The Old Leaven

A DIALOGUE.


 * MARK.

So Maurice you sail to-morrow, you say,
 * And you may or may not return,

Be sociable man! for once in a way,
 * Unless you're too old to learn.

The shadows are cool by the water side
 * Where the willows grow by the pond,

And the yellow laburnum's drooping pride
 * Sheds a golden gleam beyond.

For the blended tints of the summer flowers,
 * For the scents of the summer air,

For all nature's charms in this world of ours,
 * 'Tis little or naught you care,

Yet I know for certain you haven't stirr'd
 * Since noon from your chosen spot,

And you've hardly spoken a single word,
 * Are you tired, or cross, or what?

You're fretting about those shares you bought,
 * They were to have gone up fast,

But I heard how they fell to nothing—in short
 * They were given away at last.


 * MAURICE.

No, Mark, I'm not so easily crossed;
 * 'Tis true that I've had a run

Of bad luck lately, indeed, I've lost:
 * Well! somebody else has won.


 * MARK.

The glass has fallen, perhaps you fear
 * A return of your ancient stitch,

That souvenir of the Lady's mere,
 * Park palings, and double ditch.


 * MAURICE.

You're wrong! I'm not in the least afraid
 * Of that, if the truth be told

When the stiffness visits my shoulder blade,
 * I think on the days of old;

It recalls the rush of the freshening wind,
 * The strain of the chesnut springing,

And the rolling thunder of hoofs behind,
 * Like the Rataplan chorus ringing.


 * MARK.

Are you bound to borrow, or loth to lend?
 * Have you purchased another screw?

Or backed a bill for another friend?
 * Or had a bad night at loo?


 * MAURICE.

Not one of these, you're all in the dark,
 * If you choose you can guess again,

But you'd better give over guessing, Mark,
 * It's only labour in vain.


 * MARK.

I'll try once more, does it plague you still,
 * That trifle of lead you carry?

A guest that lingers against your will
 * Unwelcome, yet bound to tarry.


 * MAURICE.

Not so! that burden I'm used to bear,
 * 'Tis seldom it gives me trouble,

And to earn it as I did then and there,
 * I'd carry a dead weight double.

A shock like that for a splintered rib
 * Can a thousandfold repay—

As the swallow skims thro' the spider's web
 * We rode through their ranks that day!


 * MARK.

Come, Maurice, you shan't escape me so!
 * I'll hazard another guess;

That girl that jilted you long ago,
 * You're thinking of her, confess!


 * MAURICE.

Tho' the blue lake flushed with a rosy light,
 * Reflected from yonder sky,

Might conjure a vision of Aphrodite
 * To a poet's or painter's eye,

Tho' the golden drop with its drooping curl,
 * Between the water and wood,

Hangs down like the tress of a wayward girl,
 * In her dreamy maidenhood;

Such boyish fancies seem out of date
 * To one half inclined to censure

Their folly, and yet—your shaft flew straight,
 * Though you drew your bow at a venture.

I saw my lady the other night
 * In the crowded opera hall,

Where the boxes sparkled with faces bright;
 * I knew her amongst them all.

Tho' little for these things now I reck,
 * I singled her from the throng

By the queenly curves of her head and neck,
 * By the droop of her eyelash long.

Oh! passionless, placid, and calm and cold,
 * Does the fire still lurk within

That lit her magnificent eyes of old,
 * And coloured her marble skin;

For a weary look on the proud face hung,
 * While the music clash'd and swell'd.

And the restless child to the silk skirt hung,
 * Unnoticed tho' unrepelled.

They've paled, those rosebud lips that I kist,
 * That slim waist has thickened, rather,

And the cub has the sprawling mutton fist
 * And the great splay foot of the father.

May the blight ——


 * MARK.

Hold hard there Maurice, my son,
 * Let her rest since her spell is broken,

We can neither recall deeds rashly done,
 * Nor retract words hastily spoken.


 * MAURICE.

Time was when to pleasure her girlish whim,
 * In my blind infatuation,

I've freely endangered life and limb;
 * Aye, perill'd my soul's salvation.


 * MARK.

With the best intentions we all must work
 * But little good and much harm,

Be a Christian for once, not a Pagan Turk
 * Nursing wrath and keeping it warm.


 * MAURICE.

If our best intentions pave the way
 * To a place that is somewhat hot,

Can our worst intentions lead us, say,
 * To a still more sultry spot?


 * MARK.

'Tis said that charity makes amends
 * For a multitude of transgressions.


 * MAURICE.

But our perjured loves, and our faithless friends,
 * Are entitled to no concessions.


 * MARK.

Old man, these many years side by side,
 * Our parallel paths have lain,

Now in life's long journey diverging wide,
 * They can scarcely unite again,

And tho' (from all that I've seen and heard)
 * You're prone to chafe and to fret

At the least restraint, not one angry word
 * Have we two exchanged as yet.

We've shared our peril, we've shared our sport,
 * Our sunshine and gloomy weather,

Feasted and flirted, and fenced and fought,
 * Struggled and toil'd together;

In happier moments lighter of heart,
 * Stouter of heart in sorrow,

We've met and we've parted, and now we part
 * For ever, perchance, to-morrow.

She's a matron now; when you knew her first
 * She was but a child, and your hate,

Fostered and cherished, and nourished and nursed,
 * Will it never evaporate?

Your grievance is known to yourself alone,
 * But Maurice, I say, for shame!

If in ten long years you haven't outgrown
 * Illwill to an ancient flame.


 * MAURICE.

Well, Mark, you're right, if I spoke in spite,
 * Let the shame and the blame be mine.

At the risk of a headache, we'll drain this night
 * Her health in a flask of wine;

For a castle in Spain, tho' it never was built;
 * For a dream, tho' it never came true;

For a cup, just tasted, tho' rudely spilt,
 * At least she can hold me due.

Those hours of pleasure she dealt of yore,
 * As well as those hours of pain,

I ween they would flit as they flitted before,
 * If I had them over again.

Against her no word from my lips shall pass
 * Betraying the grudge I've cherished,

Till the sand runs down in my hour-glass,
 * And the gift of my speech has perished.

Say! why is the spirit of peace so weak,
 * And the spirit of wrath so strong?

That the right we must carefully search and seek,
 * Tho' we readily find the wrong.


 * MARK.

Our parents of old entailed the curse
 * Which must to our children cling,

Let us hope, at least, that we're not much worse
 * Than the founder from whom we spring.

Fit sire was he of a selfish race
 * Who first to temptation yielded,

Then to mend his case, tried to heap disgrace
 * On the woman he should have shielded.

Say! comrade mine, the forbidden fruit,
 * We'd have pluck'd that I well believe,

But I trust we'd rather have suffered mute
 * Than have laid the blame upon Eve.


 * MAURICE (YAWNING.)

Who knows? Not I, I can hardly vouch
 * For the truth of what little I see,

And now if you've any weed in your pouch,
 * Just hand it over to me.