The Forerunners

Long I followed happy guides,— I could never reach their sides. Their step is forth, and, ere the day, Breaks up their leaguer, and away. Keen my sense, my heart was young, Right goodwill my sinews strung, But no speed of mine avails To hunt upon their shining trails. On and away, their hasting feet Make the morning proud and sweet. Flowers they strew, I catch the scent, Or tone of silver instrument Leaves on the wind melodious trace, Yet I could never see their face. On eastern hills I see their smokes Mixed with mist by distant lochs. I meet many travellers Who the road had surely kept,— They saw not my fine revellers,— These had crossed them while they slept. Some had heard their fair report In the country or the court. Fleetest couriers alive Never yet could once arrive, As they went or they returned, At the house where these sojourned. Sometimes their strong speed they slacken, Though they are not overtaken: In sleep, their jubilant troop is near, I tuneful voices overhear, It may be in wood or waste,— At unawares 'tis come and passed. Their near camp my spirit knows By signs gracious as rainbows. I thenceforward and long after Listen for their harplike laughter, And carry in my heart for days Peace that hallows rudest ways.—