Part 10

They'll jeer at me, and they'll sneer at me, and they'll call me a whiskey soak; ("Have a drink? Well, thankee kindly, sir, I don't mind if I do.") A drivelling, dirty, gin-joint fiend, the butt of the bar-room joke; Sunk and sodden and hopeless -- "Another? Well, here's to you!"

McGuffy is showing a bunch of the boys how Bob Fitzsimmons hit; The barman is talking of Tammany Hall, and why the ward boss got fired. I'll just sneak into a corner and they'll let me alone a bit; The room is reeling round and round... O God! but I'm tired, I'm tired....

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Roses she wore on her breast that night. Oh, but their scent was sweet! Alone we sat on the balcony, and the fan-palms arched above; The witching strain of a waltz by Strauss came up to our cool retreat, And I prisoned her little hand in mine, and I whispered my plea of love.

Then sudden the laughter died on her lips, and lowly she bent her head; And oh, there came in the deep, dark eyes a look that was heaven to see; And the moments went, and I waited there, and never a word was said, And she plucked from her bosom a rose of red and shyly gave it to me.

Then the music swelled to a crash of joy, and the lights blazed up like day, And I held her fast to my throbbing heart, and I kissed her bonny brow. "She is mine, she is mine for evermore!" the violins seemed to say, And the bells were ringing the New Year in -- O God! I can hear them now.

Don't you remember that long, last waltz, with its sobbing, sad refrain? Don't you remember that last good-by, and the dear eyes dim with tears? Don't you remember that golden dream, with never a hint of pain, Of lives that would blend like an angel-song in the bliss of the coming years?

Oh, what have I lost! What have I lost! Ethel, forgive, forgive! The red, red rose is faded now, and it's fifty years ago. 'Twere better to die a thousand deaths than live each day as I live! I have sinned, I have sunk to the lowest depths -- but oh, I have suffered so!

Hark! Oh, hark! I can hear the bells!... Look! I can see her there, Fair as a dream... but it fades... And now -- I can hear the dreadful hum Of the crowded court... See! the Judge looks down... NOT GUILTY, my Lord, I swear... The bells -- I can hear the bells again!... Ethel, I come, I come!...

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"Rouse up, old man, it's twelve o'clock. You can't sleep here, you know. Say! ain't you got no sentiment? Lift up your muddled head; Have a drink to the glad New Year, a drop before you go -- You darned old dirty hobo... My God! Here, boys! He's DEAD!"

Comfort

Say! You've struck a heap of trouble -- Bust in business, lost your wife; No one cares a cent about you, You don't care a cent for life; Hard luck has of hope bereft you, Health is failing, wish you'd die -- Why, you've still the sunshine left you And the big, blue sky.

Sky so blue it makes you wonder If it's heaven shining through; Earth so smiling 'way out yonder, Sun so bright it dazzles you; Birds a-singing, flowers a-flinging All their fragrance on the breeze; Dancing shadows, green, still meadows -- Don't you mope, you've still got these.

These, and none can take them from you; These, and none can weigh their worth. What! you're tired and broke and beaten? -- Why, you're rich -- you've got the earth! Yes, if you're a tramp in tatters, While the blue sky bends above You've got nearly all that matters -- You've got God, and God is love.

The Harpy

There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she; She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three; And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.

There is no hope for such as I on earth, nor yet in Heaven; Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven; A loathed jade, I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.

I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate; Mine eyes with wine I make them shine, that man may seek and sate; With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait

Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame; Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones -- 'tis I who know their shame. The gods, ye see, are brutes to me -- and so I play my game.

For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan; And Woman in a bitter world must do the best she can -- Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man;

Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire, Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire; For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.

And though you know he love you so and set you on love's throne; Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone, Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.

From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow, And wedding ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe, And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.

Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey, With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay -- With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.

One who in youth sought truest truth and found a devil's lies; A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice. Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise?

Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride? The Maker marred, and, evil-starred, I drift upon His tide; And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.

Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart". The Theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part; The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start.