Georgian Poetry 1913-15 Part 31

Sollers:

He means frogs.

I know what's in his mind. When I was young My mother would catch us frogs and set them down, Lapt in a screw of paper, in the ruts, And carts going by would quash 'em; and I'ld laugh, And yet be thinking, 'Suppose it was myself Twisted stiff in huge paper, and wheels Big as the wall of a barn treading me flat!'

Huff:

I know what's in his mind: just madness it is.

He's lookt too hard at his fellows in the world; Sight of their monstrous hearts, like devils in cages, Has jolted all the gearing of his wits.

It needs a tough brain, ay, a brain like mine, To pore on ugly sin and not go mad.

Stranger:

Madness! You're not far out.--I came up here To be alone and quiet in my thoughts, Alone in my own dreadful mind. The path, Of red sand trodden hard, went up between High hedges overgrown of hawthorn blowing White as clouds; ay it seemed burrowed through A white sweet-smelling cloud,--I walking there Small as a hare that runs its tunnelled drove Thro' the close heather. And beside my feet Blue greygles drifted gleaming over the gra.s.s; And up I climbed to sunlight green in birches, And the path turned to daisies among gra.s.s With bonfires of the broom beside, like flame Of burning straw: and I lookt into your valley.

I could scarce look.

Anger was smarting in my eyes like grit.

O the fine earth and fine all for nothing!

Mazed I walkt, seeing and smelling and hearing: The meadow lands all s.h.i.+ning fearfully gold,-- Cruel as fire the sight of them toucht my mind; Breathing was all a honey taste of clover And bean flowers: I would have rather had it Carrion, or the stink of smouldering brimstone.

And larks aloft, the happy piping fools, And squealing swifts that slid on hissing wings, And yellowhammers playing spry in hedges.

I never noted them before; but now-- Yes, I was mad, and crying mad, to see The earth so fine, fine all for nothing!

Sollers (spits):

Pst! yellowhammers! He talks gentry talk.

That's worse than being mad.

Stranger:

I tell you, you'll be feeling them to-morn And hating them to be so wonderful.

Merrick:

Let's have some sense. Where do you live?

Stranger:

Nowhere.

I'm always travelling.

Huff:

Why, what's your trade?

Stranger:

A dowser.

Huff:

You're the man for me!

Stranger:

Not I.

Huff:

Ho, this is better than a fiddler now!

One of those fellows who have nerves so clever That they can feel the waters of underground Tingling in their fingers.

You find me a spring in my high grazing-field, I'll give you what I save in trundling water.

Stranger:

I find you water now!---No, but I'll find you Fire and fear and unbelievable death.

[VINE the Publican comes in.]

Vine:

Are ye all served? Ay, seems so; what's your score?

Merrick:

Two ciders.

Huff:

Three.

Sollers:

And two for me.