Old Eli

Down came old Eli through the wind,
Roaring, as loud as he had mind,
A battered song of Zion's sward,
Of seven candles of the Lord.

Behind their panes the listening folk
Saw him go by with flaring cloak,
Across a world of sad, thick gold,
A figure separate, magic, bold.

It seemed he strode across the land
With seven candles in his hand,
Into the wind his bellowing thrust
South, north, like some wild other gust.

The pools splashed gold upon the grass;
The pear-trees dripped with Hallowmas;
The glittering windows were a-blare
As though with trumpets down the air.

Old Eli's dust, and Huntingdon!
Yet down the year's end, set of sun,
Seven candles lighting him before,
He bellows, bellows as of yore!