• A shrieking wretch hung over his back
• As he sank through nether space.
• Of such a rider on such a steed
• What tongue the flight shall trace?

• The bearer shook his burthen off
• As he reached his retinue:
• He's flung him into a knot of fiends,
• Red yellow, green and blue:—
• “I've brought a pipe for my private use,
• 10 Go trim it, some of you!”

• They've sliced the very crown from his head
• Worse tonsure than a monk's,—
• Lopped arms and legs,—stuck a red-hot
• In his wretchedest of trunks;
• And when the Devil wants his pipe,
• They bring him Jan Van Hunks.

---

   

• Full of smoke was the quaint old room
• And of pleasant winter-heat;
• Whence you might hear the hall-door slap,
• And the wary shuffling of feet
• Which from the carpeted floor stepped out
• Into the ice-paved street.

• Van Hunks was laughing in his paunch;
• Ten golden pieces rare
• Lay in his hand; with neighbour Spratz
• 10 He had smoked for a wager there;
• He laughed, and from his neighbour's pipe
• He looked to his neighbour's chair.

• Even as he laughed, the evening shades
• Rose stealthily and spread,
• Till the smoky clouds walled up the sun
• And hid his shining old head,
• As though he too had his evening pipe
• Before he tumbled to bed.

• Van Hunks still chuckled as he sat:
• 20 It caused him an inward grin,
• When he heard the blast shake shutter and blind
• With its teeth-chattering din,
• To fancy the many who froze without
• While he sat thawing within.

• His bowl restuffed, again he puffed:
• No noise the stillness broke
• Save the tread of feet here and there in the street
• And the church-bell's hourly stroke;
• While silver-white through the deepening dusk
• 30 Up leaped the rapid smoke.

• “For thirty years,” the Dutchman said,
• “I have smoked both night and day;
• I've laid great wagers on my pipe
• But never had once to pay,
• For my vapouring foes long ere the close
• Have all sneaked sickly away.

• “Ah! would that I could find but one
• Who knew me not too well
• To try his chance against me
• 40 After the evening bell,
• Even though he came to challenge me
• From the smoking-crib of Hell!”

• His breath still lingered on the air
• And mingled with the smoke,
• When he was aware of a little old man
• In broidered hosen and tocque,
• Who looked as though from a century's sleep
• That instant he had woke.

• Small to scan was the little old man,
• 50 Passing small and lean;
• Yet a something lurked about him,
• Felt strongly though unseen,
• Which made you fear the hidden soul
• Whose covering was so mean.

• What thunder dwelt there, which had left
• On his brow that lowering trace,—
• What lightning, which could kindle so
• The fitful glare on his face,—
• Though the sneering smile coursed over his lips,
• 60 And the laughter rose apace?

• With cap in hand the stranger bowed
• Till the feather swept his shoe:—
• “A gallant wish was yours,” he said,
• “And I come to pleasure you;
• We're goodly gossips, you and I,—
• Let us wager and fall to.”

• The Dutchman stared. “How here you came
• Is nothing to me,” he said;
• “A stranger I sought to smoke withal,
• 70 And my wish is seconded;
• But tell me, what shall the wager be,
• By these our pipes essay'd?”

• “Nay now,” the old man said, “what need
• Have we for a golden stake?
• What more do we ask but honour's spur
• To keep our hopes awake?
• And yet some bond 'twixt our goodwills
• Must stand for the wager's sake.

• “This be our bond:—two midnights hence
• 80 The term of our strife shall be,
• And whichsoe'er to the other then
• Shall yield the victory,
• At the victor's Hest must needs accept
• His hospitality.”

• “Done, done!” the Dutchman cried, “your home,
• I'd reach be it far or near;
• But in my good pipe I set my trust,
• And 'tis you shall sojourn here;
• Here many a time we'll meet again
• 90 For the smokers' welcome cheer.”

• With that, they lit their pipes and smoked,
• And never a word they said;
• The dense cloud gathered about them there
• High over each smoke-crowned head,
• As if with the mesh of some secret thing
• They sat encompassèd.

• But now when a great blast shook the house,
• The Dutchman paused and spoke:—
• “If aught this night could be devised
• 100 To sweeten our glorious smoke,
• 'Twere the thought of the outcast loons who freeze
• 'Neath the winter's bitter yoke.”

• The stranger laughed: “I most have watched
• The dire extremes of heat,
• Ay, more than you, I have seen men quail,
• And found their sufferings sweet.
• Fit gossips, you and I! But hark!
• What sound comes from the street?”

• To the street the chamber-windows stood,
• 110 With shutters strongly barred.
• There came a timid knock without
• And another afterward;
• But both so low and faint and weak
• That the casement never jarred.

• And weak the voice that came with the knock:—
• “My father, lend your ear!
• 'Twas store of gold that you bade me wed
• But the wife I chose was dear;
• Now she and my babes crave only bread:
• 120 O father, pity and hear!”

• Van Hunks looked after the feathered smoke:—
• “What thing so slight and vain
• As pride whose plume is torn in the wind
• And joy's rash flight to pain?”
• Then loud: “Thou minds't when I bade thee hence,—
• Poor fool go hence again!”

