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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:48:42 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16362-h.zip b/16362-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..022a8dc --- /dev/null +++ b/16362-h.zip diff --git a/16362-h/16362-h.htm b/16362-h/16362-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e033db --- /dev/null +++ b/16362-h/16362-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2770 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>THE GLUGS OF GOSH</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {background: #ffffcc; margin:10%; text-align:justify} +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {color:green; text-align:center} +blockquote {font-size: .9em} +p.poem {text-align:center} +p.external {font-weight: bold} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glugs of Gosh, by C. J. Dennis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Glugs of Gosh + +Author: C. J. Dennis + +Release Date: July 27, 2005 [EBook #16362] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLUGS OF GOSH *** + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h2>THE GLUGS OF GOSH</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>C J DENNIS</h2> + +<h3>With Illustrations by Hal Gye</h3> + +<h4>FIRST PUBLISHED 1917</h4> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p align="center"><b>TO MY WIFE</b></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-00"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-00.jpg"></p> +</center> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-03"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-03.jpg"></p> +</center> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-01"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-01.jpg"></p> +</center> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-02"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-02.jpg"></p> +<p><b>The City of Gosh</b></p> +</center> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><b>CONTENTS</b> + +<p><a href="#ch-01">I. THE GLUG QUEST</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-02">II. JOI, THE GLUG</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-03">III. THE STONES OF GOSH</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-04">IV. SYM, THE SON OF JOI</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-05">V. THE GROWTH OF SYM</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-06">VI. THE END OF JOI</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-07">VII. THE SWANKS OF GOSH</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-08">VIII. THE SEER</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-09">IX. THE RHYMES OF SYM</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-10">X. THE DEBATE</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-11">XI. OGS</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-12">XII. EMILY ANN</a></p> +<p><a href="#ch-13">XIII. THE LITTLE RED DOG</a></p> + +<hr width="25%"> + +<p><b>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</b> + +<p><a href="#glugs-02">THE CITY OF GOSH</a></p> +<p><a href="#glugs-08">AS GLUG BLAMED GLUG</a></p> +<p><a href="#glugs-10">"AND NOW," SAID THE TEACHER . . .</a></p> +<p><a href="#glugs-14">O'ER THE PROPHECY PORED</a></p> +<p><a href="#glugs-16">QUOG TOOK THE CHAIR</a></p> +<p><a href="#glugs-20">ON THE ROYAL DOOR-MAT</a></p> +<p><a href="#glugs-22">TAKING THE AIR</a></p> + +<hr> + +<table summary=""> +<tr> +<td><img alt="" src="images/glugs-04.jpg" align="left"><br> + +<pre> + +<i>Let him who is minded to meet with a Glug +Pluck three hardy hairs from a rabbit-skin rug; + Blow one to the South, and one to the West, + Then burn another and swallow the rest. +And who shall explain 'tis the talk of a fool, +He's a Glug! He's a Glug of the old Gosh school! + And he'll climb a tree, if the East wind blows, + In a casual way, just to show he knows . . . + Now, tickle his toes! + Oh, tickle his toes! +And don't blame me if you come to blows.</i> + +--OLD GOSH RHYME +</pre> + +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr> + + +<p><a name="ch-01"></a></p> +<h2>I. THE GLUG QUEST</h2> + +<pre> + + +Follow the river and cross the ford, + Follow again to the wobbly bridge, +Turn to the left at the notice board, + Climbing the cow-track over the ridge; +Tip-toe soft by the little red house, + Hold your breath if they touch the latch, +Creep to the slip-rails, still as a mouse, + Then . . . run like mad for the bracken patch. + +Worm your way where the fern fronds tall + Fashion a lace-work over your head, +Hemming you in with a high, green wall; + Then, when the thrush calls once, stop dead. +Ask of the old grey wallaby there-- + Him prick-eared by the woollybutt tree-- +How to encounter a Glug, and where + The country of Gosh, famed Gosh may be. + +<i>But, if he is scornful, if he is dumb, +Hush! There's another way left. Then come.</i> + +On a white, still night, where the dead tree bends + Over the track, like a waiting ghost, +Travel the winding road that wends + Down to the shore on an Eastern coast. +Follow it down where the wake of the moon + Kisses the ripples of silver sand; +Follow it on where the night seas croon + A traveller's tale to the listening land. + +Step not jauntily, not too grave, + Till the lip of the languorous sea you greet; +Wait till the wash of the thirteenth wave + Tumbles a jellyfish out at your feet. +Not too hopefully, not forlorn, + Whisper a word of your earnest quest; +Shed not a tear if he turns in scorn + And sneers in your face like a fish possessed. + +<i>Hist! Hope on! There is yet a way. +Brooding jellyfish won't be gay.</i> + +Wait till the clock in the tower booms three, + And the big bank opposite gnashes its doors, +Then glide with a gait that is carefully free + By the great brick building of seventeen floors; +Haste by the draper who smirks at his door, + Straining to lure you with sinister force, +Turn up the lane by the second-hand store, + And halt by the light bay carrier's horse. + +By the carrier's horse with the long, sad face + And the wisdom of years in his mournful eye; +Bow to him thrice with a courtier's grace, + Proffer your query, and pause for reply. +Eagerly ask for a hint of the Glug, + Pause for reply with your hat in your hand; +If he responds with a snort and a shrug + Strive to interpret and understand. + +<i>Rare will a carrier's horse condescend. +Yet there's another way. On to the end!</i> + +Catch the four-thirty; your ticket in hand, + Punched by the porter who broods in his box; +Journey afar to the sad, soggy land, + Wearing your shot-silk lavender socks. +Wait at the creek by the moss-grown log + Till the blood of a slain day reddens the West. +Hark for the croak of a gentleman frog, + Of a corpulent frog with a white satin vest. + +Go as he guides you, over the marsh, + Treading with care on the slithery stones, +Heedless of night winds moaning and harsh + That seize you and freeze you and search for your bones. +On to the edge of a still, dark pool, + Banishing thoughts of your warm wool rug; +Gaze in the depths of it, placid and cool, + And long in your heart for one glimpse of a Glug. + +<i>"Krock!" Was he mocking you? "Krock! Kor-r-rock!" +Well, you bought a return, and it's past ten o'clock.</i> + +Choose you a night when the intimate stars + Carelessly prattle of cosmic affairs. +Flat on your back, with your nose pointing Mars, + Search for the star who fled South from the Bears. +Gaze for an hour at that little blue star, + Giving him, cheerfully, wink for his wink; +Shrink to the size of the being you are; + Sneeze if you have to, but softly; then think. + +Throw wide the portals and let your thoughts run + Over the earth like a galloping herd. +Bounds to profundity let there be none, + Let there be nothing too madly absurd. +Ponder on pebbles or stock exchange shares, + On the mission of man or the life of a bug, +On planets or billiards, policemen or bears, + Alert all the time for the sight of a Glug. + +Meditate deeply on softgoods or sex, + On carraway seeds or the causes of bills, +Biology, art, or mysterious wrecks, + Or the tattered white fleeces of clouds on blue hills. +Muse upon ologies, freckles and fog, + Why hermits live lonely and grapes in a bunch, +On the ways of a child or the mind of a dog, + Or the oyster you bolted last Friday at lunch. + +<i>Heard you no sound like a shuddering sigh! +Or the great shout of laughter that swept down the sky? +Saw you no sign on the wide Milky Way? +Then there's naught left to you now but to pray.</i> + +Sit you at eve when the Shepherd in Blue + Calls from the West to his clustering sheep. +Then pray for the moods that old mariners woo, + For the thoughts of young mothers who watch their babes sleep. +Pray for the heart of an innocent child, + For the tolerant scorn of a weary old man, +For the petulant grief of a prophet reviled, + For the wisdom you lost when your whiskers began. + +Pray for the pleasures that he who was you + Found in the mud of a shower-fed pool, +For the fears that he felt and the joys that he knew + When a little green lizard crept into the school. +Pray as they pray who are maddened by wine: + For distraction from self and a spirit at rest. +Now, deep in the heart of you search for a sign-- + If there be naught of it, vain is your quest. + +<i>Lay down the book, for to follow the tale +Were to trade in false blame, as all mortals who fail. +And may the gods salve you on life's dreary round; +For 'tis whispered: "Who finds not, 'tis he shall be found!"</i> + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-05"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-05.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-02"></a></p> + +<h2>II. JOI, THE GLUG</h2> + +<pre> + + +The Glugs abide in a far, far land +That is partly pebbles and stones and sand + But mainly earth of a chocolate hue, + When it isn't purple or slightly blue. +And the Glugs live there with their aunts and their wives, +In draught-proof tenements all their lives. + And they climb the trees when the weather is wet, + To see how high they can really get. + Pray, don't forget, + This is chiefly done when the weather is wet. + +<i>And every shadow that flits and hides, +And every stream that glistens and glides + And laughs its way from a highland height, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +And they say, "Our test is the best by far; +For a Glug is a Glug; so there you are! + And they climb the trees when it drizzles or hails + To get electricity into their nails; + And the Glug that fails + Is a luckless Glug, if it drizzles or hails."</i> + +Now, the Glugs abide in the lands of Gosh; +And they work all day for the sake of Splosh. + For Splosh, the First, is the Nation's pride, + And King of the Glugs, on his uncle's side. +And they sleep at night, for the sake of rest; +For their doctors say this suits them best. + And they climb the trees, as a general rule, + For exercise, when the weather is cool. + They're taught at school + To climb the trees when the weather is cool. + +<i>And the whispering grass on the gay green hills +And every cricket that skirls and shrills, + And every moonbeam, gleaming white, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +And they say, "It is safe, it is the test we bring; +For a Glug is an awful Gluglike thing. + And they climb the trees when there's a sign of fog, + To scan the land for a feasible dog. + They love to jog + Thro' dells in quest of a feasible dog."</i> + +The Glugs eat meals three times a day +Because their fathers ate that way. + Their grandpas said the scheme was good + To help the Glugs digest their food. +And 'tis wholesome food the Glugs have got, +For it says so plain on the tin and pot. + And they climb the trees when the weather is dry + To get a glimpse of the pale green sky. + We don't know why, + But they like to gaze on the pale green sky. + +<i>And every cloud that sails aloft, +And every breeze that blows so soft, + And every star that shines at night, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +For they say, "Our test, it is safe and true; +What one Glug does, the other Glugs do; + And they climb the trees when the weather is hot, + For a birds'-eye view of the garden plot. + Of course, it's rot, + But they love that view of the garden plot."</i> + +At half-past two on a Wednesday morn +A most peculiar Glug was born; + And later on, when he grew a man, + He scoffed and sneered at the Chosen Plan. +"It's wrong!" said this Glug, whose name was Joi. +"Bah!" said the Glugs. "He's a crazy boy!" + And they climbed the trees, as the West wind stirred, + To hark to the note of the Guffer Bird. + It seems absurd, + But they're foolishly fond of the Guffer Bird. + +<i>And every reed that rustles and sways +By the gurgling river that plashes and plays, + And the beasts of the dread, neurotic night + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +And, "Why," say they; "It is easily done; +For a dexter Glug's like a sinister one!" + And they climb the trees. Oh, they climb the trees! + And they bark their knuckles, and chafe their knees; + And 'tis one of the world's great mysteries + That things like these + Get into the serious histories.</i> + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-06"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-06.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-03"></a></p> + +<h2>III. THE STONES OF GOSH</h2> + +<pre> + + +Now, here is a tale of the Glugs of Gosh, + And a wonderful tale I ween, +Of the Glugs of Gosh and their great King Splosh, + And Tush, his virtuous Queen. +And here is a tale of the crafty Ogs, + In their neighbouring land of Podge; +Of their sayings and doings and plottings and brewings, + And something about Sir Stodge. + Wise to profundity, + Stout to rotundity, + That was the Knight, Sir Stodge. + +Oh, the King was rich, and the Queen was fair, +And they made a very respectable pair. + And whenever a Glug in that peaceful land, + Did anything no one could understand, +The Knight, Sir Stodge, he looked in a book, +And charged that Glug with a crime called Crook. + And the great Judge Fudge, who wore for a hat + The sacred skin of a tortoiseshell cat, +He fined that Glug for his action rash, +And frequently asked a deposit in cash. + Then every Glug, he went home to his rest + With his head in a bag and his toes to the West; + For they knew it was best, + Since their grandpas slept with their toes to the West. + +But all of the tale that is so far told + Has nothing whatever to do +With the Ogs of Podge, and their crafty dodge, + And the trade in pickles and glue. +To trade with the Glugs came the Ogs to Gosh, + And they said in seductive tones, +"We'll sell you pianers and pickels and spanners + For seventeen shiploads of stones: + Smooth 'uns or nobbly 'uns, + Firm 'uns or wobbly 'uns, + All we ask is stones." + +And the King said, "What?" and the Queen said, "Why, +That is awfully cheap to the things I buy! + For that grocer of ours in the light brown hat + Asks two and eleven for pickles like that!" +But a Glug stood up with a wart on his nose, +And cried, "Your Majesties! Ogs is foes!" + But the Glugs cried, "Peace! Will you hold your jaw! + How did our grandpas fashion the law?" +Said the Knight, Sir Stodge, as he opened his Book, +"When the goods were cheap then the goods we took." + So they fined the Glug with the wart on his nose + For wearing a wart with his everyday clothes. +And the goods were brought home thro' a Glug named Ghones; +And the Ogs went home with their loads of stones, + Which they landed with glee in the land of Podge. + Do you notice the dodge? + Not yet did the Glugs, nor the Knight, Sir Stodge. + +In the following Summer the Ogs came back + With a cargo of eight-day clocks, +And hand-painted screens, and sewing machines, + And mangles, and scissors, and socks. +And they said, "For these excellent things we bring + We are ready to take more stones; + And in bricks or road-metal + For goods you will settle + Indented by your Mister Ghones." + Cried the Glugs praisingly, + "Why how amazingly + Smart of industrious Ghones!" + +And the King said, "Hum," and the Queen said, "Oo! +That curtain! What a bee-ootiful blue!" + But a Glug stood up with some very large ears, + And said, "There is more in this thing than appears! +And we ought to be taxing those goods of the Ogs, +Or our industries soon will be gone to the dogs." + And the King said, "Bosh! You're un-Gluggish and rude!" + And the Queen said, "What an absurd attitude!" +Then the Glugs cried, "Down with political quacks! +How did our grandpas look at a tax?" + So the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book. + "No tax," said he, "wherever I look." +Then they fined the Glug with the prominent ears +For being old-fashioned by several years; + And the Ogs went home with the stones, full-steam. + Did you notice the scheme? + Nor yet did the Glugs in their dreamiest dreams. + +Then every month to the land of the Gosh + The Ogs, they continued to come, +With buttons and hooks, and medical books, + And rotary engines, and rum, +Large cases with labels, occasional tables, + Hair tonic and fiddles and 'phones; +And the Glugs, while copncealing their joy in the dealing, + Paid promptly in nothing but stones. + Why, it was screamingly + Laughable, seemingly--- + Asking for nothing but stones! + +And the King said, "Haw!" and the Queen said, "Oh! +Our drawing-room now is a heavenly show + Of large overmantels, and whatnots, and chairs, + And a statue of Splosh at the head of the stairs!" +But a Glug stood up with a cast in his eye, +And he said, "Far too many baubles we buy; + With all the Gosh factories closing their doors, + And importers' warehouses lining our shores." +But the Glugs cried, "Down with such meddlesome fools! +What did our grandpas lay down in their rules?" + And the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book: + "To Cheapness," he said, "was the road they took." +Then every Glug who was not too fat +Turned seventeen handsprings, and jumped on his hat. + They fined the Glug with the cast in his eye + For looking both ways--which he did not deny-- +And for having no visible precedent, which +Is a crime in the poor and a fault in the rich. + +So the Glugs continued, with greed and glee, +To buy cheap clothing, and pills, and tea; + Till every Glug in the land of Gosh + Owned three clean shirts and a fourth in the wash. +But they all grew idle, and fond of ease, +And easy to swindle, and hard to please; + And the voice of Joi was a lonely voice, + When he railed at Gosh for its foolish choice. +But the great King grinned, and the good Queen gushed, +As the goods of the Ogs were madly rushed. + And the Knight, Sir Stodge, with a wave of his hand, + Declared it a happy and prosperous land. + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-07"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-07.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-04"></a></p> + +<h2>IV. SYM, THE SON OF JOI</h2> + +<pre> + + +Now Joi, the rebel, he had a son + In far, far Gosh where the tall trees wave. +Said Joi: "In Gosh there shall yet be one + To scorn this life of a self-made slave; +To spurn the law of the Knight, Sir Stodge, + And end the rule of the great King Splosh; +Who shall warn the Glugs of their crafty dodge, + And at last bring peace, sweet peace, to Gosh." + +Said he: "Whenever the kind sun showers +His golden treasure on grateful flowers, + With upturned faces and hearts bowed low, + The Glugs shall know what the wild things know." +Said he: "Wherever the broad fields smile, +They shall walk with clean minds, free of guile; + They shall scoff aloud at the call of Greed, + And turn to their labours and never heed." + +So Joi had a son, and his name was Sym; + And his eyes were wide as the eyes of Truth; +And there came to the wondering mind of him + Long thoughts of the riddle that vexes youth. +And, "Father," he said, "in the mart's loud din + Is there aught of pleasure? Do some find joy?" +But his father tilted the beardless chin, + And looked in the eyes of the questing boy. + +Said he: "Whenever the fields are green, +Lie still, where the wild rose fashions a screen, + While the brown thrush calls to his love-wise mate, + And know what they profit who trade with Hate." +Said he: "Whenever the great skies spread, +In the beckoning vastness overhead, + A tent for the blue wren building a nest, + Then, down in the heart of you, learn what's best." + +And there came to Sym as he walked afield + Deep thoughts of the world and the folk of Gosh. +He saw the idols to which they kneeled; + He marked them cringe to the name of Splosli. +Is it meet," he asked, "that a soul should crawl + To a purple robe or a gilded chair?" +But his father walked to the garden's wall + And stooped to a rose-bush flowering there. + +Said he: "Whenever a bursting bloom +Looks up to the sun, may a soul find room + For a measure of awe at the wondrous birth + Of one more treasure to this glad earth." +Said he: "Whenever a dewdrop clings +To a gossamer thread, and glitters and swings, + Deep in humility bow your head + To a thing for a blundering rnortal's dread." + +And there came to Sym in his later youth, + With the first clear glance in the face of guile, +Thirst for knowledge and thoughts of truth, + Of gilded baubles, and things worth while. +And he said, "There is much that a Glug should know; + But his mind is clouded, his years are few." +Then joi, the father, he answered low + As his thoughts ran back to the youth he knew. + +Said he: "Whenever the West wind stirs, +And birds in feathers and beasts in furs + Steal out to dance in the glade, lie still: + Let your heart teach you what it will." +Said he: "Whenever the moonlight creeps +Thro' inlaced boughs, a'nd a shy star peeps + Adown from its crib in the cradling sky, + Know of their folly who fear to die." + +New interest came to the mind of Sym, + As 'midst his fellows he lived and toiled. +But the ways of the Glug folk puzzled him; + For some won honour, while some were foiled; +Yet all were filled with a vague unrest + As they climbed their trees in an endless search. +But joi, the father, he mocked their quest, + When he marked a Glug on his hard-won perch. + +Said he: "Whenever these tales are heard +Of the Feasible Dog or the Guffer Bird, + Then laugh and laugh till the fat tears roll + To the roots of the joy-bush deep in your soul. +When you see them squat on the tree-tops high, +Scanning for ever that heedless sky, + Lie flat on your back on the good, green earth + And roar till the great vault echoes your mirth." + +As he walked in the city, to Sym there came + Sounds envenomed with fear and hate, +Shouts of anger and words of shame, + As Glug blamed Glug for his woeful state. +"This blame?" said Sym, "Is it mortal's right + To blame his fellow for aught he be?" +But the father said, "Do we blame the night + When darkness gathers and none can see?" + +</pre> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-08"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-08.jpg"></p> +<p><b>As Glug blamed Glug</b></p> +</center> + +<pre> + +Said he: "Whenever there springs from earth +A plant all crooked and marred at birth, + Shall we, unlearned in the Gardener's scheme, + Blame plant or earth for the faults that seem?" +Said he: "Whenever your wondering eyes +Look out on the glory of earth and skies, + Shall you, 'mid the blessing of fields a-bloom, + Fling blame at the blind man, prisoned in gloom?" + +So Joi had a son, and his name was Sym; + Far from the ken of the great King Splosh. +And small was the Glugs' regard of him, + Mooning along in the streets of Gosh. +But many a creature by field and ford + Shared in the schooling of that strange boy, +Dreaming and planning to gather and hoard + Knowledge of all things precious to Joi. + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-09"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-09.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-05"></a></p> + +<h2>V. THE GROWTH OF SYM</h2> + +<pre> + + +Now Sym was a Glug; and 'tis mentioned so +That the tale reads perfectly plain as we go. + In his veins ran blood of that stupid race + Of docile folk, who inhabit the place +Called Gosh, sad Gosh, where the tall trees sigh +With a strange, significant sort of cry +When the gloaming creeps and the wind is high. + +When the deep shades creep and the wind is high +The trees bow low as the gods ride by: + Gods of the gloaming, who ride on the breeze, + Stooping to heaften the birds and the trees. +But each dull Glug sits down by his door, +And mutters, " 'Tis windy!" and nothing more, +Like the long-dead Glugs in the days of yore. + +When Sym was born there was much to-do, +And his parents thought him a joy to view; + But folk not prejudiced saw the Glug, + As his nurse remarked, "In the cut of his mug." +For he had their hair, and he had their eyes, +And the Glug expression of pained surprise, +And their predilection for pumpkin pies. + +And his parents' claims were a deal denied +By his maiden aunt on his mother's side, + A tall Glug lady of fifty-two + With a slight moustache of an auburn hue. +"Parental blither!" she said quite flat. +"He's an average Glug; and he's red and fat! +And exceedingly fat and red at that!" + +But the father, joi, when he gazed on Sym, +Dreamed great and wonderful things for him. + Said he, "If the mind of a Glug could wake + Then, Oh, what a wonderful Glug he'd make! +We shall teach this laddie to play life's game +With a different mind and a definite aim: +A Glug in appearance, yet not the same." + +But the practical aunt said, "Fudge! You fool! +We'll pack up his dinner and send him to school. + He shall learn about two-times and parsing and capes, + And how to make money with inches on tapes. +We'll apprentice him then to the drapery trade, +Where, I've heard it reported, large profits are made; +Besides, he can sell us cheap buttons and braid." + +So poor young Sym, he was sent to school, +Where the first thing taught is the Golden Rule. + "Do unto others," the teacher said . . . + Then suddenly stopped and scratched his head. +"You may look up the rest in a book," said he. +"At present it doesn't occur to me; +But do it, whatever it happens to be." + +"And now," said the teacher, "the day's task brings +Consideration of practical things. + If a man makes a profit of fifteen pounds + On one week's takings from two milk rounds, +How many . . ." And Sym went dreaming away +To the sunlit lands where the field-mice play, +And wrens hold revel the livelong day. + +He walked in the welcoming fields alone, +While from far, far away came the pedagogue's drone: + "If a man makes . . .Multiply . . . Abstract nouns . . . + From B take . . .Population of towns . . . +Rods, poles or perches . . . Derived from Greek +Oh, the hawthorn buds came out this week, +And robins are nesting down by the creek. + +So Sym was head of his class not once; +And his aunt repeatedly dubbed him "Dunce." + But, "Give him a chance," said his father, Joi. + "His head is abnormally large for a boy." +But his aunt said, "Piffie! It's crammed with bosh! +Why, he don't know the rivers and mountains of Gosh, +Nor the names of the nephews of good King Splosh!" + +In Gosh, when a youth gets an obstinate look, +And copies his washing-bill into a book, + And blackens his boot-heels, and frowns at a joke, + "Ah, he's getting sense," say the elderly folk. +But Sym, he would laugh when he ought to be sad; +Said his aunt, "Lawk-a-mussy! What's wrong with the lad? + He romps with the puppies, and talks to the ants, + And keeps his loose change in his second-best pants, + And stumbles all over my cauliflower plants!" + +"There is wisdom in that," laughed the father, Joi. +But the aunt said, "Toity!" and, "Drat the boy!" + "He shall play," said the father, "some noble part. + Who knows but it may be in letters or art? +'Tis a dignified business to make folk think." +But the aunt cried, "What! Go messing with ink? +And smear all his fingers, and take to drink? +Paint hussies and cows, and end in the clink?" + +</pre> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-10"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-10.jpg"></p> +<p><b>"And now," said the teacher . . .</b></p> +</center> + +<pre> + +So the argument ran; but one bright Spring day +Sym settled it all in his own strange way. + "'Tis a tramp," he announced, "I've decided to be; + And I start next Monday at twenty to three . . ." +When the aunt recovered she screamed, "A tramp? +A low-lived, pilfering, idle scamp, +Who steals people's washing, and sleeps in the damp?" + +Sharp to the hour Sym was ready and dressed. +"Young birds," sighed the father, "must go from the nest. + When the green moss covers those stones you tread, + When the green grass whispers above my head, +Mark well, wherever your path may turn, +They have reached the valley of peace who learn +That wise hearts cherish what fools may spurn." + +So Sym went off; and a year ran by, +And the father said, with a smile-masked sigh, + "It is meet that the young should leave the nest." + Said the aunt, "Don't spill that soup on your vest! +Nor mention his name! He's our one disgrace! +And he's probably sneaking around some place +With fuzzy black whiskers all over his face." + +But, under a hedge, by a flowering peach, +A youth with a little blue wren held speech. + With his back to a tree and his feet in the grass, + He watched the thistle-down drift and pass, +And the cloud-puffs, borne on a lazy breeze, +Move by on their errand, above the trees, +Into the vault of the mysteries. + +"Now, teach me, little blue wren," said he. +"'Tis you can unravel this riddle for me. + I am 'mazed by the gifts of this kindly earth. + Which of them all has the greatest worth?" +He flirted his tail as he answered then, +He bobbed and he bowed to his coy little hen: +"Why, sunlight and worms!" said the little blue wren. + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-11"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-11.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-06"></a></p> + +<h2>VI. THE END OF JOI</h2> + +<pre> + + +They climbed the trees . . . As was told before, +The Glugs climbed trees in the days of yore, + When the oldes tree in the land to-day + Was a tender little seedling--Nay, +This climbing habit was old, so old +That even the cheeses could not have told + When the past Glug people first began + To give their lives to the climbing plan. + And the legend ran + That the art was old as the mind of man. + + +<i>And even the mountains old and hoar, +And the billows that broke on Gosh's shore + Since the far-off neolithic night, + All knew the Glugs quite well by sight. +And they tell of a perfectly easy way: +For yesterday's Glug is the Glug of to-day. + And they climb the trees when the thunder rolls, + To solemnly salve their shop-worn souls. + For they fear the coals + That threaten to frizzle their shop-worn souls.</i> + + +They climbed the trees. 'Tis a bootless task +To say so over again, or ask + The cause of it all, or the reason why + They never felt happier up on high. +For Joi asked why; and Joi was a fool, +And never a Glug of the fine old school + With fixed opinions and Sunday clothes, + And the habit of looking beyond its nose, + And treating foes + With the calm contempt of the One Who Knows. + + +<i>And every spider who heaves a line +And trusts to his luck when the day is fine, + Or reckless swings from an awful height, + He knows the Glugs quite well by sight. +"You can never mistake them," he will say; +"For they always act in a Gluglike way. + And they climb the trees when the glass points fair, + With circumspection and proper care, + For they fear to tear + The very expensive clothes they wear."</i> + + +But Joi was a Glug with a twisted mind +Of the nasty, meditative kind. + He'd meditate on the modes of Gosh, + And dared to muse on the acts of Splosh; +He dared to speak, and, worse than that, +He spoke out loud, and he said it flat. + "Why climb?" said he. "When you reach the top + There's nowhere to go, and you have to stop, + Unless you drop. + And the higher you are the worse you flop." + + +<i>And every cricket that chirps at eve, +And scoffs at the folly of fools who grieve, + And the furtive mice who revel at night, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +For, "Why," they say, " in the land of Gosh +There is no one else who will bow to Splosh. + And they climb the trees when the rain pelts down + And feeds the gutters that thread the town; + For they fear to drown, + When floods are frothy and waters brown."</i> + + +Said the Glug called Joi, "This climbing trees +Is a foolish art, and things like these + Cause much distress in the land of Gosh. + Let's stay on the ground and kill King Splosh!" +But Splosh, the king, he smiled a smile, +And beckoned once to his hangman, Guile, + Who climbed a tree when the weather was calm; + And they hanged poor Joi on a Snufflebust Palm; + Then they sang a psalm, + Did those pious Glugs 'neath the Snufflebust Palm. + + +<i>And every bee that kisses a flow'r, +And every blossom, born for an hour, + And every bird on its gladsome flight, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +For they say, "'Tis a simple test we've got: +If you know one Glug, why, you know the lot!" + So, they climbed a tree in the bourgeoning Spring, + And they hanged poor Joi with some second-hand string. + 'Tis a horrible thing + To be hanged by Glugs with second-hand string.</i> + + +Then Splosh, the king, rose up and said, +"It's not polite; but he's safer dead. + And there's not much room in the land of Gosh + For a Glug named Joi and a king called Splosh!" +And every Glug flung high his hat, +And cried, "We're Glugs! and you can't change that!" + So they climbed the trees, since the weather was cold, + While the brazen bell of the city tolled + And tolled, and told + The fate of a Glug who was over-bold. + + +<i>And every cloud that sails the blue, +And every dancing sunbeam too, + And every sparkling dewdrop bright + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +"We tell," say they, "by a simple test; +For any old Glug is like the rest. + And they climb the trees when there's weather about, + In a general way, as a cure for gout; + Tho' some folks doubt + If the climbing habit is good for gout."</i> + + +So Joi was hanged, and his race was run, +And the Glugs were tickled with what they'd done. + And, after that, if a day should come + When a Glug felt extra specially glum, +He'd call his children around his knee, +And tell that tale with a chuckle of glee. + And should a little Glug girl or boy + See naught of a joke in the fate of Joi, + Then he'd employ + Stern measures with such little girl or boy. + + +<i>But every dawn that paints the sky, +And every splendid noontide high, + All know the Glugs so well, so well. + 'Tis an easy matter, and plain to tell. +For, lacking wit, with a candour smug, +A Glug will boast that he is a Glug. + And they climb the trees, if it shines or rains, + To settle the squirming in their brains, + And the darting pains + That are caused by rushing and catching trains.</i> + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-12"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-12.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-07"></a></p> + +<h2>VII. THE SWANKS OF GOSH</h2> + +<pre> + + +Come mourn with me for the land of Gosh, + Oh, weep with me for the luckless Glugs +Of the land of Gosh, where the sad seas wash +The patient shores, and the great King Splosh + His sodden sorrow hugs; +Where the fair Queen Tush weeps all the day, + And the Swank, the Swank, the naughty Swank, + The haughty Swank holds sway-- +The most mendacious, ostentatious, + Spacious Swank holds sway. + +'Tis sorrow-swathed, as I know full well, + And garbed in gloom and the weeds of woe, +And vague, so far, is the tale I tell; +But bear with me for the briefest spell, + And surely shall ye know +Of the land of Gosh, and Tush, and Splosh, + And Stodge, the Swank, the foolish Swank, + The mulish Swank of Gosh- +The meretricious, avaricious, + Vicious Swank of Gosh. + +<i>Oh, the tall trees bend, and green trees send + A chuckle round the earth, +And the soft winds croon a jeering tune, + And the harsh winds shriek with mirth, +And the wee small birds chirp ribald words + When the Swank walks down the street; +But every Glug takes off his hat, +And whispers humbly, "Look at that! + Hats off! Hats off to the Glug of rank! + Sir Stodge, the Swank, the Lord High Swank!" +Then the East wind roars a loud guffaw, +And the haughty Swank says, "Haw!"</i> + +His brain is dull, and his mind is dense, + And his lack of saving wit complete; +But most amazingly immense +Is his inane self-confidence + And his innate conceit. +But every Glug, and great King Splosh + Bowed to Sir Stodge, the fuddled Swank, + The muddled Swank of Gosh-- +The engineering, peeping, peering, + Sneering Swank of Gosh. + +In Gosh, sad Gosh, where the Lord Swank lives, + He holds high rank, and he has much pelf; +And all the well-paid posts he gives +Unto his fawning relatives, + As foolish as himself. +In offices and courts and boards + Are Swanks, and Swanks, ten dozen Swanks, + And cousin Swanks in hordes-- +Inept and musty, dry and dusty, + Rusty Swanks in hordes. + +<i>The clouds so soft, that sail aloft, + Weep laughing tears of rain; +The blue sky spread high overhead + Peeps thro' in mild disdain. +All nature laughs and jeers and chaffs + When the Swank goes out to walk; +But every Glug bows low his head, +And says in tones surcharged with dread, + "Bow low, bow low, Glugs lean, Glugs fat!" + But the North wind snatches off his hat, +And flings it high, and shrieks to see + His ruffled dignity.</i> + +They lurk in every Gov'ment lair, + 'Mid docket dull and dusty file, +Solemnly squat in an easy chair, +Penning a minute of rare hot air + In departmental style. +In every office, on every floor + Are Swanks, and Swanks, distracting Swanks, + And Acting-Swanks a score, +And coldly distant, sub-assistant + Under-Swanks galore. + +In peaceful days when the countryside + Poured wealth to Gosh, and the skies were blue, +The great King Splosh no fault espied, +And seemed entirely satisfied + With Swanks who muddled thro'. +But when they fell on seasons bad, + Oh, then the Swanks, the bustled Swanks, + The hustled Swanks went mad-- +The minute-writing, nation-blighting, + Skiting Swanks went mad. + +<i>The tall trees sway like boys at play, + And mock him when he grieves, +As one by one, in laughing fun, + They pelt him with their leaves. +And the gay green trees joke to the breeze, + As the Swank struts proudly by; +But every Glug, with reverence, +Pays homage to his pride immense-- + A homage deep to lofty rank-- + The Swank! The Swank! The pompous Swank! +But the wind-borne leaves await their chance + And round him gaily dance.</i> + +Now, trouble came to the land of Gosh: + The fear of battle, and anxious days; +And the Swanks were called to the great King Splosh, +Who said that their system would not wash, + And ordered other ways. +Then the Lord High Swank stretched forth a paw, +And penned a minute re the law, + And the Swanks, the Swanks, the other Swanks, + The brother Swanks said, "Haw!" +These keen, resourceful, unremorseful, + Forceful Swanks said, "Haw!" + +Then Splosh, the king, in a royal rage, + He smote his throne as he thundered, "Bosh! +In the whole wide land is there not one sage +With a cool, clear brain, who'll straight engage + To sweep the Swanks from Gosh?" +But the Lord High Stodge, from where he stood, +Cried, "Barley! . . . Guard your livelihood!" + And, quick as light, the teeming Swanks, + The scheming Swanks touched wood. +Sages, plainly, labour vainly + When the Swanks touch wood. + +<i>The stealthy cats that grace the mats + Before the doors of Gosh, +Smile wide with scorn each sunny morn; + And, as they take their wash, +A sly grimace o'erspreads each face + As the Swank struts forth to court. +But every Glug casts down his eyes, +And mutters, "Ain't 'is 'at a size! + For such a sight our gods we thank. + Sir Stodge, the Swank! The noble Swank!" +But the West wind tweaks his nose in sport; + And the Swank struts into court.</i> + +Then roared the King with a rage intense, + "Oh, who can cope with their magic tricks?" +But the Lord High Swank skipped nimbly hence, +And hid him safe behind the fence + Of Regulation VI. +And under Section Four Eight 0 + The Swanks, the Swanks, dim forms of Swanks, + The swarms of Swanks lay low-- +These most tenacious, perspicacious, + Spacious Swanks lay low. + +Cried the King of Gosh, "They shall not escape! + Am I set at naught by a crazed buffoon?" +But in fifty fathoms of thin red tape +The Lord Swank swaddled his portly shape, + Like a large, insane cocoon. +Then round and round and round and round. + The Swanks, the Swanks, the whirling Swanks, + The twirling Swanks they wound-- +The swathed and swaddled, molly-coddled + Swanks inanely wound. + +<i>Each insect thing that comes in Spring + To gladden this sad earth, +It flits and whirls and pipes and skirls, + It chirps in mocking mirth +A merry song the whole day long + To see the Swank abroad. +But every Glug, whoe'er he be, +Salutes, with grave humility + And deference to noble rank, + The Swank, the Swank, the swollen Swank; +But the South wind blows his clothes awry, + And flings dust in his eye.