Thomas Aird Poems

From sleepless work, and a ne'er-setting sun,
Imagination shrinking with affright,
Turns with fresh thankfulness to thee, O Night.
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At times a bird slides through the glossy air,
O'er the enamelled woodlands; but no chirp
Of song is heard: all's dumb and panting heat.
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The beetling shore he roamed,
Black-bitten, honeycombed.
High on the ness he watched the press
Of mystery in the coming waves;
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The little boy lies still. Rufflings of leaves
Give him their freshness; swallows from the eaves
Twitter their matins sweet; and far away
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Forth comes the day: Othuriel through the land
Of Judah southward leads that Roman band,
To help Vespasian from the Jordan's mouth
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Othuriel wakes; a glimmer shows him laid,
But where he knows not, on a broidered bed.
Came muffled feet; before him stood in sight
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Still is the eve on high Jerusalem's walls,
Save lonely sentinel heard at intervals,
As he with psalms of Judah's prosperous day,
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Othuriel south, by Salem's eastern side,
Went; frequent fires above a light supplied.
Slowly he rode along the ghastly plain
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Weeks o'er Othuriel went; in silent haste
For him each morn was bread by Tamar placed.
But now a book his sweet young sister brought,
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Loud tumults rend the night; the loudest drew
Othuriel northward: thither fast he flew;
Yet pausing oft as came behind him cries,
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