Anthony Considine
Out in the wastes of the West countrie,Out where the white stars shine,Grim and silent as such men be,Rideth a man with a history—Anthony Considine.
For the ways of men they are manifoldAs their differing views in life;For some are sold for the lust of goldAnd some for the lust of strife:But this man counted the world well lostFor the love of his neighbour’s wife.
They fled together, as those must fleeWhom all men hold in blame;Each to the other must all things beWho cross the gulf of iniquityAnd live in the land of shame.
But a light-o’-love, if she sins with one,She sinneth with ninety-nine:The rule holds good since the world begun—Since ever the streams began to runAnd the stars began to shine.The rule holds true, and he found it true—Anthony Considine.
A nobler spirit had turned in scornFrom a love that was stained with mire;A weaker being might mourn and mournFor the loss of his Heart’s Desire:But the anger of Anthony ConsidineBlazed up like a flaming fire.
And she, with her new love, presentlyCame past with her eyes ashine;And God so willed it, and God knows why,She turned and laughed as they passed him by—Anthony Considine.
Her laughter stung as a whip might sting;And mad with his wounded prideHe turned and sprang with a panther’s springAnd struck at his rival’s side:And only the woman, shuddering,Could tell how the dead man died!
She dared not speak—and the mysteryIs buried in auld lang syne,But out on the wastes of the West countrie,Grim and silent as such men be,Rideth a man with a history—Anthony Considine.