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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431951" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Witchcraft: New Style</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun drew off at last his piercing fires.<br>Over the stale warm air, dull as a pond<br>And moveless in the grey quieted street,<br>Blue magic of a summer evening glowed.<br>The sky, that had been dazzling stone all day,<br>Hollowed in smooth hard brightness, now dissolved<br>To infinite soft depth, and smoulder'd down<br>Low as the roofs, dark burning blue, and soared<br>Clear to that winking drop of liquid silver,<br>The first exquisite star. Now the half-light<br>Tidied away the dusty litter parching<br>Among the cobbles, veiled in the colour of distance<br>Shabby slates and brickwork mouldering, turn'd<br>The hunchback houses into patient things<br>Resting; and golden windows now began.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A little brisk grey slattern of a woman,<br>Pattering along in her loose-heel'd clogs,<br>Pushed the brass-barr'd door of a public-house;<br>The spring went hard against her; hand and knee<br>Shoved their weak best. As the door poised ajar,<br>Hullabaloo of talking men burst out,<br>A pouring babble of inflamed palaver,<br>And overriding it and shouted down<br>High words, jeering or downright, broken like<br>Crests that leap and stumble in rushing water.<br>Just as the door went wide and she stepped in,<br>'She cannot do it!' one was bawling out:<br>A glaring hulk of flesh with a bull's voice.<br>He finger'd with his neckerchief, and stretched<br>His throat to ease the anger of dispute,<br>Then spat to put a full stop to the matter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The little woman waited, with one hand<br>Propping the door, and smiled at the loud man.<br>They saw her then; and the sight was enough<br>To gag the speech of every drinker there:<br>The din fell down like something chopt off short.<br>Blank they all wheel'd towards her, with their mouths<br>Still gaping as though full of voiceless words.<br>She let the door slam to; and all at ease,<br>Amused, her smile wrinkling about her eyes,<br>Went forward: they made room for her quick enough.<br>Her chin just topt the counter; she gave in<br>Her bottle to the potboy, tuckt it back,<br>Full of bright tawny ale, under her arm,<br>Rapt down the coppers on the planisht zinc,<br>And turned: and no word spoken all the while.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The first voice, in that silent crowd, was hers,<br>Her light snickering laugh, as she stood there<br>Pausing, scanning the sawdust at her feet.<br>Then she switcht round and faced the positive man<br>Whose strong 'She cannot do it!' all still felt<br>Huskily shouting in their guilty ears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She can't, eh? She can't do it? ' — Then she'd heard!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The man, inside his ruddy insolent flesh,<br>Had hoped she did not hear. His barrel chest<br>Gave a slight cringe, as though the glint of her eyes<br>Prickt him. But he stood up to her awkwardly bold,<br>One elbow on the counter, gripping his mug<br>Like a man holding on to a post for safety.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Man: <br>You can't do what's not nature: nobody can.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman:<br>And louts like you have nature in your pocket?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Man: <br>I don't say that — </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>If you kept saying naught, No one would guess the fool you are.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Second Man: <br>Almost <br>My very words!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>O you're the knowing man! <br>The spark among the cinders!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First Man: <br>You can't fetch <br>A free man back, unless he wants to come.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>Nay, I'll be bound he doesn't want to come!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Third Man: <br>And he won't come: he told me flat he wouldn't.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>Are you there too?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Third Man: <br>And if he does come back <br>It will be devilry brought him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>I shall bring him; — <br>Tonight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First Man: <br>How will he come?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>Running: unless <br>He's broke his leg, and then he'll have to come <br>Crawling: but he will come.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First Man: <br>How do you know <br>What he may choose to do, three counties off?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>He choose?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Third Man: <br>You haven't got him on a lead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>Haven't I though!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Second Man: <br>That's right; it's what I said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>Ay, there are brains in your family.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First Man: <br>You have <br>Some sort of pull on him, to draw him home?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>You may say that: I have hold of his mind.<br>And I can slack it off or fetch it taut.<br>And make him dance a score of miles away<br>An answer to the least twangling thrum<br>I play on it. He thought he lurkt at last<br>Safely; and all the while, what has he been?<br>An eel on the end of a night line; and it's time<br>I haul'd him in. You'll see, to-night I'll land him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Third Man: <br>Bragging's a light job.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>You daren't let me take<br>Your eyes in mine! — Haul, did I say? no need:<br>I give his mind a twitch, and up he comes<br>Tumbling home to me. Whatever work he's at,<br>He drops the thing he holds like redhot iron<br>And runs — runs till he falls down like a beast<br>Pole-axt, and grunts for breath; then up and on,<br>No matter does he know the road or not:<br>The strain I put on his mind will keep him going<br>Right as a homing-pigeon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First Man: <br>Devilry I call it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>And you're welcome.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Second Man: <br>But the law should have a say here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>What, isn't he mine,<br>My own? There's naught but what I please about it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Third Man: <br>Why did you let him go?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Woman: <br>To fetch him back!<br>For I enjoy this, mind. There's many a one<br>Would think, to see me, There goes misery!<br>There's a queer starveling for you! — and I do<br>A thing that makes me like a saint in glory,<br>The life of me the sound of a great tune<br>Your flesh could never hear: I can send power<br>Delighting out of me! O, the mere thought<br>Has made my blood go smarting in my veins,<br>Such a flame glowing along it! — And all the same<br>I'll pay him out for sidling off from me.<br>But I'll have supper first.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When she was gone, <br>Their talk could scarcely raise itself again<br>Above a grumble. But at last a cry<br>Sharp-pitcht came startling in from the street: at once<br>Their moody talk exploded into flare<br>Of swearing hubbub, like gunpowder dropt<br>On embers; mugs were clapt down, out they bolted<br>Rowdily jostling, eager for the event.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All down the street the folk throng'd out of doors,<br>But left a narrow track clear in the middle;<br>And there a man came running, a tall man<br>Running desperately and slowly, pounding<br>Like a machine, so evenly, so blindly;<br>And regularly his trotting body wagg'd.<br>Only one foot clatter'd upon the stones;<br>The other padded in his dogged stride:<br>The boot was gone, the sock hung frayed in shreds<br>About his ankle, the foot was blood and earth;<br>And never a limp, not the least flinch, to tell<br>The wounded pulp hit stone at every step.<br>His clothes were tatter'd and his rent skin showed,<br>Harrowed with thorns. His face was pale as putty,<br>Thrown far back; clots of drooping spittle foamed<br>On his moustache, and his hair hung in tails,<br>Mired with sweat; and sightless in their sockets<br>His eyeballs turned up white, as dull as pebbles.<br>Evenly and doggedly he trotted,<br>And as he went he moaned. Then out of sight<br>Round a corner he swerved, and out of hearing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">— 'The law should have a say to that, by God!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lascelles+Abercrombie">Lascelles Abercrombie</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431951" data-title="Witchcraft: New Style de Lascelles Abercrombie" data-description="The sun drew off at last his piercing fires.
Over the stale warm air, dull as a pond
And moveless in the grey quieted street,
Blue magic of a summer evening glowed.
The sky, that had been dazzling stone all day,
Hollowed in smooth hard brightness,..."></div>
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