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 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
Nothing ails me,
He said; I did not know I was so rude:
But coming from our rough unmannered life
Among a group of happy girls like yours,
Free in their innocence, is like the passing,
Sudden, from dark into the blaze of noon;
Your eyes blink and are blinded. It is long
Since I have sat beside pure-hearted maids;
And, listening to their words, my thoughts went back
To dear old times; I seemed to hear again,
Dreamily, echoes of old fireside mirth,
And chatter of the table. Was I rude?
I did not mean it. Half I envied you,
And half I feared that some ill-sorted word
Of mine might break the charm. 'Tis strange that we
May wallow with the swine, and grunt with them,
Till those fair customs which were native to us,
Grown unfamiliar, make us pick our steps
In fear and silence.
He said; I did not know I was so rude:
But coming from our rough unmannered life
Among a group of happy girls like yours,
Free in their innocence, is like the passing,
Sudden, from dark into the blaze of noon;
Your eyes blink and are blinded. It is long
Since I have sat beside pure-hearted maids;
And, listening to their words, my thoughts went back
To dear old times; I seemed to hear again,
265
And chatter of the table. Was I rude?
I did not mean it. Half I envied you,
And half I feared that some ill-sorted word
Of mine might break the charm. 'Tis strange that we
May wallow with the swine, and grunt with them,
Till those fair customs which were native to us,
Grown unfamiliar, make us pick our steps
In fear and silence.
Laughing, I replied
It was the last thing I'd have dreamed, that he
Who, like a young Greek strong in grace of mind
And manhood, used to fire young maiden fancies,
While he himself was cool amid their tremors,
Should sit abashed with home-bred girls.
It was the last thing I'd have dreamed, that he
Who, like a young Greek strong in grace of mind
And manhood, used to fire young maiden fancies,
While he himself was cool amid their tremors,
Should sit abashed with home-bred girls.
This led
To talk of College days and College friends—
How one was mossing in a drowsy manse;
Another loud on platforms, half a priest,
Half demagogue, who played on prejudice
With evil skill; another, wigged and gowned,
Bade fair to lead the Bar, and win the Bench;
And this, a kindly humorist whose speech
Was charming to the lecture-hearing Public:
Some doctored west-end patients, some the east;
While some were dead, and others worse than dead,
Turning up, now and then, in rusty black
And dirty linen, rubicund of face,
Begging a paltry loan. We wondered much
How the world-school reversed the classic school,
And jumbled reputations; fancied what
If, by some chance, another pair were met,
That evening, in the bush, beneath the Cross,
Or Indian dusky city, or London club,
They might of us be saying, as we of them;
Then we sat silent, musing for a space.
To talk of College days and College friends—
How one was mossing in a drowsy manse;
Another loud on platforms, half a priest,
Half demagogue, who played on prejudice
With evil skill; another, wigged and gowned,
Bade fair to lead the Bar, and win the Bench;
And this, a kindly humorist whose speech
Was charming to the lecture-hearing Public:
Some doctored west-end patients, some the east;
While some were dead, and others worse than dead,
Turning up, now and then, in rusty black
And dirty linen, rubicund of face,
Begging a paltry loan. We wondered much
How the world-school reversed the classic school,
And jumbled reputations; fancied what
If, by some chance, another pair were met,
That evening, in the bush, beneath the Cross,
Or Indian dusky city, or London club,
They might of us be saying, as we of them;
Then we sat silent, musing for a space.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |