Songs Of The Road

Name: Songs Of The Road
Author: Doyle, Arthur Conan

Doyle, Arthur Conan

English poetry

Loyal spirits strong in union,
          Joined by kindred faith and blood;
     Brothers in the wide communion
          Of our sea-girt brotherhood.




THE WANDERER {1}


1 With acknowledgment to my friend Sir A. Quiller-Couch.

     'Twas in the shadowy gloaming
          Of a cold and wet March day,
     That a wanderer came roaming
          From countries far away.

     Scant raiment had he round him,
          Nor purse, nor worldly gear,
     Hungry and faint we found him,
          And bade him welcome here.

     His weary frame bent double,
          His eyes were old and dim,
     His face was writhed with trouble
          Which none might share with him.

     His speech was strange and broken,
          And none could understand,
     Such words as might be spoken
          In some far distant land.

     We guessed not whence he hailed from,
          Nor knew what far-off quay
     His roving bark had sailed from
          Before he came to me.

     But there he was, so slender,
          So helpless and so pale,
     That my wife's heart grew tender
          For one who seemed so frail.

     She cried, "But you must bide here!
          You shall no further roam.
     Grow stronger by our side here,
          Within our moorland home!"

     She laid her best before him,
          Homely and simple fare,
     And to his couch she bore him
          The raiment he should wear.

     To mine he had been welcome,
          My suit of russet brown,
     But she had dressed our weary guest
          In a loose and easy gown.

     And long in peace he lay there,
          Brooding and still and weak,
     Smiling from day to day there
          At thoughts he would not speak.

     The months flowed on, but ever
          Our guest would still remain,
     Nor made the least endeavour
          To leave our home again.

     He heeded not for grammar,
          Nor did we care to teach,
     But soon he learned to stammer
          Some words of English speech.

     With these our guest would tell us
          The things that he liked best,
     And order and compel us
          To follow his behest.

     He ruled us without malice,
          But as if he owned us all,
     A sultan in his palace
          With his servants at his call.

     Those calls came fast and faster,
          Our service still we gave,
     Till I who had been master
          Had grown to be his slave.

     He claimed with grasping gestures
          Each thing of price he saw,
     Watches and rings and vestures,
          His will the only law.

     In vain had I commanded,
          In vain I struggled still,
     Servants and wife were banded
          To do the stranger's will.

     And then in deep dejection
          It came to me one day,
     That my own wife's affection
          Had been beguiled away.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Songs Of The Road

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