 | Farm legends |  |
47
II.
Rob, the Pauper, awakes and runs;
A clamor cometh clear and clearer.
They are hunting him with dogs and guns;
They are every moment pressing nearer.
Through pits of stagnant pools he pushes,
Through the thick sumac's poison-bushes;
He runs and stumbles, leaps and clambers,
Through the dense thicket's breathless chambers.
The swamp-slime stains at his bloody tread;
The tamarack branches rasp his head;
A clamor cometh clear and clearer.
They are hunting him with dogs and guns;
They are every moment pressing nearer.
Through pits of stagnant pools he pushes,
Through the thick sumac's poison-bushes;
He runs and stumbles, leaps and clambers,
Through the dense thicket's breathless chambers.
The swamp-slime stains at his bloody tread;
The tamarack branches rasp his head;
From bog to bog, and from slough to slough,
He flees, but his foes come yelling nearer;
And ever unto his senses now,
The long-drawn bay of the hounds is clearer.
He is worn and worried, hot and panting;
He staggers at every footstep's planting;
The hot blood races through his brain;
His every breath is a twinge of pain;
Black shadows dance before his eyes;
The echoes mock his agony-cries.
He flees, but his foes come yelling nearer;
And ever unto his senses now,
The long-drawn bay of the hounds is clearer.
He is worn and worried, hot and panting;
He staggers at every footstep's planting;
The hot blood races through his brain;
His every breath is a twinge of pain;
Black shadows dance before his eyes;
The echoes mock his agony-cries.
They have hunted him to the open field;
He is falling upon their worn-out mercies.
They loudly call to him to yield;
He hoarsely pays them back in curses.
His blood-shot eye is wildly roaming;
His firm-set mouth with rage is foaming;
He waves his cudgel, with war-cry loud,
And dares the bravest of the crowd.
There springs at his throat a hungry hound;
He dashes its brains into the ground.
He is falling upon their worn-out mercies.
They loudly call to him to yield;
He hoarsely pays them back in curses.
His blood-shot eye is wildly roaming;
His firm-set mouth with rage is foaming;
He waves his cudgel, with war-cry loud,
And dares the bravest of the crowd.
There springs at his throat a hungry hound;
He dashes its brains into the ground.
Rob, the Pauper, is sorely pressed;
The men are crowding all around him.
He crushes one to a bloody rest,
And breaks again from the crowd that bound him.
The crash of a pistol comes unto him—
A well-sped ball goes crushing through him;
But still he rushes on—yet on—
Until, at last, some distance won,
He mounts a fence with a madman's ease,
And this is something of what he sees:
The men are crowding all around him.
He crushes one to a bloody rest,
And breaks again from the crowd that bound him.
48
A well-sped ball goes crushing through him;
But still he rushes on—yet on—
Until, at last, some distance won,
He mounts a fence with a madman's ease,
And this is something of what he sees:
A lonely cottage, some tangled grass,
Thickets of thistles, dock, and mullein;
A forest of weeds he scarce can pass,
A broken chimney, cold and sullen;
Trim housewife-ants, with rush uncertain,
The spider hanging her gauzy curtain.
The Pauper falls on the dusty floor,
And there rings in his failing ear once more
A voice as it might be from the dead,
And says, as it long ago hath said:
Thickets of thistles, dock, and mullein;
A forest of weeds he scarce can pass,
A broken chimney, cold and sullen;
Trim housewife-ants, with rush uncertain,
The spider hanging her gauzy curtain.
The Pauper falls on the dusty floor,
And there rings in his failing ear once more
A voice as it might be from the dead,
And says, as it long ago hath said:
O Rob, I have a word to say—a cruel word—to you:
I can not longer live a lie—the truth for air is calling!
I can not keep the secret locked that long has been your due,
Not if you strike me to the ground, and spurn me in my falling!
He came to me when first a cloud across your smile was creeping—
He came to me—he brought to me a slighted heart for keeping;
He would not see my angry frown; he sought me, day by day;
I flung at him hot words of scorn, I turned my face away.
I bade him dread my husband's rage when once his words were known:
He smiled at me, and said I had no husband of my own!
I can not longer live a lie—the truth for air is calling!
I can not keep the secret locked that long has been your due,
Not if you strike me to the ground, and spurn me in my falling!
