THE QUIET LODGER.

The man that rooms next door to me:

Two weeks ago, this very night,

He took possession quietly,

As any other lodger might —

But why the room next mine should so

Attract him I was vexed to know,—

Because his quietude, in fine,

Was far superior to mine.

“Now, I like quiet, truth to tell,

A tranquil life is sweet to me —

But this,” I sneered, “suits me too well.—

He shuts his door so noiselessly,

And glides about so very mute,

In each mysterious pursuit,

His silence is oppressive, and

Too deep for me to understand.”

Sometimes, forgetting book or pen,

I've found my head in breathless poise

Lifted, and dropped in shame again,

Hearing some alien ghost of noise —

Some smothered sound that seemed to be

A trunk-lid dropped unguardedly,

Or the crisp writhings of some quire

Of manuscript thrust in the fire.

Then I have climbed, and closed in vain

My transom, opening in the hall;

Or close against the window-pane

Have pressed my fevered face,— but all

The day or night without held not

A sight or sound or counter-thought

To set my mind one instant free

Of this man's silent mastery.

And often I have paced the floor

With muttering anger, far at night,

Hearing, and cursing, o'er and o'er,

The muffled noises, and the light

And tireless movements of this guest

Whose silence raged above my rest

Hoarser than howling storms at sea —

The man that rooms next door to me.

But twice or thrice, upon the stair,

I've seen his face — most strangely wan,—

Each time upon me unaware

He came — smooth'd past me, and was gone.

So like a whisper he went by,

I listened after, ear and eye,

Nor could my chafing fancy tell

The meaning of one syllable.

Last night I caught him, face to face,—

He entering his room, and I

Glaring from mine: He paused a space

And met my scowl all shrinkingly,

But with full gentleness: The key

Turned in his door — and I could see

It tremblingly withdrawn and put

Inside, and then — the door was shut.

Then silence. Silence!— why, last night

The silence was tumultuous,

And thundered on till broad daylight;—

O never has it stunned me thus!—

It rolls, and moans, and mumbles yet.—

Ah, God! how loud may silence get

When man mocks at a brother man

Who answers but as silence can!

The silence grew, and grew, and grew,

Till at high noon to-day‘ twas heard

Throughout the house; and men flocked through

The echoing halls, with faces blurred

With pallor, gloom, and fear, and awe,

And shuddering at what they saw —

The quiet lodger, as he lay

Stark of the life he cast away.

So strange to-night — those voices there,

Where all so quiet was before;

They say the face has not a care

Nor sorrow in it any more —

His latest scrawl:— “Forgive me — You

Who prayed,‘ they know not what they do!’”

My tears wilt never let me see

This man that rooms next door to me!