‘I do see the light of it, Charley dear,’ said Mary, sadly—not as if the light were any great comfort to her at the moment.
‘If you do see something—how can you tell what it’s the light of? It may come from the city of Dis, for anything you know.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘Oh! the red-hot city—down below. You will find all about it in Dante.’
‘It doesn’t look like that—the light I see,’ said Mary, quietly.
‘How very ill-bred you are—to say such wicked things, Charley!’ said Clara.
‘Am I? They are better unmentioned. Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die! Only don’t allude to the unpleasant subject.’
He burst out singing: the verses were poor, but I will give them.
‘Let the sun shimmer!
Let the wind blow!
All is a notion—What
do we know?
Let the moon glimmer!
Let the stream flow!
All is but motion
To and fro!
‘Let the rose wither!
Let the stars glow!
Let the rain batter—
Drift sleet and snow!
Bring the tears hither!
Let the smiles go!
What does it matter?
To and fro!
‘To and fro ever,
Motion and show!
Nothing goes onward—
Hurry or no!
All is one river—
Seaward and so
Up again sunward—
To and fro!
‘Pendulum sweeping
High, and now low!
That star—tic, blot it!
Tac, let it go!
Time he is reaping
Hay for his mow;
That flower—he’s got it!
To and fro!
‘Such a scythe swinging,
Mighty and slow!
Ripping and slaying—
Hey nonny no!
Black Ribs is singing—
Chorus—Hey, ho!
What is he saying—
To and fro?
‘Singing and saying
“Grass is hay—ho!
Love is a longing;
Water is snow.”
Swinging and swaying,
Toll the bells go!
Dinging and donging
To and fro!’
‘Oh, Charley!’ said his sister, with suppressed agony, ‘what a wicked song!’