Part 8
* * * * *
JAMES STEPHENS
THE RIVALS
I heard a bird at dawn Singing sweetly on a tree, That the dew was on the lawn, And the wind was on the lea; But I didn't listen to him, For he didn't sing to me.
I didn't listen to him, For he didn't sing to me That the dew was on the lawn And the wind was on the lea; I was singing at the time Just as prettily as he.
I was singing all the time, Just as prettily as he, About the dew upon the lawn And the wind upon the lea; So I didn't listen to him And he sang upon a tree.
THE GOAT PATHS
The crooked paths go every way Upon the hill--they wind about Through the heather in and out Of the quiet sunniness. And there the goats, day after day, Stray in sunny quietness, Cropping here and cropping there, As they pause and turn and pass, Now a bit of heather spray, Now a mouthful of the grass.
In the deeper sunniness, In the place where nothing stirs, Quietly in quietness, In the quiet of the furze, For a time they come and lie Staring on the roving sky.
If you approach they run away, They leap and stare, away they bound, With a sudden angry sound, To the sunny quietude; Crouching down where nothing stirs In the silence of the furze, Couching down again to brood In the sunny solitude.
If I were as wise as they I would stray apart and brood, I would beat a hidden way Through the quiet heather spray To a sunny solitude;
And should you come I'd run away, I would make an angry sound, I would stare and turn and bound To the deeper quietude, To the place where nothing stirs In the silence of the furze.
In that airy quietness I would think as long as they; Through the quiet sunniness I would stray away to brood By a hidden beaten way In a sunny solitude.
I would think until I found Something I can never find, Something lying on the ground, In the bottom of my mind.
THE SNARE
(To A.E.)
I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare: Now I hear the cry again, But I cannot tell from where.
But I cannot tell from where He is calling out for aid; Crying on the frightened air, Making everything afraid.
Making everything afraid, Wrinkling up his little face, As he cries again for aid; And I cannot find the place!
And I cannot find the place Where his paw is in the snare: Little one! Oh, little one! I am searching everywhere.
IN WOODS AND MEADOWS
Play to the tender stops, though cheerily: Gently, my soul, my song: let no one hear: Sing to thyself alone; thine ecstasy Rising in silence to the inward ear That is attuned to silence: do not tell A friend, a bird, a star, lest they should say-- _He danced in woods and meadows all the day, Waving his arms, and cried as evening fell, 'O, do not come,' and cried, 'O, come, thou queen, And walk with me unwatched upon the green Under the sky.'_
DEIRDRE
Do not let any woman read this verse; It is for men, and after them their sons And their sons' sons.
The time comes when our hearts sink utterly; When we remember Deirdre and her tale, And that her lips are dust.
Once she did tread the earth: men took her hand;. They looked into her eyes and said their say, And she replied to them.
More than a thousand years it is since she Was beautiful: she trod the waving grass; She saw the clouds.
A thousand years! The grass is still the same, The clouds as lovely as they were that time When Deirdre was alive.
But there has never been a woman born Who was so beautiful, not one so beautiful Of all the women born.
Let all men go apart and mourn together; No man can ever love her; not a man Can ever be her lover.
No man can bend before her: no man say-- What could one say to her? There are no words That one could say to her!
Now she is but a story that is told Beside the fire! No man can ever be The friend of that poor queen.
* * * * *
LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE
THE END OF THE WORLD
PERSONS
HUFF, the Farmer. SOLLERS, the Wainwright. MERRICK, the Smith. VINE, the Publican. SHALE, the Labourer. A DOWSER. MRS HUFF. WARP, the Molecatcher. Men and Women of the Village.'
## ACT I
[Scene: A public-house kitchen. HUFF the Farmer and SOLLERS the Wainwright talking; another man, a stranger, sitting silent.]
Huff:
Ay, you may think we're well off--
Sollers:
Now for croaks, Old toad! who's trodden on you now?--Go on; But if you can, croak us a new tune.
Huff:
Ay, You think you're well off--and don't grab my words Before they're spoken--but some folks, I've heard, Pity us, living quiet in the valley.
Sollers:
Well, I suppose 'tis their affair.
Huff:
Is it? But what I mean to say,--if they think small Of us that live in the valley, mayn't it show That we aren't all so happy as we think?
[MERRICK the Smith comes in.]
Merrick:
Quick, cider! I believe I've swallowed a coal.
Sollers:
Good evening. True, the heat's a wonder to-night.
[Smith draws himself cider.]
Huff:
Haven't you brought your flute? We've all got room For music in our minds to-night, I'll swear. Working all day in the sun do seem to push The thought out of your brain.
Sollers:
O, 'tis the sun Has trodden on you? That's what makes you croak? Ay, whistle him somewhat: put a tune in his brain; He'll else croak us out of pleasure with drinking.
Merrick:
'Tis quenching, I believe.--A tune? Too hot. You want a fiddler.
Huff:
Nay, I want your flute. I like a piping sound, not scraping o' guts.
Merrick:
This is no weather for a man to play Flutes or music at all that asks him spend His breath and spittle: you want both yourself These oven days. Wait till a fiddler comes.
Huff:
Who ever comes down here?
Sollers:
There's someone come.
[Pointing with his pipe to the stranger.]
Merrick:
Good evening, mister. Are you a man for tunes?
Stranger:
And if I was I'ld give you none to-night.
Merrick:
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 passenger 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 hell 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 lust 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.
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 grass; And up I climbed to sunlight green in birches, And the path turned to daisies among grass 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 shining 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.
Vine (to Dowser):
And you?
Dowser:
Naught. I was waiting on you.
Vine:
Will you drink?
Dowser:
Ay! Drink! what else is left for a man to do Who knows what I know?
Vine:
Good. What is't you know? You tell it out and set my trade a-buzzing.
Sollers:
He's queer. Give him his mug and ease his tongue.
Vine:
I had to swill the pigs: else I'd been here; But we've the old fashion in this house; you draw, I keep the score. Well, what's the worry on you?
Sollers:
Oh he's in love.
Dowser:
You fleering grinning louts, I'll give it you now; now have it in your faces!
Sollers:
Crimini, he's going to fight!
Dowser:
You try and fight with the thing that's on my side!
Merrick:
A ranter!
Huff:
A boozy one then.
Dowser:
Open yon door; 'Tis dark enough by now. Open it, you.
Vine:
Hold on. Have you got something fierce outside?
Merrick:
A Russian bear?
Sollers:
Dowsers can play strange games.
Huff:
No tricks!
Dowser:
This is a trick to rouse the world.
[He opens the door.]
Look out! Between the elms! There's my fierce thing.
Merrick:
He means the star with the tail like a feather of fire.
Sollers:
Comet, it's called.
Huff:
Do you mean the comet, mister?
Dowser:
What do you think of it?
Huff:
Pretty enough. But I saw a man loose off a rocket once; It made more stir and flare of itself; though yon Does better at steady burning.
Dowser:
Stir and flare! You'll soon forget your rocket.
Merrick:
Tell you what I thought last night, now, going home. Says I, 'Tis just like the look of a tadpole: if I saw A tadpole silver as a dace that swam Upside-down towards me through black water, I'ld see the plain spit of that star and his tail.
Sollers:
And how does your thought go?
Dowser:
It's what I know!-- A tadpole and a rocket!--My dear God, And I can still laugh out!--What do you think Your tadpole's made of? What lets your rocket fling Those streaming sparks across the half of night, Splashing the burning spray of its haste among The quiet business of the other stars? Ay, that's a fiery jet it leaves behind In such enormous drift! What sort of fire Is spouted so, spouted and never quenching?-- There is no name for that star's fire: it is The fire that was before the world was made, The fire that all the things we live among Remember being; and whitest fire we know Is its poor copy in their dreaming trance!
Huff:
That would be hell fire.
Dowser:
Ay, if you like, hell fire, Hell fire flying through the night! 'Twould be A thing to blink about, a blast of it Swept in your face, eh? and a thing to set The whole stuff of the earth smoking rarely? Which of you said 'the heat's a wonder to-night'? You have not done with marvelling. There'll come A night when all your clothes are a pickle of sweat, And, for all that, the sweat on your salty skin Shall dry and crack, in the breathing of a wind That's like a draught come through an open'd furnace. The leafage of the trees shall brown and faint, All sappy growth turning to brittle rubbish As the near heat of the star strokes the green earth; And time shall brush the fields as visibly As a rough hand brushes against the nap Of gleaming cloth--killing the season's colour, Each hour charged with the wasting of a year; And sailors panting on their warping decks Will watch the sea steam like broth about them. You'll know what I know then!--That towering star Hangs like a fiery buzzard in the night Intent over our earth--Ay, now his journey Points, straight as a plummet's drop, down to us!
Huff:
Why, that's the end of the world!
Dowser:
You've said it now.
Sollers:
What, soon? In a day or two?
Merrick:
You can't mean that!
Vine:
End of the World! Well now, I never thought To hear the news of that. If you've the truth In what you say, likely this is an evening That we'll be talking over often and often. 'How was it, Sellers?' I'll say; 'or you, Merrick, Do you mind clearly how he lookt?'--And then-- "End of the world" he said, and drank--like that, Solemn!'--And right he was: he had it all As sure as I have when my sow's to farrow.
Dowser:
Are you making a joke of me? Keep your mind For tippling while you can.
Vine:
Was that a joke? I'm always bad at seeing 'em, even my own.
Dowser:
A fool's! 'Twill cheer you when the earth blows up. Like as it were all gunpowder.
