 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE RAGPICKER.
Crossing the busy thoroughfare, to-day,
Picking my way along the muddy flags,
A wretched crone one moment barred my way—
Stooping to gather there some scattered rags
That in the kennel lay.
Picking my way along the muddy flags,
A wretched crone one moment barred my way—
Stooping to gather there some scattered rags
That in the kennel lay.
659
I was not moved just then by kindly grace,
And, angered at the stop, I curtly said:
“Come, come, good woman! Give us passers place!
Don't block the way!” At that she raised her head
And looked me in the face.
And, angered at the stop, I curtly said:
“Come, come, good woman! Give us passers place!
Don't block the way!” At that she raised her head
And looked me in the face.
Her visage wan, with age and trouble seamed;
Her form was doubled by the weight she bore;
And strange impression o'er me faintly gleamed
That somewhere during life those eyes before
Had on me terribly beamed.
Her form was doubled by the weight she bore;
And strange impression o'er me faintly gleamed
That somewhere during life those eyes before
Had on me terribly beamed.
With trembling finger raised, she said aloud:
“You're rich and honored greatly, Hubert Leigh;
And yet, for all you are so high and proud,
You once were ready to give place to me,
Head bent and body bowed.”
“You're rich and honored greatly, Hubert Leigh;
And yet, for all you are so high and proud,
You once were ready to give place to me,
Head bent and body bowed.”
Then from the darkness of her eyes there leapt
A light indignant, as her form she drew
To its full height and from me angry swept;
While I, thrilled by the baleful glance she threw,
My way unsteady kept.
A light indignant, as her form she drew
To its full height and from me angry swept;
While I, thrilled by the baleful glance she threw,
My way unsteady kept.
What story was there in those strange, wild eyes?
Where had I met them in some former state?
They brought the sight of tears, the sound of sighs,
A pang of woe, the shipwreck of a fate
Unhappy and unwise.
Where had I met them in some former state?
They brought the sight of tears, the sound of sighs,
A pang of woe, the shipwreck of a fate
Unhappy and unwise.
What time, if ever, was it that I knew
That wretched hag, in this life or the last?
Was pre-existence, as some tell us, true?
In some metempsychosis of the past
Had those eyes crossed my view?
That wretched hag, in this life or the last?
Was pre-existence, as some tell us, true?
In some metempsychosis of the past
Had those eyes crossed my view?
660
Then woke my memory with a sudden start;
The past unrolled before me like a scroll.
This was the weird of her who held my heart
In days gone by; who was my other soul,
From which 'twas death to part.
The past unrolled before me like a scroll.
This was the weird of her who held my heart
In days gone by; who was my other soul,
From which 'twas death to part.
Her frown was torture and her smile was bliss;
I would have pledged existence on her truth;
'Twas rapture even her garment's hem to kiss,
The idol worshipped in my earnest youth.
And had she fallen to this?
I would have pledged existence on her truth;
'Twas rapture even her garment's hem to kiss,
The idol worshipped in my earnest youth.
And had she fallen to this?
She spurned my humble suit, since I was poor—
I could not promise luxury with her life;
So, crushing love, position to insure,
She sold herself to be a rich man's wife
And thought her state secure.
I could not promise luxury with her life;
So, crushing love, position to insure,
She sold herself to be a rich man's wife
And thought her state secure.
We parted, as we thought, forevermore;
I found my love in gain, and wooed it well;
Year after year I added to my store—
On my side of the fence each apple fell
The tree of Fortune bore.
I found my love in gain, and wooed it well;
Year after year I added to my store—
On my side of the fence each apple fell
The tree of Fortune bore.
Whate'er my fingers touched was turned to gold;
Success became my lackey; but success,
Though generating for me wealth untold,
Is not enough my desolate life to bless—
Now I am alone and old.
Success became my lackey; but success,
Though generating for me wealth untold,
Is not enough my desolate life to bless—
Now I am alone and old.
It comforts not, as here I walk along,
That she who stabbed my soul has sunk so low;
I would I had not met her in the throng,
Reviving memories buried long ago,
Bringing to life my wrong.
That she who stabbed my soul has sunk so low;
I would I had not met her in the throng,
Reviving memories buried long ago,
Bringing to life my wrong.
661
A crowd out yonder. What the words they say?
“An old ragpicker, stooping, struck and killed
By a runaway horse.” Still keeps the world its way;
Since last her glance my heart with anguish thrilled
'Tis forty years to-day.
“An old ragpicker, stooping, struck and killed
By a runaway horse.” Still keeps the world its way;
Since last her glance my heart with anguish thrilled
'Tis forty years to-day.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |