The Wanderer

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.     Our love had known no danger,     So certain had it been!     And now to think a stranger     Should dare to step between.     I saw him lie and harken     To the little songs she sung,     And when the shadows darken     I could hear his lisping tongue.     They would sit in chambers shady,     When the light was growing dim,     Ah, my fickle-hearted lady!     With your arm embracing him.     So, at last, lest he divide us,     I would put them to the test.     There was no one there beside us,     Save this interloping guest.     So I took my stand before them,     Very silent and erect,     My accusing glance passed o'er them,     Though with no observed effect.     But the lamp light shone upon her,     And I saw each tell-tale feature,     As I cried, "Now, on your honour,     Do or don't you love the creature?"     But her answer seemed evasive,     It was "Ducky-doodle-doo!     If his mummy loves um babby,     Doesn't daddums love um too?"