The Story of a Red Deer Part 7

"_Nay, tarry no longer; come down, come down_ _To the pool that invites you, still, peaceful, and brown._ _One plunge through the rush of the s.h.i.+vering spray_ _And the dark, solemn eddies shall bear you away_ _From the rustle of bubbles, the hissing of foam,_ _To a haven of rest, and a long, long home._ _Come down with me, come; your refuge is near;_ _I call you, the friend of the wild Red-Deer._"

And he heard it and yielded. The water rose higher, and the strength of the current grew more urgent about him, till at length the stream lifted him gently off his weary feet and bore him silently down. For a moment he strove with all his might to stem the smooth, impetuous tide as it swept him on; then he gave himself up to the friendly waters, and throwing his head high in air in a last defiance, he went down swiftly over the fall.

And the wild baying ceased; and he heard nothing but the chorus of the waters in his ears. Once he struggled to raise his head, and the great brown antlers came looming up for a moment through the eddies; but as he pa.s.sed down to the deep, still pool beyond the fall, the water called to him so kindly that he could not but obey.

"_From my wild forest-cradle, through deep and through shoal,_ _You have followed me far, and have reached to the goal._ _Now the gallop is ended, the chase it is run,_ _The struggle is over, the victory won._ _The fall is o'er-leaped and the rapids are pa.s.sed,_ _Come rest on my bosom untroubled at last._ _Nay, raise not your head, come, bury it here;_ _No friend like the stream to the wild Red-Deer._"

So the waters closed over the stern, sharp antlers, and he bowed his head and was at peace.

Then men came and pulled the great still body out of the water; and they took his head and hung it up in memory of so great a run and so gallant a Stag. But their triumph was only over the empty sh.e.l.l of him, for his spirit had gone to the still brown pool. And indeed the stream has received many another wild deer besides him, which, I suspect, is the reason why ferns, that love the water, take the shape of stags' horns and of harts' tongues. So there he remains; for he had fought his fight and run his course; and he asks for nothing better than to hear the river sing to him all the day long.

RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BUNGAY