</i> + +So trouble stayed in the land of Gosh; + And the futile Glugs could only gape, +While the Lord High Swank still ruled King Splosh +With laws of blither and rules of bosh, + From out his lair of tape. +And in cocoons that mocked the Glug + The Swanks, the Swanks, the under-Swanks, + The dunder Swanks lay snug. +These most politic, parasitic, + Critic Swanks lay snug. + +Then mourn with me for a luckless land, + Oh, weep with me for the slaves of tape! +Where the Lord High Swank still held command, +And wrote new rules in a fair round hand, + And the Glugs saw no escape; +Where tape entwined all Gluggish things, + And the Swank, the Swank, the grievous Swank, + The devious Swank pulled strings-- +The perspicacious, contumacious + Swank held all the strings. + +<i>The blooms that grow, and, in a row, + Peep o'er each garden fence, +They nod and smile to note his style + Of ponderous pretence; +Each roving bee has fits of glee + When the Swank goes by that way. +But every Glug, he makes his bow, +And says, "Just watch him! Watch him now! + He must have thousands in the bank! + The Swank! The Swank! The holy Swank!" +But the wild winds snatch his kerchief out, + And buffet him about.</i> + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-13"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-13.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-08"></a></p> + +<h2>VIII. THE SEER</h2> + +<pre> + + +Somewhere or other, 'tis doubtful where, +In the archives of Gosh is a volume rare, + A precious old classic that nobody reads, + And nobody asks for, and nobody heeds; +Which makes it a classic, and famed thro' the land, +As well-informed persons will quite understand. + +'Tis a ponderous work, and 'tis written in prose, +For some mystical reason that nobody knows; + And it tells in a style that is terse and correct + Of the rule of the Swanks and its baneful effect +On the commerce of Gosh, on its morals and trade; +And it quotes a grave prophecy somebody made. + +And this is the prophecy, written right bold +On a parchment all tattered and yellow and old; + So old and so tattered that nobody knows + How far into foretime its origin goes. +But this is the writing that set Glugs agog +When 'twas called to their minds by the Mayor of Quog: + + +<i>When Gosh groaneth bastlie thro Greed and bys plannes +Ye rimer shall mende ye who mendes pottes and pans.</i> + + +Now, the Mayor of Quog, a small suburb of Gosh, +Was intensely annoyed at the act of King Splosh + In asking the Mayor of Piphel to tea + With himself and the Queen on a Thursday at three; +When the King must have known that the sorriest dog, +If a native of Piphel, was hated in Quog. + +An act without precedent! Quog was ignored! +The Mayor and Council and Charity Board, + They met and considered this insult to Quog; + And they said, " 'Tis the work of the treacherous Og! +'Tis plain the Og influence threatens the Throne; +And the Swanks are all crazed with this trading in stone." + +Said the Mayor of Quog: "This has long been foretold +In a prophecy penned by the Seer of old. + We must search, if we'd banish the curse of our time, + For a mender of pots who's a maker of rhyme. +'Tis to him we must look when our luck goes amiss. +But, Oh, where in all Gosh is a Glug such as this?" + +</pre> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-14"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-14.jpg"></p> +<p><b>O'er the prophecy pored</b></p> +</center> + +<pre> + +Then the Mayor and Council and Charity Board +O'er the archival prophecy zealously pored, + With a pursing of lips and a shaking of heads, + With a searching and prying for possible threads +That would lead to discover this versatile Glug +Who modelled a rhyme while he mended a mug. + +With a pursing of lips and a shaking of heads, +They gave up the task and went home to their beds, + Where each lay awake while he tortured his brain + For a key to the riddle, but ever in vain . . . +Then, lo, at the Mayor's front door in the morn +A tinker called out, and a Movement was born. + + +<i>"Kettles and pans! Kettles and pans! +Oh, the stars are the gods'; but the earth, it is man's. + But a fool is the man who has wants without end, + While the tinker's content with a kettle to mend. +For a tinker owns naught but the earth, which is man's. +Then, bring out your kettles! Ho, kettles and pans!"</i> + + +From the mayoral bed with unmayoral cries +The magistrate sprang ere he'd opened his eyes. + "Hold him!" he yelled, as he bounced on the floor. + "Oh, who is this tinker that rhymes at my door? +Go get me the name and the title of him 1" +They answered. "Be calm, sir. 'Tis no one but Sym. + +'Tis Sym, the mad tinker, the son of old Joi, +Who ran from his home when a bit of a boy. + He went for a tramp, tho' 'tis common belief, + When folk were not looking he went for a thief; +Then went for a tinker, and rhymes as he goes. +Some say he's crazy, but nobody knows." + +'Twas thus it began, the exalting of Sym, +And the mad Gluggish struggle that raged around him. + For the good Mayor seized him, and clothed him in silk, + And fed him on pumpkins and pasteurised milk, +And praised him in public, and coupled his name +With Gosh's vague prophet of archival fame. + +The Press interviewed him a great many times, +And printed his portrait, and published his rhymes; + Till the King and Sir Stodge and the Swanks grew afraid + Of his fame 'mid the Glugs and the trouble it made. +For, wherever Sym went in the city of Gosh, +There were cheers for the tinker, and hoots for King Splosh. + +His goings and comings were watched for and cheered; +And a crowd quickly gathered where'er he appeared. + All the folk flocked around him and shouted his praise; + For the Glugs followed fashion, and Sym was a craze. +They sued him for words, which they greeted with cheers, +For the way with a Glug is to tickle his ears. + +"0, speak to us, Tinker! Your wisdom we crave!" +They'd cry when they saw him; then Sym would look grave, + And remark, with an air, "'Tis a very fine day." + "Now ain't he a marvel?" they'd shout. "Hip, Hooray!" +"To live," would Sym answer, "To live is to feel!" +"And ain't he a poet?" a fat Glug would squeal. + +Sym had a quaint fancy in phrase and in text; +When he'd fed them with one they would howl for the next. + Thus he'd cry, "Love is love 1" and the welkin they'd lift + With their shouts of surprise at his wonderful gift. +He would say "After life, then a Glug must meet death!" +And they'd clamour for more ere he took the next breath. + +But Sym grew aweary of this sort of praise, +And he longed to be back with his out-o'-door days, + With his feet in the grass and his back to a tree, + Rhyming and tinkering, fameless and free. +He said so one day to the Mayor of Quog, +And declared he'd as lief live the life of a dog. + +But the Mayor was vexed; for the Movement had grown, +And his dreams had of late soared as high as a throne. + "Have a care! What is written is written," said he. + "And the dullest Glug knows what is written must be. +'Tis the prophet of Gosh who has prophesied it; +And 'tis thus that 'tis written by him who so writ: + +"'Lo, the Tinker of Gosh he shall make him three rhymes: +One on the errors and aims of his times, + One on the symptoms of sin that he sees, + And the third and the last on whatever he please. +And when the Glugs hear them and mark what they mean +The land shall be purged and the nation made clean."' + +So Sym gave a promise to write then and there +Three rhymes to be read in the Great Market Square +To all Glugs assembled on Saturday week. +"And then," said the Mayor, "if still you must seek + To return to your tramping, well, just have your fling; + But I'll make you a marquis, or any old thing . . ." + Said Sym, "I shall tinker, and still be a king." + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-15"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-15.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-09"></a></p> + +<h2>IX. THE RHYMES OF SYM</h2> + +<pre> + + +Nobody knew why it should be so; +Nobody knew or wanted to know. + It might have been checked had but someone dared + To trace its beginnings; but nobody cared. +But 'twas clear to the wise that the Glugs of those days +Were crazed beyond reason concerning a craze. + +They would pass a thing by for a week or a year, +With an air apathetic, or maybe a sneer: + Some ev'ryday thing, like a crime or a creed, + A mode or a movement, and pay it small heed, +Till Somebody started to laud it aloud; +Then all but the Nobodies followed the crowd. + +Thus, Sym was a craze; tho', to give him his due, +He would rather have strayed from the popular view. + But once the Glugs had him they held him so tight + That he could not be nobody, try as he might. +He had to be Somebody, so they decreed. +For Craze is an appetite, governed by Greed. + +So on Saturday week to the Great Market Square +Came every Glug who could rake up his fare. + They came from the suburbs, they came from the town, + There came from the country Glugs bearded and brown, +Rich Glugs, with cigars, all well-tailored and stout, +Jostled commonplace Glugs who dropped aitches about. + +There were gushing Glug maids, well aware of their charms, +And stern, massive matrons with babes in their arms. + There were querulous dames who complained of the "squash," + The pushing and squeezing; for, briefly, all Gosh, +With its aunt and its wife, stood agape in the ranks-- +Excepting Sir Stodge and his satellite Swanks. + +The Mayor of Quog took the chair for the day; +And he made them a speech, and he ventured to say + That a Glug was a Glug, and the Cause they held dear + Was a very dear Cause. And the Glugs said, "Hear, hear." +Then Sym took the stage to a round of applause +From thousands who suddenly found they'd a Cause. + +</pre> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-16"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-16.jpg"></p> +<p><b>Quog took the chair</b></p> +</center> + +<pre> + +<b>THE FIRST RHYME OF SYM</b> + +<i>We strive together in life's crowded mart, + Keen-eyed, with clutching hands to over-reach. +We scheme, we lie, we play the selfish part, + Masking our lust for gain with gentle speech; +And masking too--O pity ignorance!-- +Our very selves behind a careless glance. + +Ah, foolish brothers, seeking e'er in vain + The one dear gift that liesso near at hand; +Hoping to barter gold we meanly gain + For that the poorest beggar in the land +Holds for his own, to hoard while yet he spends; +Seeking fresh treasure in the hearts of friends. + +We preach; yet do we deem it worldly-wise + To count unbounded brother-love a shame, +So, ban the brother-look from out our eyes, + Lest sparks of sympathy be fanned to flame. +We smile; and yet withhold, in secret fear, +The word so hard to speak, so sweet to hear-- + +The Open Sesame to meanest hearts, + The magic word, to which stern eyes grow soft, +And crafty faces, that the cruel marts + Have seared and scored, turn gentle--Nay, how oft +It trembles on the lip to die unppoke, +And dawning love is stifled with a joke. + +Nay, brothers, look about your world to-day: + A world to you so drab, so commonplace-- +The flowers still are blooming by the way, + As blossom smiles upon the sternest face. +In everv hour is born some thought of love; +In every heart is hid some treasure-trove.</i> + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +With a modified clapping and stamping of feet +The Glugs mildly cheered him, as Sym took his seat. + But some said 'twas clever, and some said 'twas grand- + More especially those who did not understand. +And some said, with frowns, tho' the words sounded plain, +Yet it had a deep meaning they craved to explain. + +But the Mayor said: Silence! He wished to observe +That a Glug was a Glug; and in wishing to serve + This glorious Cause, which they'd asked him to lead, + They had proved they were Glugs of the noble old breed +That made Gosh what it was . . . and he'd ask the police +To remove that small boy while they heard the next piece. + +<b>THE SECOND RHYME OF SYM</b> + +<i>"Now come," said the Devil, he said to me, + With his swart face all a-grin, +"This day, ere ever the clock strikes three, + Shall you sin your darling sin. +For I've wagered a crown with Beelzebub, +Down there at the Gentlemen's Brimstone Club, + I shall tempt you once, I shall tempt you twice, + Yet thrice shall you fall ere I tempt you thrice." + +"Begone, base Devil!" I made reply-- + "Begone with your fiendish grin! +How hope you to profit by such as I? + For I have no darling sin. +But many there be, and I know them well, +All foul with sinning and ripe for Hell. + And I name no names, but the whole world knows + That I am never of such as those." + +"How nowt' said the Devil. "I'll spread my net, + And I vow I'll gather you in! +By this and by that shall I win my bet, + And you shall sin the sin! +Come, fill up a bumper of good red wine, +Your heart shall sing, and your eye shall shine, + You shall know such joy as you never have known. + For the salving of men was the good vine grown." + +"Begone, red Devil!" I made reply. + "Parch shall these lips of mine, +And my tongue shall shrink, and my throat go dry, + Ere ever I taste your wine! +But greet you shall, as I know full well, +A tipsy score of my friends in Hell. + And I name no names, but the whole world wots + Most of my fellows are drunken sots." + +"Ah, ha!" said the Devil. "You scorn the wine! + Thrice shall you sin, I say, +To win me a crown from a friend of mine, + Ere three o' the clock this day. +Are you calling to mind some lady fair? +And is she a wife or a maiden rare? + 'Twere folly to shackle young love, hot Youth; + And stolen kisses are sweet, forsooth!" + +"Begone, foul Devil!" I made reply; + "For never in all my life +Have I looked on a woman with lustful eye, + Be she maid, or widow, or wife. +But my brothers! Alas! I am scandalized +By their evil passions so ill disguised. + And I name no names, but my thanks I give + That I loathe the lives my fellow-men live." + +"Ho, ho!" roared the Devil in fiendish glee. + "'Tis a silver crown I win! +Thrice have you fallen! 0 Pharisee, + You have sinned your darling sin!" +"But, nay," said I; "and I scorn your lure. +I have sinned no sin, and my heart is pure. + Come, show me a sign of the sin you see!" + But the Devil was gone . . . and the clock struck three.</i> + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +With an increase of cheering and waving of hats- +While the little boys squealed, and made noises like cats-- + The Glugs gave approval to Sym's second rhyme. + And some said 'twas thoughtful, and some said 'twas prime; +And some said 'twas witty, and had a fine end: +More especially those who did not comprehend. + +And some said with leers and with nudges and shrugs +That, they mentioned no names, but it hit certain Glugs. + And others remarked, with superior smiles, + While dividing the metrical feet into miles, +That the thing seemed quite simple, without any doubt, +But the anagrams in it would need thinking out. + +But the Mayor said, Hush! And he wished to explain +That in leading this Movement he'd nothing to gain. + He was ready to lead, since they trusted him so; + And, wherever he led he was sure Glugs would go. +And he thanked them again, and craved peace for a time, +While this gifted young man read his third and last rhyme. + +<b>THE LAST RHYME OF SYM</b> + +<i>(To sing you a song and a sensible song is a worthy and excellent thing; +But how could I sing you that sort of a song, if there's never a song to sing?) +At ten to the tick, by the kitchen clock, I marked him blundering by, +With his eyes astare, and his rumpled hair, and his hat cocked over his eye. +Blind, in his pride, to his shoes untied, he went with a swift jig-jog, +Off on the quest, with a strange unrest, hunting the Feasible Dog. +And this is the song, as he dashed along, that he sang with a swaggering swing-- +(Now how had I heard him singing a song if he hadn't a song to sing?)</i> + + <i>"I've found the authentic, identical beast! + The Feasible Dog, and the terror of Gosh! + I know by the prowl of him. + Hark to the growl of him! + Heralding death to the subjects of Splosh. + Oh, look at him glaring and staring, by thunder! + Now each for himself, and the weakest goes under! + + "Beware this injurious, furious brute; + He's ready to rend you with tooth and with claw. + Tho' 'tis incredible, + Anything edible + Disappears suddenly into his maw: + Into his cavernous inner interior + Vanishes evrything strictly superior." + +He calls it "Woman," he calls it "Wine," he calls it "Devils" and "Dice"; +He calls it "Surfing" and "Sunday Golf' and names that are not so nice. +But whatever he calls it-"Morals" or "Mirth"-he is on with the hunt right quick +For his sorrow he'd hug like a gloomy Gllig if he hadn't a dog to kick. +So any old night, if the stars are right, vou will find him, hot on the trail +Of a feasible dog and a teasable dog, with a can to tie to his tail. +And the song that he roars to the shuddering stars is a worthy and excellent thing. +(Yet how could you hear him singing a song if there wasn't a song to sing?) + + "I've watched his abdominous, ominous shape + Abroad in the land while the nation has slept, + Marked his satanical + Methods tyrannical; + Rigorous, vigorous vigil I kept. + Good gracious! Voracious is hardly the name for it! + Yet we have only our blindness to blame for it. + + "My dear, I've autoptical, optical proof + That he's prowling and growling at large in the land. + Hear his pestiferous + Clamour vociferous, + Gurgles and groans of the beastliest brand. + Some may regard his contortions as comical. + But I've the proof that his game's gastronomical. + + "Beware this obstreperous, leprous beast-- + A treacherous wretch, for I know him of old. + I'm on the track of him, + Close at the back of him, + And I'm aware his ambitions are bold; + For he's yearning and burning to snare the superior + Into his roomy and gloomy interior."</i> + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +Such a shouting and yelling of hearty Bravoes, +Such a craning of necks and a standing on toes + Seemed to leave ne'er a doubt that the Tinker's last rhyme + Had now won him repute 'mid the Glugs for all time. +And they all said the rhyme was the grandest they'd heard: +More especially those who had not caught a word. + +But the Mayor said: Peace! And he stood, without fear, +As the leader of all to whom Justice was dear. + For the Tinker had rhymed, as the Prophet foretold, + And a light was let in on the errors of old. +For in every line, and in every verse +Was the proof that Sir Stodge was a traitor, and worse! + +Sir Stodge (said the Mayor), must go from his place; +And the Swanks, one and all, were a standing disgrace! + For the influence won o'er a weak, foolish king + Was a menace to Gosh, and a scandalous thing! +"And now," said the Mayor, "I stand here to-day +As your leader and friend." And the Glugs said, "Hooray!" + +Then they went to their homes in the suburbs and town; +To their farms went the Glugs who were bearded and brown. + Portly Glugs with cigars went to dine at their clubs, + While illiterate Glugs had one more at the pubs. +And each household in Gosh sat and talked half the night +Of the wonderful day, and the imminent fight. + +Forgetting the rhymer, forgetting his rhymes, +They talked of Sir Stodge and his numerous crimes. + There was hardly a C3lug in the whole land of Gosh + Who'd a lenient word to put in for King Splosh. +One and all, to the mangiest, surliest dog, +Were quite eager to bark for his Worship of Quog. + +Forgotten, unnoticed, Sym wended his way +To his lodging in Gosh at the close of the day. + And 'twas there, to his friend and companion of years-- + To his little red dog with the funny prick ears-- +That he poured out his woe; seeking nothing to hide; +And the little dog listened, his head on one side. + +"O you little red dog, you are weary as I. +It is days, it is months since we saw the blue sky. + And it seems weary years since we sniffed at the breeze + As it hms thro' the hedges and sings in the trees. +These we know and we love. But this city holds fears, +O my friend of the road, with the funny prick ears. + And for what me we hope from his Worship of Quog?" + "Oh, and a bone, and a kick," said the little red dog. + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-17"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-17.