THE PEDESTRIAN AN INCIDENT OF 1883

"Sir, will you let me give you a ride?

Nox Venit, and the heath is wide."

- My phaeton-lantern shone on one Young, fair, even fresh, But burdened with flesh: A leathern satchel at his side, His breathings short, his coat undone.

'Twas as if his corpulent figure slopped With the shake of his walking when he stopped, And, though the night's pinch grew acute, He wore but a thin Wind-thridded suit, Yet well-shaped shoes for walking in, Artistic beaver, cane gold-topped.

"Alas, my friend," he said with a smile, "I am daily bound to foot ten mile - Wet, dry, or dark--before I rest.

Six months to live My doctors give Me as my prospect here, at best, Unless I vamp my st.u.r.diest!"

His voice was that of a man refined, A man, one well could feel, of mind, Quite winning in its musical ease; But in mould maligned By some disease; And I asked again. But he shook his head; Then, as if more were due, he said:-

"A student was I--of Schopenhauer, Kant, Hegel,--and the fountained bower Of the Muses, too, knew my regard: But ah--I fear me The grave gapes near me! . . .

Would I could this gross sheath discard, And rise an ethereal shape, unmarred!"

How I remember him!--his short breath, His aspect, marked for early death, As he dropped into the night for ever; One caught in his prime Of high endeavour; From all philosophies soon to sever Through an unconscienced trick of Time!

"WHO'S IN THE NEXT ROOM?"

"Who's in the next room?--who?

I seemed to see Somebody in the dawning pa.s.sing through, Unknown to me."

"Nay: you saw nought. He pa.s.sed invisibly."

"Who's in the next room?--who?

I seem to hear Somebody muttering firm in a language new That chills the ear."

"No: you catch not his tongue who has entered there."

"Who's in the next room?--who?

I seem to feel His breath like a clammy draught, as if it drew From the Polar Wheel."

"No: none who breathes at all does the door conceal."

"Who's in the next room?--who?

A figure wan With a message to one in there of something due?

Shall I know him anon?"

"Yea he; and he brought such; and you'll know him anon."

AT A COUNTRY FAIR

At a bygone Western country fair I saw a giant led by a dwarf With a red string like a long thin scarf; How much he was the stronger there The giant seemed unaware.

And then I saw that the giant was blind, And the dwarf a shrewd-eyed little thing; The giant, mild, timid, obeyed the string As if he had no independent mind, Or will of any kind.

Wherever the dwarf decided to go At his heels the other trotted meekly, (Perhaps--I know not--reproaching weakly) Like one Fate bade that it must be so, Whether he wished or no.

Various sights in various climes I have seen, and more I may see yet, But that sight never shall I forget, And have thought it the sorriest of pantomimes, If once, a hundred times!

THE MEMORIAL BRa.s.s: 186-

"Why do you weep there, O sweet lady, Why do you weep before that bra.s.s? - (I'm a mere student sketching the mediaeval) Is some late death lined there, alas? - Your father's? . . . Well, all pay the debt that paid he!"

"Young man, O must I tell!--My husband's! And under His name I set mine, and my DEATH! - Its date left vacant till my heirs should fill it, Stating me faithful till my last breath."

- "Madam, that you are a widow wakes my wonder!"

"O wait! For last month I--remarried!

And now I fear 'twas a deed amiss.

We've just come home. And I am sick and saddened At what the new one will say to this; And will he think--think that I should have tarried?

"I may add, surely,--with no wish to harm him - That he's a temper--yes, I fear!

And when he comes to church next Sunday morning, And sees that written . . . O dear, O dear!

- "Madam, I swear your beauty will disarm him!"

HER LOVE-BIRDS

When I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon, There was in their tiny tune A dying fetch like broken words, When I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon.

When he, too, scanned the love-birds On entering there that day, 'Twas as if he had nought to say Of his long journey citywards, When he, too, scanned the love-birds, On entering there that day.

And billed and billed the love-birds, As 'twere in fond despair At the stress of silence where Had once been tones in tenor thirds, And billed and billed the love-birds As 'twere in fond despair.

O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me, As I learnt what was to be, And knew my life was broke in sherds!

O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me!

PAYING CALLS

I went by footpath and by stile Beyond where bustle ends, Strayed here a mile and there a mile And called upon some friends.