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Crane, Frank D.; Emmerling, Margaret; Latimer, Margery (ed.) / The Wisconsin literary magazine
Volume XXII, Number 5 (March 1923)

Leonard, W. E.
Leaves from a notebook,   pp. 138-139

Page 138

(Same setting as Scene I. The owl lamp sheds
a feeble glow, as if moulting. The two goldfish
swim uneasily in their bowl. The corpse of Char-
ity has been removed, indicating the passage of
several weeks.)
Faith: How dark it is tonight!
Hope: Why does she not come?
Faith: The sky is overcast; the night is dark.
Hope: It is late, and she does not come.
Faith: Take your fin out of my eye!
Hope: Will she come?
Faith: How dark it is tonight!
(Enter Myrtle in distress.)
Myrtle: Heavens! Bill is coming this evening.
What shall I say!
Faith: Tell him Charity is dead, but you still
have Faith and Hope.
Myrtle: Give me strength, 0 Lord.
Faith: Give us our breaderumbs, 0 mistress.
Hope: Give us a rest!
(A loud knock is heard at the door, mysterious,
resonant, uncanny.)
Myrtle: (frantically) It's Bill! Oh, I just know
he's going to propose! What shall I do!
Faith and Hope: (in chorus) Feed the fishes.
Leaves From a Notebook
My fathers, sprung from Runnymede,
Were ancient England's Norman breed;
Their sons became, beyond the seas,
Gaunt fellows of our forest trees,
Among the men of plough and forge
Who spake that English word to George.
Myself, New England's scholar, teach
The master-books of England's speech:
Yet blood, nor love, nor pride should make
Man's vision when the world's at stake.
"Wir kattasgebauet . . .
They plotted a matter
They wotted not of-
The Form can all men shatter,
But nevermore the Love!
The form has been shattered,
From outward the blow-
But what their hands have scattered
Is empty smoke and show.
The Ribbon's been slitted,
The red, gold, and jet,
And God he has permitted:
Who knows what God wills yet!
The House may go under,-
What matters the hour?-
The Soul is not to sunder,
And God is still our tower!
We builded together
The stateliest House,
And there through wind and weather
Had made our God our vows.
We lived there so truesome,
So friendly, so free,
The base folk found it gruesome
That men so true should be!
They waited, they prated
Of treason and fraud,
Reviled and execrated
The green, young seed of God.
What God in us planted
The world did despise,
Even good men doubting scanted
Our league and enterprise.
March, 1923

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