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-10"></a></p> + +<h2>X. THE DEBATE</h2> + +<pre> + + +He was a Glug of simple charm; +He wished no living creature harm. + His kindly smile like sunlight fell + On all about, and wished them well. +Yet, 'spite the cheerful soul of Sym, +The great Sir Stodge detested him. + +The stern Sir Stodge and all his Swanks-- +Proud Glugs of divers grades and ranks, + With learning and attainments great-- + Had never learned to conquer hate. +And, failing in their A. B. C., +Were whipt by Master Destiny. + +'Twas thus that Gosh's famous schools +Turned out great hordes of learned fools: + Turned out the ship without a sail, + Turned out the kite with leaden tail, +Turned out the mind that could not soar +Because of foolish weights it bore. + +Because there'd been no father Joi +To guide the quick mind of a boy + Away from thoughts of hate and blame, + Wisdom in these was but a name. +But 'mid the Glugs they count him wise +Who walks with cunning in his eyes. + +His task well done, his three rhymes writ, +Sym rose at morn, and packed his kit. + "At last!" he cried. "Off and away + To meet again the spendthrift Day, +As he comes climbing in the East, +To bless with largesse man and beast. + +"Again the fields where wild things run! +And trees, all spreading to the sun, + Run not, because, of all things blest, + Their chosen place contents them best. +0 come, my little prick-eared dog!" . . . +But, "Halt!" exclaimed his Nibs of Quog. + +"Nay," said the Mayor. "Not so fast! +The day climbs high, but sinks at last. + And trees, all spreading to the sun, + Are slain because they cannot run. +The great Sir Stodge, filled full of hate, +Has challenged you to hold debate. + +"On Monday, in the Market Square, +He and his Swanks will all be there, + Sharp to the tick at half-past two, + To knock the stuffing out of you. +And if your stuffing so be spread, +Then is the Cause of Quog stone dead. + +"In this debate I'd have you find, +With all the cunning of your mind, + Sure victory for Quog's great Cause, + And swift defeat for Stodge's laws." +"But cunning I have none," quoth Sym. +The Mayor slowly winked at him. + +"Ah!" cried his Worship. "Sly; so sly!" +(Again he drooped his dexter eye) + "I've read you thro'; I've marked you well. + You're cunning as an imp from Hell . . . +Nay, keep your temper; for I can +Withal admire a clever man. + +"Who rhymes with such a subtle art +May never claim a simple part. + I'll make of you a Glug of rank, + With something handy in the bank, +And fixed opinions, which, you know, +With fixed deposits always go. + +"I'll give you anything you crave: +A great, high headstone to your grave, + A salary, a scarlet coat, + A handsome wife, a house, a vote, +A title, or a humbled foe." +But Sym said, "No," and ever, "No." + +"Then," shouted Quog, "your aid I claim +For Gosh, and in your country's name + I bid you fight the Cause of Quog, + Or be for ever named a dog! +The Cause of Quog, the weal of Gosh +Are one! Amen. Down with King Splosh!" + +Sym looked his Worship in the eye, +As solemnly he made reply: + "If 'tis to serve my native land, + On Monday I shall be at hand. +But what am I 'mid such great men?" +His Worship winked his eye again . . . + +'Twas Monday in the Market Square; +Sir Stodge and all his Swanks were there. + And almost every Glug in Gosh + Had bolted lunch and had a wash +And cleaned his boots, and sallied out +To gloat upon Sir Stodge's rout. + +And certain sly and knowing Glugs, +With sundry nudges, winks and shrugs, + Passed round the hint that up on high, + Behind some window near the sky, +Where he could see yet not be seen, +King Splosh was present with his Queen. + +"Glugs," said the chairman. "Glugs of Gosh; +By order of our good King Splosh, + The Tinker and Sir Stodge shall meet, + And here, without unseemly heat, +Debate the question of the day, +Which is--However, let me say-- + +"I do not wish to waste your time. +So, first shall speak this man of rhyme; + And, when Sir Stodge has voiced his view, + The Glugs shall judge between the two. +This verdict from the folk of Gosh +Will be accepted by King Splosh." + +As when, like teasing vagabonds, +The sly winds buffet sullen ponds, + The face of Stodge grew dark with rage, + When Sym stepped forth upon the stage. +But all the Glugs, with one accord, +A chorus of approval roared. + +Said Sym: "Kind friends, and fellow Glugs; +My trade is mending pots and mugs. + I tinker kettles, and I rhyme + To please myself and pass the time, +Just as my fancy wandereth." +("He's minel" quoth Stodge, below his breath.) + +Said Sym: "Why I am here to-day +I know not; tho' I've heard them say + That strife and hatred play some part + In this great meeting at the Mart. +Nay, brothers, why should hatred lodge . . . +"That's ultra vires!" thundered Stodge. + +"'Tis ultra vires!" cried the Knight. +"Besides, it isn't half polite. + And e'en the dullest Glug should know, + 'Tis not pro bono publico. +Nay, Glugs, this fellow is no class. +Remember! Vincit veritas!" + +With sidelong looks and sheepish grins, +Like men found out in secret sins, + Glug gazed at Glug in nervous dread; + Till one with claims to learning said, +"Sir Stodge is talking Greek, you know. +He may be bad, but never low." + +Then those who had no word of Greek +Felt lifted up to hear him speak. + "Ah, learning, learning," others said. + 'Tis fine to have a clever head." +And here and there a nervous cheer +Was heard, and someone growled, "Hear, hear." + +"Kind friends," said Sym . . . But, at a glance, +The 'cute Sir Stodge had seen his chance. + "Quid nuncl" he cried. "O noble Glugs, + This fellow takes you all for mugs. +I ask him, where's his quid pro quo? +I ask again, quo warranto? + +"Shall this man filch our wits from us +With his furor poeticus? + Nay!" cried Sir Stodge. "You must agree, + If you will hark a while to me +And at the Glugs' collective head +He flung strange language, ages dead. + +With mystic phrases from the Law, +With many an old and rusty saw, + With well-worn mottoes, which he took + Haphazard from the copy-book, +For half an hour the learned Knight +Belaboured them with all his might. + +And, as they wakened from their daze, +Their murmurs grew to shouts of praise. + Glugs who'd reviled him overnight + All in a moment saw the light. +"O learned man! 0 seer!" cried they. . . . +And education won the day. + +Then, quickly to Sir Stodge's side +There bounded, in a single stride, + His Nibs of Quog; and flinging wide + His arms, "O victory!" he cried. +"I'm with Sir Stodge, 0 Glugs of Gosh! +And we have won! Long live King Splosh!" + +Then pointing angrily at Sym, +Cried Quog, "This is the end of him! + For months I've marked his crafty dodge, + To bring dishonour to Sir Stodge. +I've lured him here, the traitrous dog, +And shamed him!" quoth his Nibs of Quog. + +Hoots for the Tinker tore the air, +As Sym went, wisely, otherwhere. + Cheers for Sir Stodge were long and loud; + And, as amid his Swanks he bowed, +To mark his thanks and honest pride, +His Nibs of Quog bowed by his side. + +The Thursday after that, at three, +The King invited Quog to tea. + Quoth Quog, "It was a task to bilk . . . + (I thank you; sugar, please, and milk) . . . +To bilk this Tinker and his pranks. +A scurvy rogue! . . . (Ah, two lumps, thanks.) + +"A scurvy rogue!" continued Quog. +'Twas easy to outwit the dog. + Altho', perhaps, I risked my life-- + I've heard he's handy with a knife. +Ah, well, 'twas for my country's sake . . . +(Thanks; just one slice of currant cake.)" + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-18"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-18.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-11"></a></p> + +<h2>XI. OGS</h2> + +<pre> + + +It chanced one day, in the middle of May, + There came to the great King Splosh +A policeman, who said, while scratching his head, + "There isn't a stone in Gosh +To throw at a dog; for the crafty Og, + Last Saturday week, at one, +Took our last blue-metal, in order to settle + A bill for a toy pop-gun." + Said the King, jokingly, + "Why, how provokingly + Weird; but we have the gun." + +And the King said, "Well, we are stony-broke." +But the Queen could not see it was much of a joke. + And she said, "If the metal is all used up, + Pray what of the costume I want for the Cup? +It all seems so dreadfully simple to me. +The stones? Why, import them from over the sea." + But a Glug stood up with a mole on his chin, + And said, with a most diabolical grin, +"Your Majesties, down in the country of Podge, +A spy has discovered a very 'cute dodge. + And the Ogs are determined to wage a war + On Gosh, next Friday, at half-past four." +Then the Glugs all cried, in a terrible fright, +"How did our grandfathers manage a fight?" + +Then the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book, +And he read, "Some very large stones they took, + And flung at the foe, with exceeding force; + Which was very effective, tho' rude, of course." +And lo, with sorrowful wails and moans, +The Glugs cried, "Where, Oh, where are the stones?" + And some rushed North, and a few ran West; + Seeking the substitutes seeming best. +And they gathered the pillows and cushions and rugs +From the homes of the rich and middle-class Glugs. + And a hasty message they managed to send + Craving the loan of some bricks from a friend. + +On the Friday, exactly at half-past four, + Came the Ogs with triumphant glee. +And the first of their stones hit poor Mister Ghones, + The captain of industry. +Then a pebble of Podge took the Knight, Sir Stodge, + In the curve of his convex vest. +He gurgled "Un-Gluggish!" His heart growing sluggish, + He solemnly sank to rest. + 'Tis inconceivable, + Scarcely believable, + Yet, he was sent to rest. + +And the King said, "Ouch!" And the Queen said, "0o! +My bee-ootiful drawing-room! What shall I do?" + But the warlike Ogs, they hurled great rocks + Thro' the works of the wonderful eight-day clocks +They had sold to the Glugs but a month before-- +Which was very absurd; but, of course, 'twas war. + And the Glugs cried, "What would our grandfathers do + If they hadn't the stones that they one time threw?" +But the Knight, Sir Stodge, and his mystic Book +Oblivious slept in a grave-yard nook. + +Then a Glug stood out with a pot in his hand, +As the King was bewailing the fate of his land, + And he said, "If these Ogs you desire to retard, + Then hit them quite frequent with anything hard." +So the Glugs seized anvils, and editors' chairs, +And smote the Ogs with them unawares; + And bottles of pickles, and clocks they threw, + And books of poems, and gherkins, and glue, +Which they'd bought with the stones--as, of course, you know-- + From the Ogs but a couple of months ago. + Which was simply inane, when you reason it o'er; + And uneconomic, but then, it was war. + +When they'd fought for a night and the most of a day, +The Ogs threw the last of their metal away. + Then they went back to Podge, well content with their fun, + And, with much satisfaction, declared they had won. +And the King of the Glugs gazed around on his land, +And saw nothing but stones strewn on every hand: + Great stones in the palace, and stones in the street, + And stones on the house-tops and under the feet. +And he said, with a desperate look on his face, +"There is nothing so ghastly as stones out of place. + And, no doubt, this Og scheme was a very smart dodge. + But whom does it profit--my people, or Podge?" + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-19"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-19.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-12"></a></p> + +<h2>XII. EMILY ANN</h2> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-20"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-20.jpg"></p> +<p><b>On the royal door-mat</b></p> +</center> + +<pre> + + +Government muddles, departments dazed, +Fear and confusion wherever he gazed; + Order insulted, authority spurned, + Dread and distraction wherever he turned-- +Oh, the great King Splosh was a sad, sore king, +With never a statesman to straighten the thing. + +Glus all importunate urging their claims, +With selfish intent and ulterior aims, + Glugs with petitions for this and for that, + Standing ten-deep on the royal door-mat, +Raging when nobody answered their ring-- +Oh, the great King Splosh was a careworn king. + +And he looked to the right, and he glanced to the left, +And he glared at the roof like a monarch bereft + Of his wisdom and wits and his wealth all in one; + And, at least once a minute, asked, "What's to be done?" +But the Swanks stood around him and answered, with groans, +"Your majesty, Gosh is half buried in stones!" + +"How now?" cried the King. "Is there not in my land +One Glug who can cope with this dreadful demand: + A rich man, a poor man, a beggar man, thief-- + I reck not his rank so he lessen my grief-- +A soldier, a sailor, a--" Raising his head, +With relief in his eye, "Now, I mind me!" he said. + +"I mind me a Tinker, and what once befel, +When I think, on the whole, he was treated not well. + But he shall be honoured, and he shall be famed + If he read me this riddle. But how is he named? +Some commonplace title, like-Simon?-No-Sym! +Go, send out my riders, and scour Gosh for him." + +They rode for a day to the sea in the South, +Calling the name of him, hand to the mouth. + They rode for a day to the hills in the East, + But signs of a tinker saw never the least. +Then they rode to the North thro' a whole day long, +And paused in the even to hark to a song. + + +"Kettles and pans! Kettles and pans! +Oh, who can show tresses like Emily Ann's? + Brown in the shadow and gold at the tips, + Bright as the smile on her beckoning lips. +Bring out your kettle! 0 kettle or pan! +So I buy me a ribband for Emily Ann." + + +With his feet in the grass, and his back to a tree, +Merry as only a tinker can be, + Busily tinkering, mending a pan, + Singing as only a merry man can . . . +"Sym!" cried the riders. " 'Tis thus you are styled?" +And he paused in his singing, and nodded and smiled. + +Said he: "Last eve, when the sun was low, +Down thro' the bracken I watched her go-- + Down thro' the bracken, with simple grace-- + And the glory of eve shone full on her face; +And there on the sky-line it lingered a span, +So loth to be leaving my Emily Arm." + +With hands to their faces the riders smiled. +"Sym," they said--"be it so you're styled-- + Behold, great Splosh, our sorrowing King, + Has sent us hither, that we may bring +To the palace in Gosh a Glug so named, +That he may be honoured and justly famed." + +"Yet," said Sym, as he tinkered his can, +"What should you know of her, Emily Ann? + Early as cock-crow yester morn + I watched young sunbeams, newly born, +As out of the East they frolicked and ran, +Eager to greet her, my Emily Arm." + +"King Splosh," said the riders, "is bowed with grief; +And the glory of Gosh is a yellowing leaf. + Up with you, Tinker! There's work ahead. + With a King forsaken, and Swanks in dread, +To whom may we turn for the salving of man?" +And Sym, he answered them, "Emily Ann." + +Said he: "Whenever I watch her pass, +With her skirts so high o'er the dew-wet grass, + I envy every blade the bruise + It earns in the cause of her twinkling shoes. +Oh, the dew-wet grass, where this morn she ran, +Was doubly jewelled for Emily Ann." + +"But haste!" they cried. "By the palace gates +A sorrowing king for a tinker waits. + And what shall we answer our Lord the King + If never a tinker hence we bring, +To tinker a kingdom so sore amiss?" +But Sym, he said to them, "Answer him this: + +'Every eve, when the clock chimes eight, +I kiss her fair, by her mother's gate: + Twice, all reverent, on the brow- + Once for a pray'r, and once for a vow; +Twice on her eyes that they may shine, +Then, full on the mouth because she's mine."' + +"Calf!" sneered the riders. "O Tinker, heed! +Mount and away with us, we must speed. + All Gosh is agog for the coming of Sym. + Garlands and greatness are waiting for him: +Garlands of roses, and garments of red +And a chaplet for crowning a conqueror's head." + +"Listen," quoth Sym, as he stirred his fire. +"Once in my life have I known desire. + Then, Oh, but the touch of her kindled a flame + That burns as a sun by the candle of fame. +And a blessing and boon for a poor tinker man +Looks out from the eyes of my Emily Ann." + +Then they said to him, "Fool! Do you cast aside +Promise of honour, and place, and pride, + Gold for the asking, and power o'er men- + Working your will with the stroke of a pen? +Vexed were the King if you ride not with us." +But Sym, he said to them, "Answer him thus: + +'Ease and honour and leave to live-- +These are the gifts that a king may give + 'Twas over the meadow I saw her first; + And my lips grew parched like a man athirst +Oh, my treasure was ne'er in the gift of man; +For the gods have given me Emily Ann." + +"Listen," said they, "O you crazy Sym. +Roses perish, and eyes grow dim. + Lustre fades from the fairest hair. + Who weds a woman links arms with care. +But women there are in the city of Gosh-- +Ay, even the daughters of good King Splosh. . ." + +"Care," said Sym, "is a weed that springs +Even to-day in the gardens of kings. + And I, who have lived 'neath the tent of the skies, + Know of the flowers, and which to prize . . . +Give you good even! For now I must jog." +And he whistled him once to his little red dog. + +Into the meadow and over the stile, +Off went the tinker man, singing the while; + Down by the bracken patch, over the hill, + With the little red dog at the heel of him still. +And back, as he soberly sauntered along, +There came to the riders the tail of his song. + + +<i>"Kettles and pots! Kettles and pans! +Strong is my arm if the cause it be man's. + But a fig for the cause of a cunning old king; + For Emily Ann will be mine in the Spring. +Then nought shall I labour for Splosh or his plans; +Tho' I'll mend him a kettle. Ho, kettles and pans!"</i> + +</pre> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-21"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-21.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p><a name="ch-13"></a></p> + +<h2>XIII. THE LITTLE RED DOG</h2> + +<center> +<p><a name="glugs-22"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-22.jpg"></p> +<p><b>Taking the air</b></p> +</center> + +<pre> + + +The Glugs still live in the land of Gosh, +Under the rule of the great King Splosh. + And they climb the trees in the Summer and Spring, + Because it is reckoned the regular thing. +Down in the valley they live their lives, +Taking the air with their aunts and wives. + And they climb the trees in the Winter and Fall, + And count it improper to climb not at all. + +And they name their trees with a thousand names, +Calling them after their Arts and Aims; + And some, they climb for the fun of the thing, + But most go up at the call of the King. +Some scale a tree that they fear to name, +For it bears great blossoms of scarlet shame. + But they eat of the fruit of the nameless tree, + Because they are Glugs, and their choice is free. + +But every eve, when the sun goes West, +Over the mountain they call The Blest, + Whose summit looks down on the city of Gosh, + Far from the reach of the great King Splosh, +The Glugs gaze up at the heights above, +And feel vague promptings to wondrous love. + And they whisper a tale of a tinker man, + Who lives in the mount with his Emily Ann. + +A great mother mountain, and kindly is she, +Who nurses young rivers and sends them to sea. + And, nestled high up on her sheltering lap, + Is a little red house with a little straw cap +That bears a blue feather of smoke, curling high, +And a bunch of red roses cocked over one eye. + And the eyes of it glisten and shine in the sun, + As they look down on Gosh with a twinkle of fun. + +There's a gay little garden, a tidy white gate, +And a narrow brown pathway that will not run straight; + For it turns and it twists and it wanders about + To the left and the right, as in humorous doubt. +'Tis a humorous path, and a joke from its birth +Till it ends at the door with a wriggle of mirth. + And here in the mount lives the queer tinker man + With his little red dog and his Emily Arm. + +And, once in a while, when the weather is clear, +When the work is all over, and even is near, + They walk in the garden and gaze down below + On the Valley of Gosh, where the young rivers go; +Where the houses of Gosh seem so paltry and vain, +Like a handful of pebbles strewn over the plain; + Where tiny black forms crawl about in the vale, + And stare at the mountain they fear them to scale. + +And Sym sits him down by his little wife's knee, +With his feet in the grass and his back to a tree; + And he looks on the Valley and dreams of old years, + As he strokes his red dog with the funny prick ears. +And he says, "Still they climb in their whimsical way, +While we stand on earth, yet are higher than they. + Oh, who trusts to a tree is a fool of a man! + For the wise seek the mountains, my Emily Ann." + +So lives the queer tinker, nor deems it a wrong, +When the spirit so moves him, to burst into song. + 'Tis a comical song about kettles and pans, + And the graces and charms that are Emily Ann's. +'Tis a mad, freakish song, but he sings it with zest, +And his little wife vows it of all songs the best. + And he sings quite a lot, as the Summer days pass, + With his back to a tree and his feet in the grass. + +And the little red dog, who is wise as dogs go, +He will hark to that song for a minute or so, + 'With his head on one side, and a serious air. + Then he makes no remark; but he wanders elsewhere. +And he trots down the garden to gaze now and then +At the curious pranks of a certain blue wren: + Not a commonplace wren, but a bird marked for fame + Thro' a grievance in life and a definite aim. + +Now, they never fly far and they never fly high, +And they probably couldn't, suppose they should try. + So the common blue wren is content with his lot: + He will eat when there's food, and he fasts when there's not. +He flirts and he flutters, his wife by his side, +With his share of content and forgiveable pride. + And he keeps to the earth, 'mid the bushes and shrubs, + And he dines very well upon corpulent grubs. + +But the little blue wren with a grievance in life, +He was rude to his neighbours and short with his wife. + For, up in the apple-tree over his nest, + There dwelt a fat spider who gave him no rest: +A spider so fat, so abnormally stout +That he seemed hardly fitted to waddle about. + But his eyes were so sharp, and his legs were so spry, + That he could not be caught; and 'twas folly to try. + +Said the wren, as his loud lamentations he hurled +At the little red dog, "It's a rotten old world! + But my heart would be glad, and my life would be blest + If I had that fat spider well under my vest. +Then I'd call back my youth, and be seeking to live, +And to taste of the pleasures the world has to give. + But the world is all wrong, and my mind's in a fog!" + "Aw, don't be a Glug!" said the little red dog. + +Then, up from the grass, where he sat by his tree, +The voice of the Tinker rose fearless and free. + +The little dog listened, his head on one side; +Then sought him a spot where a bored dog could hide. + + +<i>"Kettles and pans! Ho, kettles and pans! +The stars are the gods' but the earth, it is man's! + Yet down in the shadow dull mortals there are + Who climb in the tree-tops to snatch at a star: +Seeking content and a surcease of care, +Finding but emptiness everywhere. + Then make for the mountain, importunate man! + With a kettle to mend . . . and your Emily Ann.