Satires of Circumstance Part 7

Since then, to my cost, I have lived to find That you were right and that I was wrong; This man is a dolt to the one declined . . .

Ah!--here he comes with his b.u.t.ton-hole rose.

Good G.o.d--I must marry him I suppose!"

V--AT A WATERING-PLACE

They sit and smoke on the esplanade, The man and his friend, and regard the bay Where the far chalk cliffs, to the left displayed, Smile sallowly in the decline of day.

And saunterers pa.s.s with laugh and jest - A handsome couple among the rest.

"That smart proud pair," says the man to his friend, "Are to marry next week . . . How little he thinks That dozens of days and nights on end I have stroked her neck, unhooked the links Of her sleeve to get at her upper arm . . .

Well, bliss is in ignorance: what's the harm!"

VI --IN THE CEMETERY

"You see those mothers squabbling there?"

Remarks the man of the cemetery.

One says in tears, ''Tis mine lies here!'

Another, 'Nay, mine, you Pharisee!'

Another, 'How dare you move my flowers And put your own on this grave of ours!'

But all their children were laid therein At different times, like sprats in a tin.

"And then the main drain had to cross, And we moved the lot some nights ago, And packed them away in the general foss With hundreds more. But their folks don't know, And as well cry over a new-laid drain As anything else, to ease your pain!"

VII--OUTSIDE THE WINDOW

"My stick!" he says, and turns in the lane To the house just left, whence a vixen voice Comes out with the firelight through the pane, And he sees within that the girl of his choice Stands rating her mother with eyes aglare For something said while he was there.

"At last I behold her soul undraped!"

Thinks the man who had loved her more than himself; "My G.o.d--'tis but narrowly I have escaped. - My precious porcelain proves it delf."

His face has reddened like one ashamed, And he steals off, leaving his stick unclaimed.

VIII--IN THE STUDY

He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there, A type of decayed gentility; And by some small signs he well can guess That she comes to him almost breakfastless.

"I have called--I hope I do not err - I am looking for a purchaser Of some score volumes of the works Of eminent divines I own, - Left by my father--though it irks My patience to offer them." And she smiles As if necessity were unknown; "But the truth of it is that oftenwhiles I have wished, as I am fond of art, To make my rooms a little smart."

And lightly still she laughs to him, As if to sell were a mere gay whim, And that, to be frank, Life were indeed To her not vinegar and gall, But fresh and honey-like; and Need No household skeleton at all.

IX--AT THE ALTAR-RAIL

"My bride is not coming, alas!" says the groom, And the telegram shakes in his hand. "I own It was hurried! We met at a dancing-room When I went to the Cattle-Show alone, And then, next night, where the Fountain leaps, And the Street of the Quarter-Circle sweeps.

"Ay, she won me to ask her to be my wife - 'Twas foolish perhaps!--to forsake the ways Of the flaring town for a farmer's life.

She agreed. And we fixed it. Now she says: 'It's sweet of you, dear, to prepare me a nest, But a swift, short, gay life suits me best.

What I really am you have never gleaned; I had eaten the apple ere you were weaned.'"

X--IN THE NUPTIAL CHAMBER

"O that mastering tune?" And up in the bed Like a lace-robed phantom springs the bride; "And why?" asks the man she had that day wed, With a start, as the band plays on outside.

"It's the townsfolks' cheery compliment Because of our marriage, my Innocent."

"O but you don't know! 'Tis the pa.s.sionate air To which my old Love waltzed with me, And I swore as we spun that none should share My home, my kisses, till death, save he!

And he dominates me and thrills me through, And it's he I embrace while embracing you!"

XI--IN THE RESTAURANT

"But hear. If you stay, and the child be born, It will pa.s.s as your husband's with the rest, While, if we fly, the teeth of scorn Will be gleaming at us from east to west; And the child will come as a life despised; I feel an elopement is ill-advised!"

"O you realize not what it is, my dear, To a woman! Daily and hourly alarms Lest the truth should out. How can I stay here, And nightly take him into my arms!

Come to the child no name or fame, Let us go, and face it, and bear the shame."

XII--AT THE DRAPER'S

"I stood at the back of the shop, my dear, But you did not perceive me.

Well, when they deliver what you were shown _I_ shall know nothing of it, believe me!"

And he coughed and coughed as she paled and said, "O, I didn't see you come in there - Why couldn't you speak?"--"Well, I didn't. I left That you should not notice I'd been there.