Clinton Scollard

BEYOND the clash and clang of cars,

The clamorous rush of trade,

One night at earliest peer of stars,

Apart alone I strayed.

Crossing a little square where eve

Descended, pensive-eyed,

Lo, a soft touch upon my sleeve,—

A slim form at my side!

He bowed with old-time courtesy,

And words urbane on lip,

Craving, in gracious wise, of me

A twilight comradeship.

His hat was strange; his coat was strange;

His mien had subtle grace;

Emotions swept in restless change

Across his shadowed face.

He dwelt upon the lapse of years;

His voice, smooth-toned and low,

Compassed the ecstasies and tears

Of those dead long ago.

His speech with anecdote was fraught

Of bygone beau and dame,

And evermore the sound I caught

Of Blennerhasset’s name.

At length I shrank as though a-cold;

Methought I heard a moan,

And when I turned my eyes, behold,

I was once more alone!

My questioning heart within my side

Gave sudden startled stir;—

I had companioned, stride for stride,

The wraith of Aaron Burr!