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Charn by Lord Duncany. Charn leaned
forward and rode. All things were won

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with his weariness. It was not
with him a matter of years or of

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centuries, but of wide floods of
time, and an old heaviness and a

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pain in the arms that had become
for him part of the scheme that the

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gods had made, and was of
a peace with eternity. If the gods

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had even sent him a contrary wind, it would have divided all time in

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his memory into two equal slabs.
So gray were all things always where he

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was, that if any radiance lingered
a moment among the dead on the face

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of such a queen, perhaps as
Cleopatra, his eyes could not have perceived

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it. It was strange that the
dead nowadays were coming in such numbers.

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They were coming in thousands, where
they used to come in fifties. It

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was neither Haron's duty nor his wont
to ponder in his gray soul why these

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things might be harn leaned forward and
rowed. Then no one came for a

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while. It was not usual for
the gods to send no one down from

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Earth for such a space, but
the gods knew best. Then one man

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came alone, and the little shade
sat shivering on a lonely bench, and

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the great boat pushed off only one
passenger. The gods knew best, and

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great and weary Haron rowed on and
on beside the little silent, shivering ghost,

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and the sound of the river was
like a mighty scythe that grief in

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the beginning had sighed among her sisters, and that could not die like the

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echoes of human sorrow failing on earthly
hills, but was as old as time,

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and the pain in Harn's arms.
Then the boat from the slow gray

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river loomed up to the coast of
dis and the little silent Shade, still

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shivering, stepped ashore, and Harn
turned the boat to go wearily back to

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the world. Then the little shadows
spoke, that had been a man I

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am the last. He said,
No one had ever made Harn smile before,

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no one before had ever made him
weep. End of Haron by Lord Duncany