Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/380

THE CARIB SEA Swift was the craft that bore

Francisca from her shore;

Red-handed were its crew

And grim their sport.

Unbraided fell her hair,

A tropic cloud;

Seven days, with sob and prayer,

She mourned the dead;

Like rain her tears fell;

But Du Plessis right well

By saint and relic vowed

As on they sped.

Ere past the Mer du Nord

She smiled apace;

Her dark eyes evermore

Sought his alone.

Hot wooed the Chevalier;

His outlaw-priest was near:

Forsworn were home and race,

She was his own.

Now cruel Lolonnois

And fierce Le Basque

Unlade with wolfish joy

The cargazon;

Land all their ribald braves,

Captives and naked slaves,

With many a bale and cask,

By rapine won;

Armor and altar-plate

Brought over sea:

Pesos, a countless weight,

The horde divide— 350