Georgian Poetry 1913-15 Part 30

Well, no offence: there's no offence, I hope, In taking a dummy for a tuneful man.

Is it for can't or won't you are?

Stranger:

You wouldn't, if you carried in your mind What I've been carrying all day.

Sollers:

What's that?

Stranger:

You wait; you'll know about it soon; O yes, Soon enough it will find you out and rouse you.

Huff:

Now ain't that just the way we go down here?

Here in the valley we're like dogs in a yard, Chained to our kennels and wall'd in all round, And not a sound of the world jumps over our hills.

And when there comes a pa.s.senger among us, One who has heard what's stirring out beyond, 'Tis a grutchy mumchance fellow in the dismals!

Stranger:

News, is it, you want? I could give you news!-- I wonder, did you ever hate to feel The earth so fine and splendid?

Huff:

Oh, you're one Has stood in the brunt of the world's wickedness, Like me? But listen, and I'll give you a tale Of wicked things done in this little valley, Done against me, will surely make you think The Devil here fetcht up his masterpiece.

Sollers:

Ah, but it's hot enough without you talking Your old h.e.l.l fire about that pair of sinners.

Leave them alone and drink.

Huff:

I'll smell them grilling One of these days.

Merrick:

But there'll be nought to drink When that begins! Best keep your skin full now.

Stranger:

What do I care for wickedness? Let those Who've played with dirt, and thought the game was bold, Make much of it while they can: there's a big thing Coming down to us, ay, well on its road, Will make their ploys seem mighty piddling sport.

Huff:

This is a fool; or else it's what I think,-- The world now breeds such crowd that they've no room For well-grown sins: they hatch 'em small as flies.

But you stay here, out of the world awhile, Here where a man's mind, and a woman's mind, Can fling out large in wickedness: you'll see Something monstrous here, something dreadful.

Stranger:

I've seen enough of that. Though it was only Fancying made me see it, it was enough: I've seen the folk of the world yelling aghast, Scurrying to hide themselves. I want nought else Monstrous and dreadful.--

Merrick:

What had roused 'em so?

Some house afire?

Huff:

A huzzy flogged to death For her hard-faced adultery?

Stranger (too intent to hear them):

Oh to think of it!

Talk, do, chatter some nonsense, else I'll think: And then I'm feeling like a grub that crawls All abroad in a dusty road; and high Above me, and shaking the ground beneath me, come Wheels of a thundering wain, right where I'm plodding.

Sollers:

Queer thinking, that.

Stranger:

And here's a queerer thing.

I have a sort of l.u.s.t in me, pushing me still Into that terrible way of thinking, like Black men in India lie them down and long To feel their holy wagon crack their spines.

Merrick:

Do you mean beetles? I've driven over scores, They sprawling on their backs, or standing mazed.

I never knew they liked it.