    My buits are at rest on the midden,
+                I haena a plack,
+    My breeks are no dandy anes, forrit,
+                And waur at the back;
+    On the road that comes oot o’ the hielands
+                I see as I trayvel the airth,
+    Frae the braes at the back o’ Rohallion,
+                The reek aboon Pairth.
+
+    There’s a canny wee hoose wi’ a gairden
+          In a neuk o’ Strathtay;
+    My mither is bakin’ the bannocks,
+          The weans are at play;
+    And at gloamin’, my feyther, the shepherd,
+          Looks doon for a blink o’ the licht
+    When he gethers the yowes by the shielin’
+          Tae fauld them at nicht.
+
+    There’s niver a hoose that wad haud me
+          Frae this tae the sea
+    When a wind frae the knowes by Rohallion
+          Comes creepin’ tae me,
+    And niver a lowe frae the ingle
+          Can draw like the trail and the shine
+    O’ the stars i’ the loch o’ Rohallion
+          A fitstep o’ mine.
+
+    There’s snaw i’ the wind an’ the weepies
+          Hang deid on the shaw,
+    And pale the leaves left on the rowan,
+          I’m soothward awa;
+    But a voice like a wraith blaws ahint me
+          And sings as I’m liftin’ my pack
+    ‘I am waitin’--Rohallion--Rohallion--
+          My lad, ye’ll be back!’
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            _The Little Dragon_
+
+
+    The nun stood watching by the cloister wall
+              Day’s dying to behold,
+    Heaven seemed to her too far, too mystical,
+    Her soul to climb its ramparts but to fall
+              And earth was turned to gold.
+
+    All down the harvest fields the western flame
+          In floods of fire was borne;
+    There stood in rows transfigured by the same,
+    Until the sickle should their glory claim,
+          The gold ears of the corn.
+
+    Her part was where eternal censers swung
+          By convent walls confined;
+    The convent choir her requiem had sung,
+    The church had bound her life, her soul, her tongue--
+          Her heart it could not bind.
+
+    Around her place the golden sunflowers ranged
+          Their faces to the west,
+    As the declining day his steps estranged
+    They watched their lord, the sun, untired, unchanged,
+          And in their vigil blest.
+
+    And through the dust that rose in golden cloud
+          A golden helm shone high;
+    Nor fast, nor prayer, nor penances had bowed
+    The idle knight in strength of manhood proud
+          Who laughed as he rode by.
+
+    The dragon on his crested helmet shewn
+          Mocked her with leer uncouth;
+    She heeded not--she saw his face alone
+    And from his eyes there flashed into her own
+          The golden fire of youth.
+
+    It burned the sacred stillness of her days,
+          Between the holy book
+    And her dropped lids, there swam that ardent haze,
+    It hid God’s altar in a golden blaze
+          Before her raptured look.
+
+    The reverend priests and nuns who marked her face
+          With wonder day by day,
+    Stood still to see her kneeling in her place,
+    And “God has given her visions in His grace,
+          She is His Saint,” said they.
+
+    Ever more rapt in ecstasy she grew,
+          Remoter and more frail,
+    For, as the year died out and rose anew
+    They said again, “Her soul is rising too
+      Above its earthly veil.”
+
+    And, on a day when spring’s own breath sublime
+          Whispered in field and tree,
+    Fervent and faint from some undreamed of clime,
+    She passed from out the close-barred room of time
+          Into eternity.
+
+    And when the priest his benediction spoke
+          Above her coffined clay
+    There fell great awe upon all holy folk,
+    For golden light through all the cloister broke
+          And bathed her as she lay.
+
+    Only--above the carven arches old,
+          It seemed they did not see
+    Among the gargoyles insolent and bold,
+    One little dragon laughing through the gold
+          --Laughing eternally.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                           Published by ...
+                          THE PORPOISE PRESS
+                          4, STAFFORD STREET
+                        EDINBURGH, NOV., 1924
+                         ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+
+
+
+                  _Wm, Hodge & Co., Ltd., Glasgow and Edinburgh._
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75834 ***