• There came a moan to the lighted room,
• A moan to the frosty sky:—
• “O father, my loves are dying now,
• 130 Father, you too must die.
• Oh! on your soul, by God's good grace,
• Let not this dread hour lie!”

• “Gossip, well done!” quoth the little old man;
• And in a silvery spire,
• Like a spider's web up leaped his smoke
• A-twisting higher and higher;
• And still through the veil his watchful eye
• Burned with a fell desire.

• A woman's voice came next to the wall:
• 140 “Father, my mother's died,
• 'Twas three months since that you drove her forth
• In the bitter Christmastide:
• How could I care for your proffered gold
• And quit my mother's side?

• “For two months now I have begged my bread;
• Father, I can no more:
• My mother's deaf and blind in her grave,
• But her soul is at Heaven's door;
• And though we're parted on this side death,
• 150 We may meet on the further shore.”

• Van Hunks laughed up at the scudding smoke:—
• “Ay, go what way you will!
• Of folly and pride, in life or death,
• Let a woman take her fill!
• My girl, even choose this road or that,
• So we be asunder still!”

• “Gossip, well done!” the old man shrieked,
• “And mark how her words come true!”
• The smoke soared wildly around his head
• 160 In snakes of knotted blue;
• And eke at heart of the inmost coil,
• Two fiery eyes shone through.

• Above the hearth was a carven frame
• Where seven small mirrors shone;
• There six bright moon-shapes circled round
• A centre rayed like a sun;
• And ever the reflex image dwelt
• Alike in every one.

• No smokers' faces now appeared,
• 170 But lo! by magic art,
• Seven times one squalid chamber showed
• A grave's dull counterpart;
• For there two starving parents lay
• With their starved babes heart to heart.

• Then changed the scene. In the watery street,
• 'Twixt houses dim and tall,
• Like shaggy dogs the pollards shake
• Above the dark canal;
• And a girl's thin form gleamed through the night,
• 180 And sank; and that was all.

• And then the smoker beheld once more
• Seven times his own hard face;
• Half-dazed it seemed with sudden sights,
• But showed no sign of grace;
• And seven times flashed two fiery eyes
• In the mirror's narrow space.

• The hours wore on and still they sat
• Mid the vapour's stifling cloud;
• The one towards sudden stupor sank,
• 190 While the other laughed aloud.
• Alas for the shrinking blinking owl,
• The vulture over him bowed!

• 'Twas the second night of the wager now,
• And the midnight hour was near,
• That glance like a kindled cresset blazed:—
• “Ho! gossip of mine, what cheer?”
• But the smoke from the Dutchman's pipe arose
• No longer swift and clear.

• The door-bell rang: “Peace to this house!”—
• 200 'Twas the pastor's voice that spoke.
• Above Van Hunks's head still curled
• A fitful flickering smoke,
• As the last half-hour ere full midnight
• From the booming clock-tower broke.

• The old man doffed his bonnet and cringed
• As he opened the chamber door;
• The priest cast never a glance his way,
• But crossed the polished floor
• To where the Dutchman's head on his breast
• 210 Lolled with a torpid snore.

• “Mynheer, your servant sought me out;
• He says that day and night
• You have sat——.” He shook the smoker's arm,
• But shrank in sudden fright;
• The arm dropped down like a weight of lead,
• The face was dull and white.

• And now the stranger stood astride,
• And taller he seemed to grow,
• The pipe sat firm in his sneering lips,
• 220 And with victorious glow
• Like dancing figures around its bowl
• Did the smoke-wreaths come and go.

• “Nay, nay,” he said, “our gossip sits
• On contemplation bent;
• On son and daughter afar, his mind
• Is doubtless all intent;
• Haply his silence breathes a prayer
• Ere the midnight hour be spent.”

• “And who art thou?” the pastor cried
• 230 With quaking countenance.
• —“A smoke-dried crony of our good friend
• Here rapt in pious trance.”
• And his chuckle shook the vaporous sprites
• To a madder, merrier dance.

• “Hence, mocking fiend, I do know thee now.
• The pastor signed the cross.
• But the old man laughed and shrieked at once,
• As over turret and fosse
• The midnight hour in the sleeping town
• 240 From bell to bell did toss.

• “Too late, poor priest!” In the pastor's ear
• So rang the scornful croak.
• With that, a swoon fell over his sense;
• And when at length he woke,
• Two pipes lay shattered upon the floor,
• The room was black with smoke.

---

• That hour a dreadful monster sped
• Home to his fiery place;
• A shrieking wretch hung over his back
• 250 As he sank through nether space.
• Of such a rider on such a steed
• What tongue the flight shall trace?

• The bearer shook his burden off
• As he reached his retinue:
• He has flung him into a knot of fiends,
• Red, yellow, green and blue:
• “I have brought a pipe for my private use,
• Go trim it, some of you!”

• They have sliced the very crown from his head,
• 260 Worse tonsure than a monk's—
• Lopped arms and legs, stuck a red-hot tube
• In his wretchedest of trunks;
• And when the Devil wants his pipe
• They bring him Jan Van Hunks.