University of Virginia Library

VII

So if Nell tuk a pleasure in listenin', the same as the rest o' thim, why
'Twas small blame to her; that's what I said to meself; but it seemed like a lie.
An' whine'er I come home from me work, an' seen never a sowl be the hedge,
Where there'd most whiles be Nelly to meet me, but, happen, away on the edge
O'the hill-slope a pair standin' dark 'ginst the clear o' the sunset, och thin
All the fire that was dead in the sky seemed flared up to a burnin' agin
In the core o' me heart; an' the first thing I knew I'd be rippin' an oath,
Wid me fingers clenched hard in a rage, like as if they were grippin' his throath;
An' I'd swear to meself that whin wanst he was parted from Nelly that night,
I'd slip afther him back to his place, an' pervoke him some way to a fight,
As I ready might do if I plased, an' no throuble about it at all,
For it's aisier risin' a quarrel than sthrikin'a match on a wall.
An' bedad, if it come to that work, it's meself might be havin' the pull,
For I stood a head taller than he, and I'd always the strenth of a bull;
An' 'twas likely enough, if I masthered him thin, he'd take off out o' this,
An' leave Nelly an' me to ourselves as if naught had befallen amiss;
An' thin Nelly'd percaive there was more in the world than a gay bit o' red—
So thinks I to meself; but, sure, musha, wan's thoughts is like beads off a thread,
Slippin' each after each in a hurry: an' so I kep' considherin' on,
Till the next thought I had was if Nelly'd be fretted whin Felix was gone.
For I knew that the comfort was crep' from me life like the light from the day
Since se'd tuk up wid him; an' belike now if aught chanced that dhruv him away,
She'd be heart-broke. An' what call had I to go vex her wid comin' between,
Whin she'd liefer have him than meself in me shows of ould brogues an' caubeen?
‘Divil take me,’ sez I, ‘thin it's schemin' I am to have Nelly to wake
Wid her heart every mornin' like lead, if there's lead that can thrimble and ache,
Wid no pleasure in aught, feelin' lonesome an' lost in the world dhrear an' wild,
I might betther ha' left her to dhrown, an' she on'y an imp of a child.’