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, pus.h.i.+ng 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.