He came to me when first a cloud across your smile was creeping—
He came to me—he brought to me a slighted heart for keeping;
He would not see my angry frown; he sought me, day by day;
I flung at him hot words of scorn, I turned my face away.
I bade him dread my husband's rage when once his words were known:
He smiled at me, and said I had no husband of my own!
O Rob, his words were overtrue! they burned into my brain!
I could not rub them out again, were I awake or sleeping!
I saw you kiss her twice and thrice—my chidings were in vain—
And well I knew your wayward heart had wandered from my keeping.
I counted all that was at stake—I bribed my pride with duty;
I knelt before your manly face, in worship of its beauty;
I painted pictures for your eyes you were too blind to see;
I worked at all the trades of love, to earn you back to me;
I threw myself upon your heart; I pleaded long to stay;
I held my hands to you for help—you pushed them both away!
I could not rub them out again, were I awake or sleeping!
I saw you kiss her twice and thrice—my chidings were in vain—
And well I knew your wayward heart had wandered from my keeping.
I counted all that was at stake—I bribed my pride with duty;
I knelt before your manly face, in worship of its beauty;
I painted pictures for your eyes you were too blind to see;
I worked at all the trades of love, to earn you back to me;
I threw myself upon your heart; I pleaded long to stay;
I held my hands to you for help—you pushed them both away!
49
He came to me again; he held his eager love to me—
To me, whose weak and hungry heart deep desolation dreaded!
And I had learned to pity him; but still my will was free,
And once again I threatened him, and warned him I was wedded.
He bade me follow him, and see my erring fancy righted:
We crept along a garden glade by moonbeams dimly lighted;
She silent sat 'mid clustering vines, though much her eyes did speak,
And your black hair was tightly pressed unto her glowing cheek. ...
It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet with love's unnumbered charms;
I, desolate, turned and threw myself into his desolate arms!
To me, whose weak and hungry heart deep desolation dreaded!
And I had learned to pity him; but still my will was free,
And once again I threatened him, and warned him I was wedded.
He bade me follow him, and see my erring fancy righted:
We crept along a garden glade by moonbeams dimly lighted;
She silent sat 'mid clustering vines, though much her eyes did speak,
And your black hair was tightly pressed unto her glowing cheek. ...
It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet with love's unnumbered charms;
I, desolate, turned and threw myself into his desolate arms!
O Rob, you know how little worth, when once a woman slips,
May be the striking down a hand to save herself from falling!
Once more my heart groped for your heart, my tired lips sought your lips;
But 'twas too late—'twas after dark—and you were past recalling.
'Tis hard to claim what once is given; my foe was unrelenting;
Vain were the tempests of my rage, the mists of my repenting.
The night was dark, the storm had come, the fancy-stars of youth
Were covered over by the thick unfading cloud of truth;
So one by one my hopes went back, each hid its pale white face,
Till all was dark, and all was drear, and all was black disgrace.
May be the striking down a hand to save herself from falling!
Once more my heart groped for your heart, my tired lips sought your lips;
But 'twas too late—'twas after dark—and you were past recalling.
'Tis hard to claim what once is given; my foe was unrelenting;
Vain were the tempests of my rage, the mists of my repenting.
The night was dark, the storm had come, the fancy-stars of youth
Were covered over by the thick unfading cloud of truth;
So one by one my hopes went back, each hid its pale white face,
Till all was dark, and all was drear, and all was black disgrace.
O Rob, good-by; a solemn one!—'tis till the Judgment-day.
You look about you for the boy? You never more shall see him.
He's crying for his father now full many miles away;
For he is mine—you need not rage—you can not find or free him.
We might have been so peaceful here, with nothing of reproving—
We might have been so happy here, with none to spoil our loving—
As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse's waiting brow,
I bend to you where you have fallen, and calmly kiss you now;
As I, a wronged and injured one, might seek escape's glad door,
I wander forth into the world, to enter here no more.
You look about you for the boy? You never more shall see him.
He's crying for his father now full many miles away;
For he is mine—you need not rage—you can not find or free him.
We might have been so peaceful here, with nothing of reproving—
We might have been so happy here, with none to spoil our loving—
As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse's waiting brow,
I bend to you where you have fallen, and calmly kiss you now;
As I, a wronged and injured one, might seek escape's glad door,
I wander forth into the world, to enter here no more.
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