</i> + + +As he cocked a sad eye o'er a sheltering log, +"Oh, a Glug is a Glug!" sighed the little red dog. + +</pre> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-23"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-23.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + +<p align="center"><a name="glugs-24"></a><img alt="" src="images/glugs-24.jpg"></p> + +<hr align="center" width="50%"> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glugs of Gosh, by C. J. 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mode 100644 index 0000000..98db5f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/16362-h/images/glugs-24.jpg diff --git a/16362.txt b/16362.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc6810e --- /dev/null +++ b/16362.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2544 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glugs of Gosh, by C. J. Dennis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Glugs of Gosh + +Author: C. J. Dennis + +Release Date: July 27, 2005 [EBook #16362] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLUGS OF GOSH *** + + + + +Produced by Col Choat + + + + + +THE GUGS OF GOSH + +BY + +C J DENNIS + +With Illustrations by Hal Gye + +FIRST PUBLISHED 1917 + + + +TO MY WIFE + + + +CONTENTS + +I. THE GLUG QUEST +II. JOI, THE GLUG +III. THE STONES OF GOSH +IV. SYM, THE SON OF JOI +V. THE GROWTH OF SYM +VI. THE END OF JOI +VII. THE SWANKS OF GOSH +VIII. THE SEER +IX. THE RHYMES OF SYM +X. THE DEBATE +XI. OGS +XII. EMILY ANN +XIII. THE LITTLE RED DOG + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +THE CITY OF GOSH +AS GLUG BLAMED GLUG +"AND NOW," SAID THE TEACHER . . . +O'ER THE PROPHECY PORED +QUOG TOOK THE CHAIR +ON THE ROYAL DOOR-MAT +TAKING THE AIR + + + +Let him who is minded to meet with a Glug +Pluck three hardy hairs from a rabbit-skin rug; + Blow one to the South, and one to the West, + Then burn another and swallow the rest. +And who shall explain 'tis the talk of a fool, +He's a Glug! He's a Glug of the old Gosh school! + And he'll climb a tree, if the East wind blows, + In a casual way, just to show he knows . . . + Now, tickle his toes! + Oh, tickle his toes! +And don't blame me if you come to blows. + +--OLD GOSH RHYME + + + +I. THE GLUG QUEST + +Follow the river and cross the ford, + Follow again to the wobbly bridge, +Turn to the left at the notice board, + Climbing the cow-track over the ridge; +Tip-toe soft by the little red house, + Hold your breath if they touch the latch, +Creep to the slip-rails, still as a mouse, + Then . . . run like mad for the bracken patch. + +Worm your way where the fern fronds tall + Fashion a lace-work over your head, +Hemming you in with a high, green wall; + Then, when the thrush calls once, stop dead. +Ask of the old grey wallaby there-- + Him prick-eared by the woollybutt tree-- +How to encounter a Glug, and where + The country of Gosh, famed Gosh may be. + +But, if he is scornful, if he is dumb, +Hush! There's another way left. Then come. + +On a white, still night, where the dead tree bends + Over the track, like a waiting ghost, +Travel the winding road that wends + Down to the shore on an Eastern coast. +Follow it down where the wake of the moon + Kisses the ripples of silver sand; +Follow it on where the night seas croon + A traveller's tale to the listening land. + +Step not jauntily, not too grave, + Till the lip of the languorous sea you greet; +Wait till the wash of the thirteenth wave + Tumbles a jellyfish out at your feet. +Not too hopefully, not forlorn, + Whisper a word of your earnest quest; +Shed not a tear if he turns in scorn + And sneers in your face like a fish possessed. + +Hist! Hope on! There is yet a way. +Brooding jellyfish won't be gay. + +Wait till the clock in the tower booms three, + And the big bank opposite gnashes its doors, +Then glide with a gait that is carefully free + By the great brick building of seventeen floors; +Haste by the draper who smirks at his door, + Straining to lure you with sinister force, +Turn up the lane by the second-hand store, + And halt by the light bay carrier's horse. + +By the carrier's horse with the long, sad face + And the wisdom of years in his mournful eye; +Bow to him thrice with a courtier's grace, + Proffer your query, and pause for reply. +Eagerly ask for a hint of the Glug, + Pause for reply with your hat in your hand; +If he responds with a snort and a shrug + Strive to interpret and understand. + +Rare will a carrier's horse condescend. +Yet there's another way. On to the end! + +Catch the four-thirty; your ticket in hand, + Punched by the porter who broods in his box; +Journey afar to the sad, soggy land, + Wearing your shot-silk lavender socks. +Wait at the creek by the moss-grown log + Till the blood of a slain day reddens the West. +Hark for the croak of a gentleman frog, + Of a corpulent frog with a white satin vest. + +Go as he guides you, over the marsh, + Treading with care on the slithery stones, +Heedless of night winds moaning and harsh + That seize you and freeze you and search for your bones. +On to the edge of a still, dark pool, + Banishing thoughts of your warm wool rug; +Gaze in the depths of it, placid and cool, + And long in your heart for one glimpse of a Glug. + +"Krock!" Was he mocking you? "Krock! Kor-r-rock!" +Well, you bought a return, and it's past ten o'clock. + +Choose you a night when the intimate stars + Carelessly prattle of cosmic affairs. +Flat on your back, with your nose pointing Mars, + Search for the star who fled South from the Bears. +Gaze for an hour at that little blue star, + Giving him, cheerfully, wink for his wink; +Shrink to the size of the being you are; + Sneeze if you have to, but softly; then think. + +Throw wide the portals and let your thoughts run + Over the earth like a galloping herd. +Bounds to profundity let there be none, + Let there be nothing too madly absurd. +Ponder on pebbles or stock exchange shares, + On the mission of man or the life of a bug, +On planets or billiards, policemen or bears, + Alert all the time for the sight of a Glug. + +Meditate deeply on softgoods or sex, + On carraway seeds or the causes of bills, +Biology, art, or mysterious wrecks, + Or the tattered white fleeces of clouds on blue hills. +Muse upon ologies, freckles and fog, + Why hermits live lonely and grapes in a bunch, +On the ways of a child or the mind of a dog, + Or the oyster you bolted last Friday at lunch. + +Heard you no sound like a shuddering sigh! +Or the great shout of laughter that swept down the sky? +Saw you no sign on the wide Milky Way? +Then there's naught left to you now but to pray. + +Sit you at eve when the Shepherd in Blue + Calls from the West to his clustering sheep. +Then pray for the moods that old mariners woo, + For the thoughts of young mothers who watch their babes sleep. +Pray for the heart of an innocent child, + For the tolerant scorn of a weary old man, +For the petulant grief of a prophet reviled, + For the wisdom you lost when your whiskers began. + +Pray for the pleasures that he who was you + Found in the mud of a shower-fed pool, +For the fears that he felt and the joys that he knew + When a little green lizard crept into the school. +Pray as they pray who are maddened by wine: + For distraction from self and a spirit at rest. +Now, deep in the heart of you search for a sign-- + If there be naught of it, vain is your quest. + +Lay down the book, for to follow the tale +Were to trade in false blame, as all mortals who fail. +And may the gods salve you on life's dreary round; +For 'tis whispered: "Who finds not, 'tis he shall be found!" + + + +II. JOI, THE GLUG + +The Glugs abide in a far, far land +That is partly pebbles and stones and sand + But mainly earth of a chocolate hue, + When it isn't purple or slightly blue. +And the Glugs live there with their aunts and their wives, +In draught-proof tenements all their lives. + And they climb the trees when the weather is wet, + To see how high they can really get. + Pray, don't forget, + This is chiefly done when the weather is wet. + +And every shadow that flits and hides, +And every stream that glistens and glides + And laughs its way from a highland height, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +And they say, "Our test is the best by far; +For a Glug is a Glug; so there you are! + And they climb the trees when it drizzles or hails + To get electricity into their nails; + And the Glug that fails + Is a luckless Glug, if it drizzles or hails." + +Now, the Glugs abide in the lands of Gosh; +And they work all day for the sake of Splosh. + For Splosh, the First, is the Nation's pride, + And King of the Glugs, on his uncle's side. +And they sleep at night, for the sake of rest; +For their doctors say this suits them best. + And they climb the trees, as a general rule, + For exercise, when the weather is cool. + They're taught at school + To climb the trees when the weather is cool. + +And the whispering grass on the gay green hills +And every cricket that skirls and shrills, + And every moonbeam, gleaming white, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +And they say, "It is safe, it is the test we bring; +For a Glug is an awful Gluglike thing. + And they climb the trees when there's a sign of fog, + To scan the land for a feasible dog. + They love to jog + Thro' dells in quest of a feasible dog." + +The Glugs eat meals three times a day +Because their fathers ate that way. + Their grandpas said the scheme was good + To help the Glugs digest their food. +And 'tis wholesome food the Glugs have got, +For it says so plain on the tin and pot. + And they climb the trees when the weather is dry + To get a glimpse of the pale green sky. + We don't know why, + But they like to gaze on the pale green sky. + +And every cloud that sails aloft, +And every breeze that blows so soft, + And every star that shines at night, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +For they say, "Our test, it is safe and true; +What one Glug does, the other Glugs do; + And they climb the trees when the weather is hot, + For a birds'-eye view of the garden plot. + Of course, it's rot, + But they love that view of the garden plot." + +At half-past two on a Wednesday morn +A most peculiar Glug was born; + And later on, when he grew a man, + He scoffed and sneered at the Chosen Plan. +"It's wrong!" said this Glug, whose name was Joi. +"Bah!" said the Glugs. "He's a crazy boy!" + And they climbed the trees, as the West wind stirred, + To hark to the note of the Guffer Bird. + It seems absurd, + But they're foolishly fond of the Guffer Bird. + +And every reed that rustles and sways +By the gurgling river that plashes and plays, + And the beasts of the dread, neurotic night + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +And, "Why," say they; "It is easily done; +For a dexter Glug's like a sinister one!" + And they climb the trees. Oh, they climb the trees! + And they bark their knuckles, and chafe their knees; + And 'tis one of the world's great mysteries + That things like these + Get into the serious histories. + + + +III. THE STONES OF GOSH + +Now, here is a tale of the Glugs of Gosh, + And a wonderful tale I ween, +Of the Glugs of Gosh and their great King Splosh, + And Tush, his virtuous Queen. +And here is a tale of the crafty Ogs, + In their neighbouring land of Podge; +Of their sayings and doings and plottings and brewings, + And something about Sir Stodge. + Wise to profundity, + Stout to rotundity, + That was the Knight, Sir Stodge. + +Oh, the King was rich, and the Queen was fair, +And they made a very respectable pair. + And whenever a Glug in that peaceful land, + Did anything no one could understand, +The Knight, Sir Stodge, he looked in a book, +And charged that Glug with a crime called Crook. + And the great Judge Fudge, who wore for a hat + The sacred skin of a tortoiseshell cat, +He fined that Glug for his action rash, +And frequently asked a deposit in cash. + Then every Glug, he went home to his rest + With his head in a bag and his toes to the West; + For they knew it was best, + Since their grandpas slept with their toes to the West. + +But all of the tale that is so far told + Has nothing whatever to do +With the Ogs of Podge, and their crafty dodge, + And the trade in pickles and glue. +To trade with the Glugs came the Ogs to Gosh, + And they said in seductive tones, +"We'll sell you pianers and pickels and spanners + For seventeen shiploads of stones: + Smooth 'uns or nobbly 'uns, + Firm 'uns or wobbly 'uns, + All we ask is stones." + +And the King said, "What?" and the Queen said, "Why, +That is awfully cheap to the things I buy! + For that grocer of ours in the light brown hat + Asks two and eleven for pickles like that!" +But a Glug stood up with a wart on his nose, +And cried, "Your Majesties! Ogs is foes!" + But the Glugs cried, "Peace! Will you hold your jaw! + How did our grandpas fashion the law?" +Said the Knight, Sir Stodge, as he opened his Book, +"When the goods were cheap then the goods we took." + So they fined the Glug with the wart on his nose + For wearing a wart with his everyday clothes. +And the goods were brought home thro' a Glug named Ghones; +And the Ogs went home with their loads of stones, + Which they landed with glee in the land of Podge. + Do you notice the dodge? + Not yet did the Glugs, nor the Knight, Sir Stodge. + +In the following Summer the Ogs came back + With a cargo of eight-day clocks, +And hand-painted screens, and sewing machines, + And mangles, and scissors, and socks. +And they said, "For these excellent things we bring + We are ready to take more stones; + And in bricks or road-metal + For goods you will settle + Indented by your Mister Ghones." + Cried the Glugs praisingly, + "Why how amazingly + Smart of industrious Ghones!" + +And the King said, "Hum," and the Queen said, "Oo! +That curtain! What a bee-ootiful blue!" + But a Glug stood up with some very large ears, + And said, "There is more in this thing than appears! +And we ought to be taxing those goods of the Ogs, +Or our industries soon will be gone to the dogs." + And the King said, "Bosh! You're un-Gluggish and rude!" + And the Queen said, "What an absurd attitude!" +Then the Glugs cried, "Down with political quacks! +How did our grandpas look at a tax?" + So the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book. + "No tax," said he, "wherever I look." +Then they fined the Glug with the prominent ears +For being old-fashioned by several years; + And the Ogs went home with the stones, full-steam. + Did you notice the scheme? + Nor yet did the Glugs in their dreamiest dreams. + +Then every month to the land of the Gosh + The Ogs, they continued to come, +With buttons and hooks, and medical books, + And rotary engines, and rum, +Large cases with labels, occasional tables, + Hair tonic and fiddles and 'phones; +And the Glugs, while copncealing their joy in the dealing, + Paid promptly in nothing but stones. + Why, it was screamingly + Laughable, seemingly--- + Asking for nothing but stones! + +And the King said, "Haw!" and the Queen said, "Oh! +Our drawing-room now is a heavenly show + Of large overmantels, and whatnots, and chairs, + And a statue of Splosh at the head of the stairs!" +But a Glug stood up with a cast in his eye, +And he said, "Far too many baubles we buy; + With all the Gosh factories closing their doors, + And importers' warehouses lining our shores." +But the Glugs cried, "Down with such meddlesome fools! +What did our grandpas lay down in their rules?" + And the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book: + "To Cheapness," he said, "was the road they took." +Then every Glug who was not too fat +Turned seventeen handsprings, and jumped on his hat. + They fined the Glug with the cast in his eye + For looking both ways--which he did not deny-- +And for having no visible precedent, which +Is a crime in the poor and a fault in the rich. + +So the Glugs continued, with greed and glee, +To buy cheap clothing, and pills, and tea; + Till every Glug in the land of Gosh + Owned three clean shirts and a fourth in the wash. +But they all grew idle, and fond of ease, +And easy to swindle, and hard to please; + And the voice of Joi was a lonely voice, + When he railed at Gosh for its foolish choice. +But the great King grinned, and the good Queen gushed, +As the goods of the Ogs were madly rushed. + And the Knight, Sir Stodge, with a wave of his hand, + Declared it a happy and prosperous land. + + + +IV. SYM, THE SON OF JOI + +Now Joi, the rebel, he had a son + In far, far Gosh where the tall trees wave. +Said Joi: "In Gosh there shall yet be one + To scorn this life of a self-made slave; +To spurn the law of the Knight, Sir Stodge, + And end the rule of the great King Splosh; +Who shall warn the Glugs of their crafty dodge, + And at last bring peace, sweet peace, to Gosh." + +Said he: "Whenever the kind sun showers +His golden treasure on grateful flowers, + With upturned faces and hearts bowed low, + The Glugs shall know what the wild things know." +Said he: "Wherever the broad fields smile, +They shall walk with clean minds, free of guile; + They shall scoff aloud at the call of Greed, + And turn to their labours and never heed." + +So Joi had a son, and his name was Sym; + And his eyes were wide as the eyes of Truth; +And there came to the wondering mind of him + Long thoughts of the riddle that vexes youth. +And, "Father," he said, "in the mart's loud din + Is there aught of pleasure? Do some find joy?" +But his father tilted the beardless chin, + And looked in the eyes of the questing boy. + +Said he: "Whenever the fields are green, +Lie still, where the wild rose fashions a screen, + While the brown thrush calls to his love-wise mate, + And know what they profit who trade with Hate." +Said he: "Whenever the great skies spread, +In the beckoning vastness overhead, + A tent for the blue wren building a nest, + Then, down in the heart of you, learn what's best." + +And there came to Sym as he walked afield + Deep thoughts of the world and the folk of Gosh. +He saw the idols to which they