The Gypsy
A FORTNIGHT before Christmas Gypsies were every-where:Vans were drawn up on wastes, women trailed tothe fair."My gentleman," said one, "You've got a luckyface.""And you've a luckier," I thought, "if such a graceAnd impudence in rags are lucky." "Give a pennyFor the poor baby's sake." "Indeed I have not anyUnless you can give change for a sovereign, mydear.""Then just half a pipeful of tobacco can youspare?"I gave it. With that much victory she laughedcontent.I should have given more, but off and away shewentWith her baby and her pink sham flowers to rejoinThe rest before I could translate to its proper coinGratitude for her grace. And I paid nothing then,As I pay nothing now with the dipping of my penFor her brother's music when he drummed thetambourineAnd stamped his feet, which made the workmenpassing grin,While his mouth-organ changed to a rascallyBacchanal dance"Over the hills and far away." This and his glanceOutlasted all the fair, farmer and auctioneer,Cheap-jack, balloon-man, drover with crookedstick, and steer,Pig, turkey, goose, and duck, Christmas Corpsesto be.Not even the kneeling ox had eyes like the Romany.That night he peopled for me the hollow woodedland,More dark and wild than stormiest heavens, that Isearched and scannedLike a ghost new-arrived. The gradations of thedarkWere like an underworld of death, but for the sparkIn the Gypsy boy's black eyes as he played andstamped his tune,"Over the hills and far away," and a crescent moon.
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