Page 92 - 1927 Hartridge

Page 78
The Ma^^ician
The dim, unsteady light of feebly flickering lamps and candles dripping, Fhe pungent scent of natural rough-hewn beams.
And weird, fantastic shadows skipping
Around the walls; creations of the candles’ gleams. A blurred, uncertain sea of upturned faces.
Round eyes, a gaze all-wondering, awe.
That awe which artless minds embraces.
Which children feel on seeing things they never saw.
He held them charmed, that sly deceiver. With tricks and magic. Oriental lore;
Found many a naive believer
Who fathomed not his tricks but clapped for more.
His audience were potentates of power,
(Though all the world would laugh to call them lords)
Who live in confidence while great men cower And know not doubt’s taut, all-restraining cords.
Who know that brooks were made to play in. And mountains just for men to climb.
And winding paths to find your way in.
That games should fill the hours of passing time. That true as seen things are the unapparent. That goblins are as real as men.
That will-o-the-wisp, that strange ghost errant.
Oft prowls with lantern from his den.
And so they cheered that sly magician
Who from a hat brought flags and other things. And loudly clapped his exhibition
Unlinking jingling silver rings.
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H. B. W.^