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The Fugitive [Sixteenth Century]
Published in the Agnostic Journal London, England 17 June 1905 (page 381)
Ah! I can linger now, Here, 'mid the darkling trees; The hair is hot on my brow, And oh! my aching knees! God! I can scarcely stand— Oh! Let me sleep! Let me sleep! . . . Are they watching on either hand? . . . Oh! how the path was steep!
We broke and fled, and then They chased us for miles, and we— Fifteen hundred men— Made way right heartily; And for seven miles I've run, And the stones have cut my feet: Ah! but the chase is done Now, and the rest is sweet.
I can hear water there— There, by the cutting; maybe I might for a moment dare, Without letting the devils see: I'm parched and sick and done, And I'd give my soul for a drink; For a moment I might run There, by the river's brink,
And drink, and drink, and drink; And then sleep till the light, . . . God! how the blood did stink! . . . God! But the stars are bright! Oh! let me sleep, and forget! Ah! this is good—to be Out of the blood and sweat, Under this wide oak tree! . . .
They killed my brother; he lies Under the burning stars; There's a glaze upon his eyes, And his arms are rigid bars. I know! For, before I ran, I stumbled across him; I kneeled, And, . . . oh! but it does a man— Seven miles off the field . . .
And there was blood on his brow, And his locked teeth grinned at me; And his eyes! I can see them now! Ah! but the wind is free Over my brow; 'tis good To sleep out under the trees, Here on the skirt of the wood— Here, with the blessèd breeze.
Seven miles I've run! . . . Oh! let me sleep, now wake But to greet the rising sun, Onward my way to take. A breeze has sprung from the south, The night is calm and deep; The moonlight kisses my mouth . . . Oh! let me sleep! Let me sleep! . . .
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