Vine:
You mean The star will butt his burning head against us? 'Twill knock the world to flinders, I suppose?
Dowser:
Ay, or with that wild, monstrous tail of his Smash down upon the air, and make it bounce Like water under the flukes of a harpooned whale, And thrash it to a poisonous fire; and we And all the life of the world drowned in blazing!
Vine:
'Twill be a handsome sight. If my old wife Were with me now! This would have suited her. 'I do like things to happen!' she would say; Never shindy enough for her; and now She's gone, and can't be seeing this!
Dowser:
You poor fool. How will it be a sight to you, when your eyes Are scorcht to little cinders in your head?
Vine:
Whether or no, there must be folks outside Willing to know of this. I'll scatter your news.
[He goes.]
[A short-pause: then SOLLERS breaks out.]
Sollers:
No, no; it wouldn't do for me at all; Nor for you neither, Merrick? End of the World? Bogy! A parson's tale or a bairn's!
Merrick:
That's it. Your trade's a gift, easy as playing tunes. But Sollers here and I, we've had to drill Sinew and muscle into their hard lesson, Until they work in timber and glowing iron As kindly as I pick up my pint: your work Grows in your nature, like plain speech in a child, But we have learnt to think in a foreign tongue; And something must come out of all our skill! We shan't go sliding down as glib as you Into notions of the End of the World.
Sollers:
Give me a tree, you may say, and give me steel, And I'll put forth my shapely mind; I'll make, Out of my head like telling a well-known tale, A wain that goes as comely on the roads As a ship sailing, the lines of it true as gospel. Have I learnt that all for nothing?--O no! End of the World? It wouldn't do at all. No more making of wains, after I've spent My time in getting the right skill in my hands?
Dowser:
Ay, you begin to feel it now, I think; But you complain like boys for a game spoilt: Shaping your carts, forging your iron! But Life, Life, the mother who lets her children play So seriously busy, trade and craft,-- Life with her skill of a million years' perfection To make her heart's delighted glorying Of sunlight, and of clouds about the moon, Spring lighting her daffodils, and corn Ripening gold to ruddy, and giant seas, And mountains sitting in their purple clothes-- Life I am thinking of, life the wonder, All blotcht out by a brutal thrust of fire Like a midge that a clumsy thumb squashes and smears.
Huff:
Let me but see the show beginning, though! You'ld mind me then! O I would like you all To watch how I should figure, when the star Brandishes over the whole air its flame Of thundering fire; and naught but yellow rubbish Parcht on the perishing ground, and there are tongues Chapt with thirst, glad to lap stinking ponds, And pale glaring faces spying about On the earth withering, terror the only speech! Look for me then, and see me stand alone Easy and pleasant in the midst of it all. Did you not make your merry scoff of me? Was it your talk, that when yon shameless pair Threw their wantoning in my face like dirt, I had no heart against them but to grumble? You would be saying that, I know! But now, Now I believe it's time for you to see My patient heart at last taking its wages.
Sollers:
Pull up, man! Screw the brake on your running tongue, Else it will rattle you down the tumbling way This fellow's gone.
Merrick:
And one man's enough With brain quagged axle-deep in crazy mire. We won't have you beside him in his puddles, And calling out with him on the End of the World To heave you out with a vengeance.
Huff:
What you want! Have I not borne enough to make me know I must be righted sometime?--And what else Would break the hardy sin in them, which lets Their souls parade so daring and so tall Under God's hate and mine? What else could pay For all my wrong but a blow of blazing anger Striking down to shiver the earth, and change Their strutting wickedness to horror and crying?
Merrick:
Be quiet, Huff! If you mean to believe This dowser's stuff, and join him in his bedlam, By God, you'll have to reckon with my fist.
[SHALE comes in. HUFF glares at him speechless, but with wrath evidently working.]
Shale:
Where's the joker? You, is it? Here's hot news You've brought us; all the valley's hissing aloud, And makes as much of you falling into it As a pail of water would of a glowing coal.
Sollers:
Don't you start burbling too, Shale.
Shale:
That's the word! Burbling, simmering, ay and bumpy-boiling: All the women are mobbed together close Under the witan-trees, and their full minds Boil like so many pans slung on a fire. Why, starlings trooping in a copse in fall Could make no scandal like it.
Merrick:
What is it, man?
Shale:
End of the World! The flying star! End of the World!
Sollers:
They don't believe it though?
Shale:
What? the whole place Has gone just randy over it!
Merrick:
Hold your noise!
Sollers:
I shall be daft if this goes on.
Shale:
Ay, so? The End of the World's been here? You look as though You'd startled lately. And there's the virtuous man! How would End of the World suit our good Huff, Our old crab-verjuice Huff?
HUFF (seizing the DOWSER and bringing him up in front of SHALE):