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THE ROPE-WALK.

85

THE ROPE-WALK.

IN that building long and low,
With its windows all a-row,

Like the port-holes of a hulk,
Human spiders spin, and spin,
Backward down their threads so thin,
Dropping, each, a hempen bulk.

At the end an open door;
Squares of sunshine on the floor
Light the long and dusky lane;
And the whirling of a wheel,
Dull and drowsy, makes me feel
All its spokes are in my brain.

As the spinners to the end
Downward go and re-ascend,

Gleam the long threads in the sun;

While within this brain of mine
Cobwebs brighter and more fine

By the busy wheels are spun.

Two fair maidens in a swing,
Like white doves upon the wing,

First before my vision pass:
Laughing, as their gentle hands
Closely clasp the twisted strands,
At their shadows on the grass.

Then a booth of mountebanks,
With its smell of tan and planks,
And a girl poised high in air
On a cord, in spangled dress,
With a faded loveliness,

And a weary look of care.

Then a homestead among farms,
And a woman with bare arms,
Drawing water from a well;

As the bucket mounts apace,
With it mounts her own fair face,
As at some magician's spell.

Then an old man in a tower,

Ringing loud the noontide hour;

While the rope coils round and round

Like a serpent at his feet,

And again in swift retreat

Almost lifts him from the ground.

THE ROPE-WALK.

87

Then, within a prison-yard,

Faces fixed, and stern, and hard,
Laughter and indecent mirth;
Ah! it is the gallows-tree!

Breath of Christian charity,

Blow, and sweep it from the earth!

Then a schoolboy, with his kite
Gleaming in a sky of light,

And an eager, upward look;
Steeds pursued through lane and field,
Fowlers with their snares concealed,
And an angler by a brook.

Ships rejoicing in the breeze,

Wrecks that float o'er unknown seas,

Anchors dragged through faithless sand;

Sea-fog drifting overhead,

And with lessening line and lead
Sailors feeling for the land.

All these scenes do I behold,
These and many left untold,

In that building long and low:
While the wheels go round and round.
With a drowsy, dreamy sound,

And the spinners backward go.

LONGFELLOW.

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