kneeled; + He marked them cringe to the name of Splosli. +Is it meet," he asked, "that a soul should crawl + To a purple robe or a gilded chair?" +But his father walked to the garden's wall + And stooped to a rose-bush flowering there. + +Said he: "Whenever a bursting bloom +Looks up to the sun, may a soul find room + For a measure of awe at the wondrous birth + Of one more treasure to this glad earth." +Said he: "Whenever a dewdrop clings +To a gossamer thread, and glitters and swings, + Deep in humility bow your head + To a thing for a blundering rnortal's dread." + +And there came to Sym in his later youth, + With the first clear glance in the face of guile, +Thirst for knowledge and thoughts of truth, + Of gilded baubles, and things worth while. +And he said, "There is much that a Glug should know; + But his mind is clouded, his years are few." +Then joi, the father, he answered low + As his thoughts ran back to the youth he knew. + +Said he: "Whenever the West wind stirs, +And birds in feathers and beasts in furs + Steal out to dance in the glade, lie still: + Let your heart teach you what it will." +Said he: "Whenever the moonlight creeps +Thro' inlaced boughs, a'nd a shy star peeps + Adown from its crib in the cradling sky, + Know of their folly who fear to die." + +New interest came to the mind of Sym, + As 'midst his fellows he lived and toiled. +But the ways of the Glug folk puzzled him; + For some won honour, while some were foiled; +Yet all were filled with a vague unrest + As they climbed their trees in an endless search. +But joi, the father, he mocked their quest, + When he marked a Glug on his hard-won perch. + +Said he: "Whenever these tales are heard +Of the Feasible Dog or the Guffer Bird, + Then laugh and laugh till the fat tears roll + To the roots of the joy-bush deep in your soul. +When you see them squat on the tree-tops high, +Scanning for ever that heedless sky, + Lie flat on your back on the good, green earth + And roar till the great vault echoes your mirth." + +As he walked in the city, to Sym there came + Sounds envenomed with fear and hate, +Shouts of anger and words of shame, + As Glug blamed Glug for his woeful state. +"This blame?" said Sym, "Is it mortal's right + To blame his fellow for aught he be?" +But the father said, "Do we blame the night + When darkness gathers and none can see?" + +Said he: "Whenever there springs from earth +A plant all crooked and marred at birth, + Shall we, unlearned in the Gardener's scheme, + Blame plant or earth for the faults that seem?" +Said he: "Whenever your wondering eyes +Look out on the glory of earth and skies, + Shall you, 'mid the blessing of fields a-bloom, + Fling blame at the blind man, prisoned in gloom?" + +So Joi had a son, and his name was Sym; + Far from the ken of the great King Splosh. +And small was the Glugs' regard of him, + Mooning along in the streets of Gosh. +But many a creature by field and ford + Shared in the schooling of that strange boy, +Dreaming and planning to gather and hoard + Knowledge of all things precious to Joi. + + + +V. THE GROWTH OF SYM + +Now Sym was a Glug; and 'tis mentioned so +That the tale reads perfectly plain as we go. + In his veins ran blood of that stupid race + Of docile folk, who inhabit the place +Called Gosh, sad Gosh, where the tall trees sigh +With a strange, significant sort of cry +When the gloaming creeps and the wind is high. + +When the deep shades creep and the wind is high +The trees bow low as the gods ride by: + Gods of the gloaming, who ride on the breeze, + Stooping to heaften the birds and the trees. +But each dull Glug sits down by his door, +And mutters, " 'Tis windy!" and nothing more, +Like the long-dead Glugs in the days of yore. + +When Sym was born there was much to-do, +And his parents thought him a joy to view; + But folk not prejudiced saw the Glug, + As his nurse remarked, "In the cut of his mug." +For he had their hair, and he had their eyes, +And the Glug expression of pained surprise, +And their predilection for pumpkin pies. + +And his parents' claims were a deal denied +By his maiden aunt on his mother's side, + A tall Glug lady of fifty-two + With a slight moustache of an auburn hue. +"Parental blither!" she said quite flat. +"He's an average Glug; and he's red and fat! +And exceedingly fat and red at that!" + +But the father, joi, when he gazed on Sym, +Dreamed great and wonderful things for him. + Said he, "If the mind of a Glug could wake + Then, Oh, what a wonderful Glug he'd make! +We shall teach this laddie to play life's game +With a different mind and a definite aim: +A Glug in appearance, yet not the same." + +But the practical aunt said, "Fudge! You fool! +We'll pack up his dinner and send him to school. + He shall learn about two-times and parsing and capes, + And how to make money with inches on tapes. +We'll apprentice him then to the drapery trade, +Where, I've heard it reported, large profits are made; +Besides, he can sell us cheap buttons and braid." + +So poor young Sym, he was sent to school, +Where the first thing taught is the Golden Rule. + "Do unto others," the teacher said . . . + Then suddenly stopped and scratched his head. +"You may look up the rest in a book," said he. +"At present it doesn't occur to me; +But do it, whatever it happens to be." + +"And now," said the teacher, "the day's task brings +Consideration of practical things. + If a man makes a profit of fifteen pounds + On one week's takings from two milk rounds, +How many . . ." And Sym went dreaming away +To the sunlit lands where the field-mice play, +And wrens hold revel the livelong day. + +He walked in the welcoming fields alone, +While from far, far away came the pedagogue's drone: + "If a man makes . . .Multiply . . . Abstract nouns . . . + From B take . . .Population of towns . . . +Rods, poles or perches . . . Derived from Greek +Oh, the hawthorn buds came out this week, +And robins are nesting down by the creek. + +So Sym was head of his class not once; +And his aunt repeatedly dubbed him "Dunce." + But, "Give him a chance," said his father, Joi. + "His head is abnormally large for a boy." +But his aunt said, "Piffie! It's crammed with bosh! +Why, he don't know the rivers and mountains of Gosh, +Nor the names of the nephews of good King Splosh!" + +In Gosh, when a youth gets an obstinate look, +And copies his washing-bill into a book, + And blackens his boot-heels, and frowns at a joke, + "Ah, he's getting sense," say the elderly folk. +But Sym, he would laugh when he ought to be sad; +Said his aunt, "Lawk-a-mussy! What's wrong with the lad? + He romps with the puppies, and talks to the ants, + And keeps his loose change in his second-best pants, + And stumbles all over my cauliflower plants!" + +"There is wisdom in that," laughed the father, Joi. +But the aunt said, "Toity!" and, "Drat the boy!" + "He shall play," said the father, "some noble part. + Who knows but it may be in letters or art? +'Tis a dignified business to make folk think." +But the aunt cried, "What! Go messing with ink? +And smear all his fingers, and take to drink? +Paint hussies and cows, and end in the clink?" + +So the argument ran; but one bright Spring day +Sym settled it all in his own strange way. + "'Tis a tramp," he announced, "I've decided to be; + And I start next Monday at twenty to three . . ." +When the aunt recovered she screamed, "A tramp? +A low-lived, pilfering, idle scamp, +Who steals people's washing, and sleeps in the damp?" + +Sharp to the hour Sym was ready and dressed. +"Young birds," sighed the father, "must go from the nest. + When the green moss covers those stones you tread, + When the green grass whispers above my head, +Mark well, wherever your path may turn, +They have reached the valley of peace who learn +That wise hearts cherish what fools may spurn." + +So Sym went off; and a year ran by, +And the father said, with a smile-masked sigh, + "It is meet that the young should leave the nest." + Said the aunt, "Don't spill that soup on your vest! +Nor mention his name! He's our one disgrace! +And he's probably sneaking around some place +With fuzzy black whiskers all over his face." + +But, under a hedge, by a flowering peach, +A youth with a little blue wren held speech. + With his back to a tree and his feet in the grass, + He watched the thistle-down drift and pass, +And the cloud-puffs, borne on a lazy breeze, +Move by on their errand, above the trees, +Into the vault of the mysteries. + +"Now, teach me, little blue wren," said he. +"'Tis you can unravel this riddle for me. + I am 'mazed by the gifts of this kindly earth. + Which of them all has the greatest worth?" +He flirted his tail as he answered then, +He bobbed and he bowed to his coy little hen: +"Why, sunlight and worms!" said the little blue wren. + + + +VI. THE END OF JOI + +They climbed the trees . . . As was told before, +The Glugs climbed trees in the days of yore, + When the oldes tree in the land to-day + Was a tender little seedling--Nay, +This climbing habit was old, so old +That even the cheeses could not have told + When the past Glug people first began + To give their lives to the climbing plan. + And the legend ran + That the art was old as the mind of man. + + +And even the mountains old and hoar, +And the billows that broke on Gosh's shore + Since the far-off neolithic night, + All knew the Glugs quite well by sight. +And they tell of a perfectly easy way: +For yesterday's Glug is the Glug of to-day. + And they climb the trees when the thunder rolls, + To solemnly salve their shop-worn souls. + For they fear the coals + That threaten to frizzle their shop-worn souls. + + +They climbed the trees. 'Tis a bootless task +To say so over again, or ask + The cause of it all, or the reason why + They never felt happier up on high. +For Joi asked why; and Joi was a fool, +And never a Glug of the fine old school + With fixed opinions and Sunday clothes, + And the habit of looking beyond its nose, + And treating foes + With the calm contempt of the One Who Knows. + + +And every spider who heaves a line +And trusts to his luck when the day is fine, + Or reckless swings from an awful height, + He knows the Glugs quite well by sight. +"You can never mistake them," he will say; +"For they always act in a Gluglike way. + And they climb the trees when the glass points fair, + With circumspection and proper care, + For they fear to tear + The very expensive clothes they wear." + + +But Joi was a Glug with a twisted mind +Of the nasty, meditative kind. + He'd meditate on the modes of Gosh, + And dared to muse on the acts of Splosh; +He dared to speak, and, worse than that, +He spoke out loud, and he said it flat. + "Why climb?" said he. "When you reach the top + There's nowhere to go, and you have to stop, + Unless you drop. + And the higher you are the worse you flop." + + +And every cricket that chirps at eve, +And scoffs at the folly of fools who grieve, + And the furtive mice who revel at night, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +For, "Why," they say, " in the land of Gosh +There is no one else who will bow to Splosh. + And they climb the trees when the rain pelts down + And feeds the gutters that thread the town; + For they fear to drown, + When floods are frothy and waters brown." + + +Said the Glug called Joi, "This climbing trees +Is a foolish art, and things like these + Cause much distress in the land of Gosh. + Let's stay on the ground and kill King Splosh!" +But Splosh, the king, he smiled a smile, +And beckoned once to his hangman, Guile, + Who climbed a tree when the weather was calm; + And they hanged poor Joi on a Snufflebust Palm; + Then they sang a psalm, + Did those pious Glugs 'neath the Snufflebust Palm. + + +And every bee that kisses a flow'r, +And every blossom, born for an hour, + And every bird on its gladsome flight, + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +For they say, "'Tis a simple test we've got: +If you know one Glug, why, you know the lot!" + So, they climbed a tree in the bourgeoning Spring, + And they hanged poor Joi with some second-hand string. + 'Tis a horrible thing + To be hanged by Glugs with second-hand string. + + +Then Splosh, the king, rose up and said, +"It's not polite; but he's safer dead. + And there's not much room in the land of Gosh + For a Glug named Joi and a king called Splosh!" +And every Glug flung high his hat, +And cried, "We're Glugs! and you can't change that!" + So they climbed the trees, since the weather was cold, + While the brazen bell of the city tolled + And tolled, and told + The fate of a Glug who was over-bold. + + +And every cloud that sails the blue, +And every dancing sunbeam too, + And every sparkling dewdrop bright + All know the Glugs quite well by sight. +"We tell," say they, "by a simple test; +For any old Glug is like the rest. + And they climb the trees when there's weather about, + In a general way, as a cure for gout; + Tho' some folks doubt + If the climbing habit is good for gout." + + +So Joi was hanged, and his race was run, +And the Glugs were tickled with what they'd done. + And, after that, if a day should come + When a Glug felt extra specially glum, +He'd call his children around his knee, +And tell that tale with a chuckle of glee. + And should a little Glug girl or boy + See naught of a joke in the fate of Joi, + Then he'd employ + Stern measures with such little girl or boy. + + +But every dawn that paints the sky, +And every splendid noontide high, + All know the Glugs so well, so well. + 'Tis an easy matter, and plain to tell. +For, lacking wit, with a candour smug, +A Glug will boast that he is a Glug. + And they climb the trees, if it shines or rains, + To settle the squirming in their brains, + And the darting pains + That are caused by rushing and catching trains. + + + +VII. THE SWANKS OF GOSH + +Come mourn with me for the land of Gosh, + Oh, weep with me for the luckless Glugs +Of the land of Gosh, where the sad seas wash +The patient shores, and the great King Splosh + His sodden sorrow hugs; +Where the fair Queen Tush weeps all the day, + And the Swank, the Swank, the naughty Swank, + The haughty Swank holds sway-- +The most mendacious, ostentatious, + Spacious Swank holds sway. + +'Tis sorrow-swathed, as I know full well, + And garbed in gloom and the weeds of woe, +And vague, so far, is the tale I tell; +But bear with me for the briefest spell, + And surely shall ye know +Of the land of Gosh, and Tush, and Splosh, + And Stodge, the Swank, the foolish Swank, + The mulish Swank of Gosh- +The meretricious, avaricious, + Vicious Swank of Gosh. + +Oh, the tall trees bend, and green trees send + A chuckle round the earth, +And the soft winds croon a jeering tune, + And the harsh winds shriek with mirth, +And the wee small birds chirp ribald words + When the Swank walks down the street; +But every Glug takes off his hat, +And whispers humbly, "Look at that! + Hats off! Hats off to the Glug of rank! + Sir Stodge, the Swank, the Lord High Swank!" +Then the East wind roars a loud guffaw, +And the haughty Swank says, "Haw!" + +His brain is dull, and his mind is dense, + And his lack of saving wit complete; +But most amazingly immense +Is his inane self-confidence + And his innate conceit. +But every Glug, and great King Splosh + Bowed to Sir Stodge, the fuddled Swank, + The muddled Swank of Gosh-- +The engineering, peeping, peering, + Sneering Swank of Gosh. + +In Gosh, sad Gosh, where the Lord Swank lives, + He holds high rank, and he has much pelf; +And all the well-paid posts he gives +Unto his fawning relatives, + As foolish as himself. +In offices and courts and boards + Are Swanks, and Swanks, ten dozen Swanks, + And cousin Swanks in hordes-- +Inept and musty, dry and dusty, + Rusty Swanks in hordes. + +The clouds so soft, that sail aloft, + Weep laughing tears of rain; +The blue sky spread high overhead + Peeps thro' in mild disdain. +All nature laughs and jeers and chaffs + When the Swank goes out to walk; +But every Glug bows low his head, +And says in tones surcharged with dread, + "Bow low, bow low, Glugs lean, Glugs fat!" + But the North wind snatches off his hat, +And flings it high, and shrieks to see + His ruffled dignity. + +They lurk in every Gov'ment lair, + 'Mid docket dull and dusty file, +Solemnly squat in an easy chair, +Penning a minute of rare hot air + In departmental style. +In every office, on every floor + Are Swanks, and Swanks, distracting Swanks, + And Acting-Swanks a score, +And coldly distant, sub-assistant + Under-Swanks galore. + +In peaceful days when the countryside + Poured wealth to Gosh, and the skies were blue, +The great King Splosh no fault espied, +And seemed entirely satisfied + With Swanks who muddled thro'. +But when they fell on seasons bad, + Oh, then the Swanks, the bustled Swanks, + The hustled Swanks went mad-- +The minute-writing, nation-blighting, + Skiting Swanks went mad. + +The tall trees sway like boys at play, + And mock him when he grieves, +As one by one, in laughing fun, + They pelt him with their leaves. +And the gay green trees joke to the breeze, + As the Swank struts proudly by; +But every Glug, with reverence, +Pays homage to his pride immense-- + A homage deep to lofty rank-- + The Swank! The Swank! The pompous Swank! +But the wind-borne leaves await their chance + And round him gaily dance. + +Now, trouble came to the land of Gosh: + The fear of battle, and anxious days; +And the Swanks were called to the great King Splosh, +Who said that their system would not wash, + And ordered other ways. +Then the Lord High Swank stretched forth a paw, +And penned a minute re the law, + And the Swanks, the Swanks, the other Swanks, + The brother Swanks said, "Haw!" +These keen, resourceful, unremorseful, + Forceful Swanks said, "Haw!" + +Then Splosh, the king, in a royal rage, + He smote his throne as he thundered, "Bosh! +In the whole wide land is there not one sage +With a cool, clear brain, who'll straight engage + To sweep the Swanks from Gosh?" +But the Lord High Stodge, from where he stood, +Cried, "Barley! . . . Guard your livelihood!" + And, quick as light, the teeming Swanks, + The scheming Swanks touched wood. +Sages, plainly, labour vainly + When the Swanks touch wood. + +The stealthy cats that grace the mats + Before the doors of Gosh, +Smile wide with scorn each sunny morn; + And, as they take their wash, +A sly grimace o'erspreads each face + As the Swank struts forth to court. +But every Glug casts down his eyes, +And mutters, "Ain't 'is 'at a size! + For such a sight our gods we thank. + Sir Stodge, the Swank! The noble Swank!" +But the West wind tweaks his nose in sport; + And the Swank struts into court. + +Then roared the King with a rage intense, + "Oh, who can cope with their magic tricks?" +But the Lord High Swank skipped nimbly hence, +And hid him safe behind the fence + Of Regulation VI. +And under Section Four Eight 0 + The Swanks, the Swanks, dim forms of Swanks, + The swarms of Swanks lay low-- +These most tenacious, perspicacious, + Spacious Swanks lay low. + +Cried the King of Gosh, "They shall not escape! + Am I set at naught by a crazed buffoon?" +But in fifty fathoms of thin red tape +The Lord Swank swaddled his portly shape, + Like a large, insane cocoon. +Then round and round and round and round. + The Swanks, the Swanks, the whirling Swanks, + The twirling Swanks they wound-- +The swathed and swaddled, molly-coddled + Swanks inanely wound. + +Each insect thing that comes in Spring + To gladden this sad earth, +It flits and whirls and pipes and skirls, + It chirps in mocking mirth +A merry song the whole day long + To see the Swank abroad. +But every Glug, whoe'er he be, +Salutes, with grave humility + And deference to noble rank, + The Swank, the Swank, the swollen Swank; +But the South wind blows his clothes awry, + And flings dust in his eye. + +So trouble stayed in the land of Gosh; + And the futile Glugs could only gape, +While the Lord High Swank still ruled King Splosh +With laws of blither and rules of bosh, + From out his lair of tape. +And in cocoons that mocked the Glug + The Swanks, the Swanks, the under-Swanks, + The dunder Swanks lay snug. +These most politic, parasitic, + Critic Swanks lay snug. + +Then mourn with me for a luckless land, + Oh, weep with me for the slaves of tape! +Where the Lord High Swank still held command, +And wrote new rules in a fair round hand, + And the Glugs saw no escape; +Where tape entwined all Gluggish things, + And the Swank, the Swank, the grievous Swank, + The devious Swank pulled strings-- +The perspicacious, contumacious + Swank held all the strings. + +The blooms that grow, and, in a row, + Peep o'er each garden fence, +They nod and smile to note his style + Of ponderous pretence; +Each roving bee has fits of glee + When the Swank goes by that