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[396] On the morrow's morn, in the thick, gray weather
     They sat on the reeling deck together,
Lover and counterfeit,
     Of hapless Marguerite.

With a lover's hand, from her forehead fair
     He smoothed away her jet-black hair.
What was it his fond eyes met?
     The scar of the false Suzette!

Fiercely he shouted: “Bear away
     East by north for Seven Isles Bay!”
The maiden wept and prayed,
     But the ship her helm obeyed.

Once more the Bay of the Isles they found:
     They heard the bell of the chapel sound,
And the chant of the dying sung
     In the harsh, wild Indian tongue.

A feeling of mystery, change, and awe
     Was in all they heard and all they saw:
Spell-bound the hamlet lay
     In the hush of its lonely bay.

And when they came to the cottage door,
     The mother rose up from her weeping sore,
And with angry gestures met
     The scared look of Suzette.

‘Here is your daughter,’ the skipper said;
     ‘Give me the one I love instead.’
But the woman sternly spake;
     ‘Go, see if the dead will wake!’

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Seven Isles (New York, United States) (1)

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