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TOMLINSON

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in
Berkeley Square,

And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair

A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far

away,

Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way:

Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone and cease,

And they came to the Gate within the Wall where

Peter holds the keys.

"Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer loud and high

The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye came to die

The good that ye did for the sake of men in little earth so lone!"

And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as a rain-washed bone.

"O I have a friend on earth," he said, "that was my

priest and guide,

And well would he answer all for me if he were by my side."

"For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written fair,

But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley Square:

Though we called your friend from his bed this night, he could not speak for you,

For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two."

Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was there,

For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw

that his soul was bare:

The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife,

And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of his good in life.

"This I have read in a book," he said, " and that was told to me,

And this I have thought that another man thought of a Prince in Muscovy."

The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade him clear the path,

And Peter twirled the jangling keys in weariness and wrath.

"Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought," he said, "and the tale is yet to run:

By the worth of the body that once ye had, give

answer-what ha' ye done?"

Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little
good it bore,

For the Darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and
Heaven's Gate before:

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"O this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and this I have heard men say,

And this they wrote that another man wrote of a carl in Norroway."

-"Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good

lack! Ye have hampered Heaven's Gate;

There's little room between the stars in idleness to prate! O none may reach by hired speech of neighbour,

priest, and kin

Through borrowed deed to God's good meed that lies so fair within;

Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for doom has yet to run,

And . . . the faith that ye share with Berkeley

Square uphold you, Tomlinson!"

The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun bysun they fell Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rim the mouth of Hell:

The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are white with pain,

But the third are black with clinkered sin that cannot burn again:

They may hold their path, they may leave their path, with never a soul to mark,

They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in the Scorn of the Outer Dark.

The Wind that blows between the worlds, it nipped

him to the bonę,

And he yearned to the flare of Hell-Gate there as the light of his own hearth-stone.

The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the desperate legions drew,

But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not let him through.

"Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay?" said he,

"That ye rank yoursel' so fit for Hell and ask no

leave of me?

I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should give

me scorn,

For I strove with God for your First Father the day that he was born.

Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud

and high

The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever you came to die."

And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against

the night

The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hell-Mouth light;

And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw beneath his feet

The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell-
Mouth heat.

"O I had a love on earth," said he, "that kissed me to my fall,

And if ye would call my love to me I know she would answer all."

"All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written fair, But now ye wait at Hell-Mouth Gate and not in

Berkeley Square:

Though we whistled your love from her bed to-night, I trow she would not run,

For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one!"

The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife,

And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sin in life:

"Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the grip of the Grave,

And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that men might call me brave."

The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and set it

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"Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the hide of a brain-sick fool?

I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolthead jest ye did

That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping three on a grid."

Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there was

little grace,

For Hell-Gate filled the houseless Soul with the Fear of Naked Space.

"Nay, this I ha' heard," quo' Tomlinson, "and this was noised abroad,

And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word of a dead French lord."

-"Ye ha' heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! and the tale begins afresh

Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye or the sinful lust of the flesh?"

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