Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A STORY OF THE EVIL EYE, by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A STORY OF THE EVIL EYE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: There came unto an austrian town
Last Line: Death drew his viewless veil for ever.
Subject(s): Death; Murder; Superstition; Witchcraft & Witches; Dead, The


There came unto an Austrian town,
In the good days of Reich and Ritter,
A slim small maid with blood-red gown,
And a bowed graybeard with a zitter.

Still hand in hand the travellers went,
Till in the Platz that fronts the steeple
He tuned and touched his instrument,
She danced before the market people.

Oh, 'tis a pleasant seemly noise!
Ah, she's so fair who treads the measure!
'Huzza,' cried wives and 'prentice boys,
'For the Herr Graybeard and his treasure.'

About her coif a merry mint
Of little golden byzants dances,
Which sing and ring with gleam and glint
Each time she curtseys or advances.

And round her pale sweet face her hair
Lifts and flows out with billowy motion
As strands of the gold seaweed, where
The sun shines into th' emerald ocean.

There's that within her eyes you meet
In wild wood things—they're soft and tragic:
But 'tis the witchery in her feet
Which out-enchants all other magic!

They come and go, they pass and pause,
Like swallows' wings or flames a-burning,
Till half the folk cry out because
Their heads are well-nigh turning.

And half the folk laugh low, and he
Who erewhile struck, now clasps his brother.
The scold grows good, and cheerfully
The fretting child obeys its mother.

Old scores are paid; grim men forego
The cruel quests for which they panted.
'Children, the while she dances so,
Do you not guess yourselves enchanted?'

One spake—a dark Dominican.
Men started as the sharp words stung them;—
And lo, an old outlandish man,
A dark-eyed Turkish witch among them!

Then someone cast a stone;—the deed
Was his who spake—we let him claim it:
Yet were there none to intercede
For wizard worshippers of Mamet!

And soon arose a dreadful shout,—
''Tis th' Evil Eye!' and stones came flying.
That burgher throng became a rout,
And after—someone lay a-dying.

So—lift her head upon his knee.
At sight of this is wrath not minished?
'Twill not last long: the tragedy
In those strange eyes is nearly finished.

They grow exceeding dim. 'Tis good
The child hath such brave rags to cover
With kindred hue the dye of blood
Now that the dance and song are over!

Once more she stirred, and strove to fold
His frail worn hand with faint endeavour:
Then o'er the scarlet and the gold
Death drew his viewless veil for ever.





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