way. +But every Glug, he makes his bow, +And says, "Just watch him! Watch him now! + He must have thousands in the bank! + The Swank! The Swank! The holy Swank!" +But the wild winds snatch his kerchief out, + And buffet him about. + + + +VIII. THE SEER + +Somewhere or other, 'tis doubtful where, +In the archives of Gosh is a volume rare, + A precious old classic that nobody reads, + And nobody asks for, and nobody heeds; +Which makes it a classic, and famed thro' the land, +As well-informed persons will quite understand. + +'Tis a ponderous work, and 'tis written in prose, +For some mystical reason that nobody knows; + And it tells in a style that is terse and correct + Of the rule of the Swanks and its baneful effect +On the commerce of Gosh, on its morals and trade; +And it quotes a grave prophecy somebody made. + +And this is the prophecy, written right bold +On a parchment all tattered and yellow and old; + So old and so tattered that nobody knows + How far into foretime its origin goes. +But this is the writing that set Glugs agog +When 'twas called to their minds by the Mayor of Quog: + + +When Gosh groaneth bastlie thro Greed and bys plannes +Ye rimer shall mende ye who mendes pottes and pans. + + +Now, the Mayor of Quog, a small suburb of Gosh, +Was intensely annoyed at the act of King Splosh + In asking the Mayor of Piphel to tea + With himself and the Queen on a Thursday at three; +When the King must have known that the sorriest dog, +If a native of Piphel, was hated in Quog. + +An act without precedent! Quog was ignored! +The Mayor and Council and Charity Board, + They met and considered this insult to Quog; + And they said, " 'Tis the work of the treacherous Og! +'Tis plain the Og influence threatens the Throne; +And the Swanks are all crazed with this trading in stone." + +Said the Mayor of Quog: "This has long been foretold +In a prophecy penned by the Seer of old. + We must search, if we'd banish the curse of our time, + For a mender of pots who's a maker of rhyme. +'Tis to him we must look when our luck goes amiss. +But, Oh, where in all Gosh is a Glug such as this?" + +Then the Mayor and Council and Charity Board +O'er the archival prophecy zealously pored, + With a pursing of lips and a shaking of heads, + With a searching and prying for possible threads +That would lead to discover this versatile Glug +Who modelled a rhyme while he mended a mug. + +With a pursing of lips and a shaking of heads, +They gave up the task and went home to their beds, + Where each lay awake while he tortured his brain + For a key to the riddle, but ever in vain . . . +Then, lo, at the Mayor's front door in the morn +A tinker called out, and a Movement was born. + + +"Kettles and pans! Kettles and pans! +Oh, the stars are the gods'; but the earth, it is man's. + But a fool is the man who has wants without end, + While the tinker's content with a kettle to mend. +For a tinker owns naught but the earth, which is man's. +Then, bring out your kettles! Ho, kettles and pans!" + + +From the mayoral bed with unmayoral cries +The magistrate sprang ere he'd opened his eyes. + "Hold him!" he yelled, as he bounced on the floor. + "Oh, who is this tinker that rhymes at my door? +Go get me the name and the title of him 1" +They answered. "Be calm, sir. 'Tis no one but Sym. + +'Tis Sym, the mad tinker, the son of old Joi, +Who ran from his home when a bit of a boy. + He went for a tramp, tho' 'tis common belief, + When folk were not looking he went for a thief; +Then went for a tinker, and rhymes as he goes. +Some say he's crazy, but nobody knows." + +'Twas thus it began, the exalting of Sym, +And the mad Gluggish struggle that raged around him. + For the good Mayor seized him, and clothed him in silk, + And fed him on pumpkins and pasteurised milk, +And praised him in public, and coupled his name +With Gosh's vague prophet of archival fame. + +The Press interviewed him a great many times, +And printed his portrait, and published his rhymes; + Till the King and Sir Stodge and the Swanks grew afraid + Of his fame 'mid the Glugs and the trouble it made. +For, wherever Sym went in the city of Gosh, +There were cheers for the tinker, and hoots for King Splosh. + +His goings and comings were watched for and cheered; +And a crowd quickly gathered where'er he appeared. + All the folk flocked around him and shouted his praise; + For the Glugs followed fashion, and Sym was a craze. +They sued him for words, which they greeted with cheers, +For the way with a Glug is to tickle his ears. + +"0, speak to us, Tinker! Your wisdom we crave!" +They'd cry when they saw him; then Sym would look grave, + And remark, with an air, "'Tis a very fine day." + "Now ain't he a marvel?" they'd shout. "Hip, Hooray!" +"To live," would Sym answer, "To live is to feel!" +"And ain't he a poet?" a fat Glug would squeal. + +Sym had a quaint fancy in phrase and in text; +When he'd fed them with one they would howl for the next. + Thus he'd cry, "Love is love 1" and the welkin they'd lift + With their shouts of surprise at his wonderful gift. +He would say "After life, then a Glug must meet death!" +And they'd clamour for more ere he took the next breath. + +But Sym grew aweary of this sort of praise, +And he longed to be back with his out-o'-door days, + With his feet in the grass and his back to a tree, + Rhyming and tinkering, fameless and free. +He said so one day to the Mayor of Quog, +And declared he'd as lief live the life of a dog. + +But the Mayor was vexed; for the Movement had grown, +And his dreams had of late soared as high as a throne. + "Have a care! What is written is written," said he. + "And the dullest Glug knows what is written must be. +'Tis the prophet of Gosh who has prophesied it; +And 'tis thus that 'tis written by him who so writ: + +"'Lo, the Tinker of Gosh he shall make him three rhymes: +One on the errors and aims of his times, + One on the symptoms of sin that he sees, + And the third and the last on whatever he please. +And when the Glugs hear them and mark what they mean +The land shall be purged and the nation made clean."' + +So Sym gave a promise to write then and there +Three rhymes to be read in the Great Market Square +To all Glugs assembled on Saturday week. +"And then," said the Mayor, "if still you must seek + To return to your tramping, well, just have your fling; + But I'll make you a marquis, or any old thing . . ." + Said Sym, "I shall tinker, and still be a king." + + + +IX. THE RHYMES OF SYM + +Nobody knew why it should be so; +Nobody knew or wanted to know. + It might have been checked had but someone dared + To trace its beginnings; but nobody cared. +But 'twas clear to the wise that the Glugs of those days +Were crazed beyond reason concerning a craze. + +They would pass a thing by for a week or a year, +With an air apathetic, or maybe a sneer: + Some ev'ryday thing, like a crime or a creed, + A mode or a movement, and pay it small heed, +Till Somebody started to laud it aloud; +Then all but the Nobodies followed the crowd. + +Thus, Sym was a craze; tho', to give him his due, +He would rather have strayed from the popular view. + But once the Glugs had him they held him so tight + That he could not be nobody, try as he might. +He had to be Somebody, so they decreed. +For Craze is an appetite, governed by Greed. + +So on Saturday week to the Great Market Square +Came every Glug who could rake up his fare. + They came from the suburbs, they came from the town, + There came from the country Glugs bearded and brown, +Rich Glugs, with cigars, all well-tailored and stout, +Jostled commonplace Glugs who dropped aitches about. + +There were gushing Glug maids, well aware of their charms, +And stern, massive matrons with babes in their arms. + There were querulous dames who complained of the "squash," + The pushing and squeezing; for, briefly, all Gosh, +With its aunt and its wife, stood agape in the ranks-- +Excepting Sir Stodge and his satellite Swanks. + +The Mayor of Quog took the chair for the day; +And he made them a speech, and he ventured to say + That a Glug was a Glug, and the Cause they held dear + Was a very dear Cause. And the Glugs said, "Hear, hear." +Then Sym took the stage to a round of applause +From thousands who suddenly found they'd a Cause. + + + THE FIRST RHYME OF SYM + +We strive together in life's crowded mart, + Keen-eyed, with clutching hands to over-reach. +We scheme, we lie, we play the selfish part, + Masking our lust for gain with gentle speech; +And masking too--O pity ignorance!-- +Our very selves behind a careless glance. + +Ah, foolish brothers, seeking e'er in vain + The one dear gift that liesso near at hand; +Hoping to barter gold we meanly gain + For that the poorest beggar in the land +Holds for his own, to hoard while yet he spends; +Seeking fresh treasure in the hearts of friends. + +We preach; yet do we deem it worldly-wise + To count unbounded brother-love a shame, +So, ban the brother-look from out our eyes, + Lest sparks of sympathy be fanned to flame. +We smile; and yet withhold, in secret fear, +The word so hard to speak, so sweet to hear-- + +The Open Sesame to meanest hearts, + The magic word, to which stern eyes grow soft, +And crafty faces, that the cruel marts + Have seared and scored, turn gentle--Nay, how oft +It trembles on the lip to die unppoke, +And dawning love is stifled with a joke. + +Nay, brothers, look about your world to-day: + A world to you so drab, so commonplace-- +The flowers still are blooming by the way, + As blossom smiles upon the sternest face. +In everv hour is born some thought of love; +In every heart is hid some treasure-trove. + + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +With a modified clapping and stamping of feet +The Glugs mildly cheered him, as Sym took his seat. + But some said 'twas clever, and some said 'twas grand- + More especially those who did not understand. +And some said, with frowns, tho' the words sounded plain, +Yet it had a deep meaning they craved to explain. + +But the Mayor said: Silence! He wished to observe +That a Glug was a Glug; and in wishing to serve + This glorious Cause, which they'd asked him to lead, + They had proved they were Glugs of the noble old breed +That made Gosh what it was . . . and he'd ask the police +To remove that small boy while they heard the next piece. + + + THE SECOND RHYME OF SYM + +"Now come," said the Devil, he said to me, + With his swart face all a-grin, +"This day, ere ever the clock strikes three, + Shall you sin your darling sin. +For I've wagered a crown with Beelzebub, +Down there at the Gentlemen's Brimstone Club, + I shall tempt you once, I shall tempt you twice, + Yet thrice shall you fall ere I tempt you thrice." + +"Begone, base Devil!" I made reply-- + "Begone with your fiendish grin! +How hope you to profit by such as I? + For I have no darling sin. +But many there be, and I know them well, +All foul with sinning and ripe for Hell. + And I name no names, but the whole world knows + That I am never of such as those." + +"How nowt' said the Devil. "I'll spread my net, + And I vow I'll gather you in! +By this and by that shall I win my bet, + And you shall sin the sin! +Come, fill up a bumper of good red wine, +Your heart shall sing, and your eye shall shine, + You shall know such joy as you never have known. + For the salving of men was the good vine grown." + +"Begone, red Devil!" I made reply. + "Parch shall these lips of mine, +And my tongue shall shrink, and my throat go dry, + Ere ever I taste your wine! +But greet you shall, as I know full well, +A tipsy score of my friends in Hell. + And I name no names, but the whole world wots + Most of my fellows are drunken sots." + +"Ah, ha!" said the Devil. "You scorn the wine! + Thrice shall you sin, I say, +To win me a crown from a friend of mine, + Ere three o' the clock this day. +Are you calling to mind some lady fair? +And is she a wife or a maiden rare? + 'Twere folly to shackle young love, hot Youth; + And stolen kisses are sweet, forsooth!" + +"Begone, foul Devil!" I made reply; + "For never in all my life +Have I looked on a woman with lustful eye, + Be she maid, or widow, or wife. +But my brothers! Alas! I am scandalized +By their evil passions so ill disguised. + And I name no names, but my thanks I give + That I loathe the lives my fellow-men live." + +"Ho, ho!" roared the Devil in fiendish glee. + "'Tis a silver crown I win! +Thrice have you fallen! 0 Pharisee, + You have sinned your darling sin!" +"But, nay," said I; "and I scorn your lure. +I have sinned no sin, and my heart is pure. + Come, show me a sign of the sin you see!" + But the Devil was gone . . . and the clock struck three. + + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +With an increase of cheering and waving of hats- +While the little boys squealed, and made noises like cats-- + The Glugs gave approval to Sym's second rhyme. + And some said 'twas thoughtful, and some said 'twas prime; +And some said 'twas witty, and had a fine end: +More especially those who did not comprehend. + +And some said with leers and with nudges and shrugs +That, they mentioned no names, but it hit certain Glugs. + And others remarked, with superior smiles, + While dividing the metrical feet into miles, +That the thing seemed quite simple, without any doubt, +But the anagrams in it would need thinking out. + +But the Mayor said, Hush! And he wished to explain +That in leading this Movement he'd nothing to gain. + He was ready to lead, since they trusted him so; + And, wherever he led he was sure Glugs would go. +And he thanked them again, and craved peace for a time, +While this gifted young man read his third and last rhyme. + + + THE LAST RHYME OF SYM + +(To sing you a song and a sensible song is a worthy and excellent thing; +But how could I sing you that sort of a song, if there's never a song to sing?) +At ten to the tick, by the kitchen clock, I marked him blundering by, +With his eyes astare, and his rumpled hair, and his hat cocked over his eye. +Blind, in his pride, to his shoes untied, he went with a swift jig-jog, +Off on the quest, with a strange unrest, hunting the Feasible Dog. +And this is the song, as he dashed along, that he sang with a swaggering swing-- +(Now how had I heard him singing a song if he hadn't a song to sing?) + + "I've found the authentic, identical beast! + The Feasible Dog, and the terror of Gosh! + I know by the prowl of him. + Hark to the growl of him! + Heralding death to the subjects of Splosh. + Oh, look at him glaring and staring, by thunder! + Now each for himself, and the weakest goes under! + + "Beware this injurious, furious brute; + He's ready to rend you with tooth and with claw. + Tho' 'tis incredible, + Anything edible + Disappears suddenly into his maw: + Into his cavernous inner interior + Vanishes evrything strictly superior." + +He calls it "Woman," he calls it "Wine," he calls it "Devils" and "Dice"; +He calls it "Surfing" and "Sunday Golf' and names that are not so nice. +But whatever he calls it-"Morals" or "Mirth"-he is on with the hunt right quick +For his sorrow he'd hug like a gloomy Gllig if he hadn't a dog to kick. +So any old night, if the stars are right, vou will find him, hot on the trail +Of a feasible dog and a teasable dog, with a can to tie to his tail. +And the song that he roars to the shuddering stars is a worthy and excellent thing. +(Yet how could you hear him singing a song if there wasn't a song to sing?) + + "I've watched his abdominous, ominous shape + Abroad in the land while the nation has slept, + Marked his satanical + Methods tyrannical; + Rigorous, vigorous vigil I kept. + Good gracious! Voracious is hardly the name for it! + Yet we have only our blindness to blame for it. + + "My dear, I've autoptical, optical proof + That he's prowling and growling at large in the land. + Hear his pestiferous + Clamour vociferous, + Gurgles and groans of the beastliest brand. + Some may regard his contortions as comical. + But I've the proof that his game's gastronomical. + + "Beware this obstreperous, leprous beast-- + A treacherous wretch, for I know him of old. + I'm on the track of him, + Close at the back of him, + And I'm aware his ambitions are bold; + For he's yearning and burning to snare the superior + Into his roomy and gloomy interior." + + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +Such a shouting and yelling of hearty Bravoes, +Such a craning of necks and a standing on toes + Seemed to leave ne'er a doubt that the Tinker's last rhyme + Had now won him repute 'mid the Glugs for all time. +And they all said the rhyme was the grandest they'd heard: +More especially those who had not caught a word. + +But the Mayor said: Peace! And he stood, without fear, +As the leader of all to whom Justice was dear. + For the Tinker had rhymed, as the Prophet foretold, + And a light was let in on the errors of old. +For in every line, and in every verse +Was the proof that Sir Stodge was a traitor, and worse! + +Sir Stodge (said the Mayor), must go from his place; +And the Swanks, one and all, were a standing disgrace! + For the influence won o'er a weak, foolish king + Was a menace to Gosh, and a scandalous thing! +"And now," said the Mayor, "I stand here to-day +As your leader and friend." And the Glugs said, "Hooray!" + +Then they went to their homes in the suburbs and town; +To their farms went the Glugs who were bearded and brown. + Portly Glugs with cigars went to dine at their clubs, + While illiterate Glugs had one more at the pubs. +And each household in Gosh sat and talked half the night +Of the wonderful day, and the imminent fight. + +Forgetting the rhymer, forgetting his rhymes, +They talked of Sir Stodge and his numerous crimes. + There was hardly a C3lug in the whole land of Gosh + Who'd a lenient word to put in for King Splosh. +One and all, to the mangiest, surliest dog, +Were quite eager to bark for his Worship of Quog. + +Forgotten, unnoticed, Sym wended his way +To his lodging in Gosh at the close of the day. + And 'twas there, to his friend and companion of years-- + To his little red dog with the funny prick ears-- +That he poured out his woe; seeking nothing to hide; +And the little dog listened, his head on one side. + +"O you little red dog, you are weary as I. +It is days, it is months since we saw the blue sky. + And it seems weary years since we sniffed at the breeze + As it hms thro' the hedges and sings in the trees. +These we know and we love. But this city holds fears, +O my friend of the road, with the funny prick ears. + And for what me we hope from his Worship of Quog?" + "Oh, and a bone, and a kick," said the little red dog. + + + +X. THE DEBATE + +He was a Glug of simple charm; +He wished no living creature harm. + His kindly smile like sunlight fell + On all about, and wished them well. +Yet, 'spite the cheerful soul of Sym, +The great Sir Stodge detested him. + +The stern Sir Stodge and all his Swanks-- +Proud Glugs of divers grades and ranks, + With learning and attainments great-- + Had never learned to conquer hate. +And, failing in their A. B. C., +Were whipt by Master Destiny. + +'Twas thus that Gosh's famous schools +Turned out great hordes of learned fools: + Turned out the ship without a sail, + Turned out the kite with leaden tail, +Turned out the mind that could not soar +Because of foolish weights it bore. + +Because there'd been no father Joi +To guide the quick mind of a boy + Away from thoughts of hate and blame, + Wisdom in these was but a name. +But 'mid the Glugs they count him wise +Who walks with cunning in his eyes. + +His task well done, his three rhymes writ, +Sym rose at morn, and packed his kit. + "At last!" he cried. "Off and away + To meet again the spendthrift Day, +As he comes climbing in the East, +To bless with largesse man and beast. + +"Again the fields where wild things run! +And trees, all spreading to the sun, + Run not, because, of all things blest, + Their chosen place contents them best. +0 come, my little prick-eared dog!" . . . +But, "Halt!" exclaimed his Nibs of Quog. + +"Nay," said the Mayor. "Not so fast! +The day climbs high, but sinks at last. + And trees, all spreading to the sun, + Are slain because they cannot run. +The great Sir Stodge, filled full of hate, +Has challenged you to hold debate. + +"On Monday, in the Market Square, +He and his Swanks will all be there, + Sharp to the tick at half-past two, + To knock the stuffing out of you. +And if your stuffing so be spread, +Then is the Cause of Quog stone dead. + +"In this debate I'd have you find, +With all the cunning of your mind, + Sure victory for Quog's great Cause, + And swift defeat for Stodge's laws." +"But cunning I have none," quoth Sym. +The Mayor slowly winked at him. + +"Ah!" cried his Worship. "Sly; so sly!" +(Again he drooped his dexter eye) + "I've