Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight By Charles Mackay |
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| XXVIII. | XXVIII. DIAMOND SCRATCHES.
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 | Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight |  |
34
XXVIII. DIAMOND SCRATCHES.
Five years ago, in this cosy Inn,
We passed a pleasant day,
Four merry friends, who ate and drank,
And were blithe as birds in May.
We scratched our names on the window pane;—
There they stand in the sheen,
And prove to me, if to nobody else,
What fools we must have been.
We passed a pleasant day,
Four merry friends, who ate and drank,
And were blithe as birds in May.
We scratched our names on the window pane;—
There they stand in the sheen,
And prove to me, if to nobody else,
What fools we must have been.
One of them borrowed my cash (a dove
That never returned to the ark);
The second was jealous of my fame,
And stabbed it in the dark!
The third made love to a bonnie wee maid
Dearer to me than life,
Wooed her and won her behind my back,
And made her his wretched wife.
That never returned to the ark);
The second was jealous of my fame,
And stabbed it in the dark!
The third made love to a bonnie wee maid
Dearer to me than life,
Wooed her and won her behind my back,
And made her his wretched wife.
And here I sit in the cosy Inn,
While the bright wood-splinters blaze,
And drink my pint of claret alone,
And think of the bygone days,
And wonder which of my three false friends
I hate or despise the most;—
Surely not him who borrowed my cash?
'Tis gone—'tis a bodiless ghost!
While the bright wood-splinters blaze,
And drink my pint of claret alone,
And think of the bygone days,
35
I hate or despise the most;—
Surely not him who borrowed my cash?
'Tis gone—'tis a bodiless ghost!
Surely not him who stole my wife?
That was not my wife, God wot!
But might have been, to my dire distress,
Had she fallen to my lot!
I think I hate with the deadliest hate
The fellow who slurred my name—
Shaking my hand, eating my bread,
And murdering my Fame!
That was not my wife, God wot!
But might have been, to my dire distress,
Had she fallen to my lot!
I think I hate with the deadliest hate
The fellow who slurred my name—
Shaking my hand, eating my bread,
And murdering my Fame!
| Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight | |