Travellers.

Caspar had trafficked from the rocky
north,
A long and laborious way.
Melchior rode across an endless age
To join Balthazar, who had seen Cathay
And Tabrobane, where redly droops the
noon,
And skies are full … But I—I trod
Just fifty yards along a camel-track,
A little, little way to God.
Blithe shone the gold that burned in
Caspar's pouch,
For golden pence, a million glittering
pence,
And there was myrrh, full of the sweet
and longing,
And crimson drops of rarest frankin-
cense
From rooms where silkly fell the tass-
elled wind
Of India, and all the air lay still ….
I brought my country lambs when I
came down
A little path that sloped along the hill.

—Mary R. Greig.

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