read you thro'; I've marked you well. + You're cunning as an imp from Hell . . . +Nay, keep your temper; for I can +Withal admire a clever man. + +"Who rhymes with such a subtle art +May never claim a simple part. + I'll make of you a Glug of rank, + With something handy in the bank, +And fixed opinions, which, you know, +With fixed deposits always go. + +"I'll give you anything you crave: +A great, high headstone to your grave, + A salary, a scarlet coat, + A handsome wife, a house, a vote, +A title, or a humbled foe." +But Sym said, "No," and ever, "No." + +"Then," shouted Quog, "your aid I claim +For Gosh, and in your country's name + I bid you fight the Cause of Quog, + Or be for ever named a dog! +The Cause of Quog, the weal of Gosh +Are one! Amen. Down with King Splosh!" + +Sym looked his Worship in the eye, +As solemnly he made reply: + "If 'tis to serve my native land, + On Monday I shall be at hand. +But what am I 'mid such great men?" +His Worship winked his eye again . . . + +'Twas Monday in the Market Square; +Sir Stodge and all his Swanks were there. + And almost every Glug in Gosh + Had bolted lunch and had a wash +And cleaned his boots, and sallied out +To gloat upon Sir Stodge's rout. + +And certain sly and knowing Glugs, +With sundry nudges, winks and shrugs, + Passed round the hint that up on high, + Behind some window near the sky, +Where he could see yet not be seen, +King Splosh was present with his Queen. + +"Glugs," said the chairman. "Glugs of Gosh; +By order of our good King Splosh, + The Tinker and Sir Stodge shall meet, + And here, without unseemly heat, +Debate the question of the day, +Which is--However, let me say-- + +"I do not wish to waste your time. +So, first shall speak this man of rhyme; + And, when Sir Stodge has voiced his view, + The Glugs shall judge between the two. +This verdict from the folk of Gosh +Will be accepted by King Splosh." + +As when, like teasing vagabonds, +The sly winds buffet sullen ponds, + The face of Stodge grew dark with rage, + When Sym stepped forth upon the stage. +But all the Glugs, with one accord, +A chorus of approval roared. + +Said Sym: "Kind friends, and fellow Glugs; +My trade is mending pots and mugs. + I tinker kettles, and I rhyme + To please myself and pass the time, +Just as my fancy wandereth." +("He's minel" quoth Stodge, below his breath.) + +Said Sym: "Why I am here to-day +I know not; tho' I've heard them say + That strife and hatred play some part + In this great meeting at the Mart. +Nay, brothers, why should hatred lodge . . . +"That's ultra vires!" thundered Stodge. + +"'Tis ultra vires!" cried the Knight. +"Besides, it isn't half polite. + And e'en the dullest Glug should know, + 'Tis not pro bono publico. +Nay, Glugs, this fellow is no class. +Remember! Vincit veritas!" + +With sidelong looks and sheepish grins, +Like men found out in secret sins, + Glug gazed at Glug in nervous dread; + Till one with claims to learning said, +"Sir Stodge is talking Greek, you know. +He may be bad, but never low." + +Then those who had no word of Greek +Felt lifted up to hear him speak. + "Ah, learning, learning," others said. + 'Tis fine to have a clever head." +And here and there a nervous cheer +Was heard, and someone growled, "Hear, hear." + +"Kind friends," said Sym . . . But, at a glance, +The 'cute Sir Stodge had seen his chance. + "Quid nuncl" he cried. "O noble Glugs, + This fellow takes you all for mugs. +I ask him, where's his quid pro quo? +I ask again, quo warranto? + +"Shall this man filch our wits from us +With his furor poeticus? + Nay!" cried Sir Stodge. "You must agree, + If you will hark a while to me +And at the Glugs' collective head +He flung strange language, ages dead. + +With mystic phrases from the Law, +With many an old and rusty saw, + With well-worn mottoes, which he took + Haphazard from the copy-book, +For half an hour the learned Knight +Belaboured them with all his might. + +And, as they wakened from their daze, +Their murmurs grew to shouts of praise. + Glugs who'd reviled him overnight + All in a moment saw the light. +"O learned man! 0 seer!" cried they. . . . +And education won the day. + +Then, quickly to Sir Stodge's side +There bounded, in a single stride, + His Nibs of Quog; and flinging wide + His arms, "O victory!" he cried. +"I'm with Sir Stodge, 0 Glugs of Gosh! +And we have won! Long live King Splosh!" + +Then pointing angrily at Sym, +Cried Quog, "This is the end of him! + For months I've marked his crafty dodge, + To bring dishonour to Sir Stodge. +I've lured him here, the traitrous dog, +And shamed him!" quoth his Nibs of Quog. + +Hoots for the Tinker tore the air, +As Sym went, wisely, otherwhere. + Cheers for Sir Stodge were long and loud; + And, as amid his Swanks he bowed, +To mark his thanks and honest pride, +His Nibs of Quog bowed by his side. + +The Thursday after that, at three, +The King invited Quog to tea. + Quoth Quog, "It was a task to bilk . . . + (I thank you; sugar, please, and milk) . . . +To bilk this Tinker and his pranks. +A scurvy rogue! . . . (Ah, two lumps, thanks.) + +"A scurvy rogue!" continued Quog. +'Twas easy to outwit the dog. + Altho', perhaps, I risked my life-- + I've heard he's handy with a knife. +Ah, well, 'twas for my country's sake . . . +(Thanks; just one slice of currant cake.)" + + + +XI. OGS + +It chanced one day, in the middle of May, + There came to the great King Splosh +A policeman, who said, while scratching his head, + "There isn't a stone in Gosh +To throw at a dog; for the crafty Og, + Last Saturday week, at one, +Took our last blue-metal, in order to settle + A bill for a toy pop-gun." + Said the King, jokingly, + "Why, how provokingly + Weird; but we have the gun." + +And the King said, "Well, we are stony-broke." +But the Queen could not see it was much of a joke. + And she said, "If the metal is all used up, + Pray what of the costume I want for the Cup? +It all seems so dreadfully simple to me. +The stones? Why, import them from over the sea." + But a Glug stood up with a mole on his chin, + And said, with a most diabolical grin, +"Your Majesties, down in the country of Podge, +A spy has discovered a very 'cute dodge. + And the Ogs are determined to wage a war + On Gosh, next Friday, at half-past four." +Then the Glugs all cried, in a terrible fright, +"How did our grandfathers manage a fight?" + +Then the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book, +And he read, "Some very large stones they took, + And flung at the foe, with exceeding force; + Which was very effective, tho' rude, of course." +And lo, with sorrowful wails and moans, +The Glugs cried, "Where, Oh, where are the stones?" + And some rushed North, and a few ran West; + Seeking the substitutes seeming best. +And they gathered the pillows and cushions and rugs +From the homes of the rich and middle-class Glugs. + And a hasty message they managed to send + Craving the loan of some bricks from a friend. + +On the Friday, exactly at half-past four, + Came the Ogs with triumphant glee. +And the first of their stones hit poor Mister Ghones, + The captain of industry. +Then a pebble of Podge took the Knight, Sir Stodge, + In the curve of his convex vest. +He gurgled "Un-Gluggish!" His heart growing sluggish, + He solemnly sank to rest. + 'Tis inconceivable, + Scarcely believable, + Yet, he was sent to rest. + +And the King said, "Ouch!" And the Queen said, "0o! +My bee-ootiful drawing-room! What shall I do?" + But the warlike Ogs, they hurled great rocks + Thro' the works of the wonderful eight-day clocks +They had sold to the Glugs but a month before-- +Which was very absurd; but, of course, 'twas war. + And the Glugs cried, "What would our grandfathers do + If they hadn't the stones that they one time threw?" +But the Knight, Sir Stodge, and his mystic Book +Oblivious slept in a grave-yard nook. + +Then a Glug stood out with a pot in his hand, +As the King was bewailing the fate of his land, + And he said, "If these Ogs you desire to retard, + Then hit them quite frequent with anything hard." +So the Glugs seized anvils, and editors' chairs, +And smote the Ogs with them unawares; + And bottles of pickles, and clocks they threw, + And books of poems, and gherkins, and glue, +Which they'd bought with the stones--as, of course, you know-- + From the Ogs but a couple of months ago. + Which was simply inane, when you reason it o'er; + And uneconomic, but then, it was war. + +When they'd fought for a night and the most of a day, +The Ogs threw the last of their metal away. + Then they went back to Podge, well content with their fun, + And, with much satisfaction, declared they had won. +And the King of the Glugs gazed around on his land, +And saw nothing but stones strewn on every hand: + Great stones in the palace, and stones in the street, + And stones on the house-tops and under the feet. +And he said, with a desperate look on his face, +"There is nothing so ghastly as stones out of place. + And, no doubt, this Og scheme was a very smart dodge. + But whom does it profit--my people, or Podge?" + + + +XII. EMILY ANN + +Government muddles, departments dazed, +Fear and confusion wherever he gazed; + Order insulted, authority spurned, + Dread and distraction wherever he turned-- +Oh, the great King Splosh was a sad, sore king, +With never a statesman to straighten the thing. + +Glus all importunate urging their claims, +With selfish intent and ulterior aims, + Glugs with petitions for this and for that, + Standing ten-deep on the royal door-mat, +Raging when nobody answered their ring-- +Oh, the great King Splosh was a careworn king. + +And he looked to the right, and he glanced to the left, +And he glared at the roof like a monarch bereft + Of his wisdom and wits and his wealth all in one; + And, at least once a minute, asked, "What's to be done?" +But the Swanks stood around him and answered, with groans, +"Your majesty, Gosh is half buried in stones!" + +"How now?" cried the King. "Is there not in my land +One Glug who can cope with this dreadful demand: + A rich man, a poor man, a beggar man, thief-- + I reck not his rank so he lessen my grief-- +A soldier, a sailor, a--" Raising his head, +With relief in his eye, "Now, I mind me!" he said. + +"I mind me a Tinker, and what once befel, +When I think, on the whole, he was treated not well. + But he shall be honoured, and he shall be famed + If he read me this riddle. But how is he named? +Some commonplace title, like-Simon?-No-Sym! +Go, send out my riders, and scour Gosh for him." + +They rode for a day to the sea in the South, +Calling the name of him, hand to the mouth. + They rode for a day to the hills in the East, + But signs of a tinker saw never the least. +Then they rode to the North thro' a whole day long, +And paused in the even to hark to a song. + + +"Kettles and pans! Kettles and pans! +Oh, who can show tresses like Emily Ann's? + Brown in the shadow and gold at the tips, + Bright as the smile on her beckoning lips. +Bring out your kettle! 0 kettle or pan! +So I buy me a ribband for Emily Ann." + + +With his feet in the grass, and his back to a tree, +Merry as only a tinker can be, + Busily tinkering, mending a pan, + Singing as only a merry man can . . . +"Sym!" cried the riders. " 'Tis thus you are styled?" +And he paused in his singing, and nodded and smiled. + +Said he: "Last eve, when the sun was low, +Down thro' the bracken I watched her go-- + Down thro' the bracken, with simple grace-- + And the glory of eve shone full on her face; +And there on the sky-line it lingered a span, +So loth to be leaving my Emily Arm." + +With hands to their faces the riders smiled. +"Sym," they said--"be it so you're styled-- + Behold, great Splosh, our sorrowing King, + Has sent us hither, that we may bring +To the palace in Gosh a Glug so named, +That he may be honoured and justly famed." + +"Yet," said Sym, as he tinkered his can, +"What should you know of her, Emily Ann? + Early as cock-crow yester morn + I watched young sunbeams, newly born, +As out of the East they frolicked and ran, +Eager to greet her, my Emily Arm." + +"King Splosh," said the riders, "is bowed with grief; +And the glory of Gosh is a yellowing leaf. + Up with you, Tinker! There's work ahead. + With a King forsaken, and Swanks in dread, +To whom may we turn for the salving of man?" +And Sym, he answered them, "Emily Ann." + +Said he: "Whenever I watch her pass, +With her skirts so high o'er the dew-wet grass, + I envy every blade the bruise + It earns in the cause of her twinkling shoes. +Oh, the dew-wet grass, where this morn she ran, +Was doubly jewelled for Emily Ann." + +"But haste!" they cried. "By the palace gates +A sorrowing king for a tinker waits. + And what shall we answer our Lord the King + If never a tinker hence we bring, +To tinker a kingdom so sore amiss?" +But Sym, he said to them, "Answer him this: + +'Every eve, when the clock chimes eight, +I kiss her fair, by her mother's gate: + Twice, all reverent, on the brow- + Once for a pray'r, and once for a vow; +Twice on her eyes that they may shine, +Then, full on the mouth because she's mine."' + +"Calf!" sneered the riders. "O Tinker, heed! +Mount and away with us, we must speed. + All Gosh is agog for the coming of Sym. + Garlands and greatness are waiting for him: +Garlands of roses, and garments of red +And a chaplet for crowning a conqueror's head." + +"Listen," quoth Sym, as he stirred his fire. +"Once in my life have I known desire. + Then, Oh, but the touch of her kindled a flame + That burns as a sun by the candle of fame. +And a blessing and boon for a poor tinker man +Looks out from the eyes of my Emily Ann." + +Then they said to him, "Fool! Do you cast aside +Promise of honour, and place, and pride, + Gold for the asking, and power o'er men- + Working your will with the stroke of a pen? +Vexed were the King if you ride not with us." +But Sym, he said to them, "Answer him thus: + +'Ease and honour and leave to live-- +These are the gifts that a king may give + 'Twas over the meadow I saw her first; + And my lips grew parched like a man athirst +Oh, my treasure was ne'er in the gift of man; +For the gods have given me Emily Ann." + +"Listen," said they, "O you crazy Sym. +Roses perish, and eyes grow dim. + Lustre fades from the fairest hair. + Who weds a woman links arms with care. +But women there are in the city of Gosh-- +Ay, even the daughters of good King Splosh. . ." + +"Care," said Sym, "is a weed that springs +Even to-day in the gardens of kings. + And I, who have lived 'neath the tent of the skies, + Know of the flowers, and which to prize . . . +Give you good even! For now I must jog." +And he whistled him once to his little red dog. + +Into the meadow and over the stile, +Off went the tinker man, singing the while; + Down by the bracken patch, over the hill, + With the little red dog at the heel of him still. +And back, as he soberly sauntered along, +There came to the riders the tail of his song. + + +"Kettles and pots! Kettles and pans! +Strong is my arm if the cause it be man's. + But a fig for the cause of a cunning old king; + For Emily Ann will be mine in the Spring. +Then nought shall I labour for Splosh or his plans; +Tho' I'll mend him a kettle. Ho, kettles and pans!" + + + +XIII. THE LITTLE RED DOG + +The Glugs still live in the land of Gosh, +Under the rule of the great King Splosh. + And they climb the trees in the Summer and Spring, + Because it is reckoned the regular thing. +Down in the valley they live their lives, +Taking the air with their aunts and wives. + And they climb the trees in the Winter and Fall, + And count it improper to climb not at all. + +And they name their trees with a thousand names, +Calling them after their Arts and Aims; + And some, they climb for the fun of the thing, + But most go up at the call of the King. +Some scale a tree that they fear to name, +For it bears great blossoms of scarlet shame. + But they eat of the fruit of the nameless tree, + Because they are Glugs, and their choice is free. + +But every eve, when the sun goes West, +Over the mountain they call The Blest, + Whose summit looks down on the city of Gosh, + Far from the reach of the great King Splosh, +The Glugs gaze up at the heights above, +And feel vague promptings to wondrous love. + And they whisper a tale of a tinker man, + Who lives in the mount with his Emily Ann. + +A great mother mountain, and kindly is she, +Who nurses young rivers and sends them to sea. + And, nestled high up on her sheltering lap, + Is a little red house with a little straw cap +That bears a blue feather of smoke, curling high, +And a bunch of red roses cocked over one eye. + And the eyes of it glisten and shine in the sun, + As they look down on Gosh with a twinkle of fun. + +There's a gay little garden, a tidy white gate, +And a narrow brown pathway that will not run straight; + For it turns and it twists and it wanders about + To the left and the right, as in humorous doubt. +'Tis a humorous path, and a joke from its birth +Till it ends at the door with a wriggle of mirth. + And here in the mount lives the queer tinker man + With his little red dog and his Emily Arm. + +And, once in a while, when the weather is clear, +When the work is all over, and even is near, + They walk in the garden and gaze down below + On the Valley of Gosh, where the young rivers go; +Where the houses of Gosh seem so paltry and vain, +Like a handful of pebbles strewn over the plain; + Where tiny black forms crawl about in the vale, + And stare at the mountain they fear them to scale. + +And Sym sits him down by his little wife's knee, +With his feet in the grass and his back to a tree; + And he looks on the Valley and dreams of old years, + As he strokes his red dog with the funny prick ears. +And he says, "Still they climb in their whimsical way, +While we stand on earth, yet are higher than they. + Oh, who trusts to a tree is a fool of a man! + For the wise seek the mountains, my Emily Ann." + +So lives the queer tinker, nor deems it a wrong, +When the spirit so moves him, to burst into song. + 'Tis a comical song about kettles and pans, + And the graces and charms that are Emily Ann's. +'Tis a mad, freakish song, but he sings it with zest, +And his little wife vows it of all songs the best. + And he sings quite a lot, as the Summer days pass, + With his back to a tree and his feet in the grass. + +And the little red dog, who is wise as dogs go, +He will hark to that song for a minute or so, + 'With his head on one side, and a serious air. + Then he makes no remark; but he wanders elsewhere. +And he trots down the garden to gaze now and then +At the curious pranks of a certain blue wren: + Not a commonplace wren, but a bird marked for fame + Thro' a grievance in life and a definite aim. + +Now, they never fly far and they never fly high, +And they probably couldn't, suppose they should try. + So the common blue wren is content with his lot: + He will eat when there's food, and he fasts when there's not. +He flirts and he flutters, his wife by his side, +With his share of content and forgiveable pride. + And he keeps to the earth, 'mid the bushes and shrubs, + And he dines very well upon corpulent grubs. + +But the little blue wren with a grievance in life, +He was rude to his neighbours and short with his wife. + For, up in the apple-tree over his nest, + There dwelt a fat spider who gave him no rest: +A spider so fat, so abnormally stout +That he seemed hardly fitted to waddle about. + But his eyes were so sharp, and his legs were so spry, + That he could not be caught; and 'twas folly to try. + +Said the wren, as his loud lamentations he hurled +At the little red dog, "It's a rotten old world! + But my heart would be glad, and my life would be blest + If I had that fat spider well under my vest. +Then I'd call back my youth, and be seeking to live, +And to taste of the pleasures the world has to give. + But the world is all wrong, and my mind's in a fog!" + "Aw, don't be a Glug!" said the little red dog. + +Then, up from the grass, where he sat by his tree, +The voice of the Tinker rose fearless and free. + +The little dog listened, his head on one side; +Then sought him a spot where a bored dog could hide. + + +"Kettles and pans! Ho, kettles and pans! +The stars are the gods' but the earth, it is man's! + Yet down in the shadow dull mortals there are + Who climb in the tree-tops to snatch at a star: +Seeking content and a surcease of care, +Finding but emptiness everywhere. + Then make for the mountain, importunate man! + With a kettle to mend . . . and your Emily Ann. + + +As he cocked a sad eye o'er a sheltering log, +"Oh, a Glug is a Glug!" sighed the little red dog. + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glugs of Gosh, by C. J. 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