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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/9380-8.txt b/9380-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5023974 --- /dev/null +++ b/9380-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10302 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Nonsense Anthology, by Collected by Carolyn Wells + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Nonsense Anthology + +Author: Collected by Carolyn Wells + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9380] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 27, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A NONSENSE ANTHOLOGY *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + _He must be a fool indeed who cannot at + times play the fool; and he who does not + enjoy nonsense must be lacking in sense_. + + _WILLIAM J. ROLFE_. + +A Nonsense Anthology + +Collected by Carolyn Wells + +1910 + + + +TO + +GELETT BURGESS + +A NONSENSE LOVER + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION +JABBERWOCKY Lewis Carroll +MORS IABROCHII Anonymous +THE NYUM-NYUM Anonymous +UFFIA Harriet R. White +SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE James Whitcomb Riley +THE WHANGO TREE 1840 +SING FOR THE GARISH EYE W.S. Gilbert +THE CRUISE OF THE "P.C." Anonymous +TO MARIE Anonymous +LUNAR STANZAS Henry Coggswell Knight +NONSENSE Anonymous, 1617 +SONNET FOUND IN A DESERTED MAD HOUSE Anonymous +THE OCEAN WANDERER Anonymous +SHE'S ALL MY FANCY PAINTED HIM Lewis Carroll +MY RECOLLECTEST THOUGHTS Charles E. Carryl +FATHER WILLIAM Anonymous +IN THE GLOAMING James C. Bayles +BALLAD OF BEDLAM Punch +'TIS SWEET TO ROAM Anonymous +HYMN TO THE SUNRISE Anonymous +THE MOON IS UP Anonymous +'T IS MIDNIGHT Anonymous +UPRISING SEE THE FITFUL LARK Anonymous +LIKE TO THE THUNDERING TONE Bishop Corbet +MY DREAM Anonymous +MY HOME Anonymous +IN IMMEMORIAM Cuthbert Bede +THE HIGHER PANTHEISM IN A NUTSHELL A. C. Swinburne +DARWINITY Herman Merivale +SONG OF THE SCREW Anonymous +MOORLANDS OF THE NOT Anonymous +METAPHYSICS Oliver Herford +ABSTROSOPHY Gelett Burgess +ABSTEMIA Gelett Burgess +PSYCHOLOPHON Gelett Burgess +TIMON OF ARCHIMEDES Charles Battell Loomis +ALONE Anonymous +LINES BY A MEDIUM Anonymous +TRANSCENDENTALISM From the Times of India +INDIFFERENCE Anonymous +QUATRAIN Anonymous +COSSIMBAZAR Henry S. Leigh +THE PERSONIFIED SENTIMENTAL Bret Harte +A CLASSIC ODE Charles Battell Loomis +WHERE AVALANCHES WAIL Anonymous +BLUE MOONSHINE Francis G. Stokes +NONSENSE Thomas Moore +SUPERIOR NONSENSE VERSES Anonymous +WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS W.M. Thackeray +LINES BY A PERSON OF QUALITY Alexander Pope +FRANGIPANNI Anonymous +LINES BY A FOND LOVER Anonymous +FORCING A WAY Anonymous +THY HEART Anonymous +A LOVE-SONG BY A LUNATIC Anonymous +THE PARTERRE E.H. Palmer +TO MOLLIDUSTA Planché +JOHN JONES A.C. Swinburne +THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT Edward Lear +A BALLADE OF THE NURSERIE John Twig +A BALLAD OF HIGH ENDEAVOR Anonymous +THE LUGUBRIOUS WHINGWHANG James Whitcomb Riley +OH! WEARY MOTHER Barry Pain +SWISS AIR Bret Harte +THE BULBUL Owen Seaman +BALLAD Anonymous +OH, MY GERALDINE F.C. Burnand +BUZ, QUOTH THE BLUE FLY Ben Jonson +A SONG ON KING WILLIAM III Anonymous +THERE WAS A MONKEY Anonymous, 1626 +THE GUINEA PIG Anonymous +THREE CHILDREN London, 1662 +IF Anonymous +A RIDDLE Anonymous +THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN Anonymous +THREE ACRES OF LAND Anonymous +MASTER AND MAN Anonymous +HYDER IDDLE Anonymous +KING ARTHUR Anonymous +IN THE DUMPS Anonymous +TWEEDLE-DUM AND TWEE-DLE-DEE Anonymous +MARTIN TO HIS MAN From Deuteromelia +THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO Edward Lear +THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES Edward Lear +THE JUMBLIES Edward Lear +INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY + Edward Lear +LINES TO A YOUNG LADY Edward Lear +WAYS AND MEANS Lewis Carroll +THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER Lewis Carroll +THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK Lewis Carroll +SYLVIE AND BRUNO Lewis Carroll +GENTLE ALICE BROWN W.S. Gilbert +THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB W.S. Gilbert +FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA, OR THE GENTLE PIEMAN + W.S. Gilbert +GENERAL JOHN W. S. Gilbert +LITTLE BILLEE W. M. Thackeray +THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE" William H. Drummond +THE SHIPWRECK E. H. Palmer +A SAILOR'S YARN J. J. Roche +THE WALLOPING WINDOW-BLIND Charles E. Carryl +THE ROLLICKING MASTODON Arthur Macy +THE SILVER QUESTION Oliver Herford +THE SINGULAR SANGFROID OF BABY BUNTING + Guy Wetmore Carryl +FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY Thomas Hood +THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN George Canning +MALUM OPUS James Appleton Morgan +ÆSTIVATION O. W. Holmes +A HOLIDAY TASK Gilbert Abbott à Becket +PUER EX JERSEY Anonymous +THE LITTLE PEACH Anonymous +MONSIEUR McGINTÉ Anonymous +YE LAYE OF YE WOODPECKORE Henry A. Beers +COLLUSION BETWEEN A ALEGAITER AND A WATER-SNAIK + J. W. Morris +ODD TO A KROKIS Anonymous +SOME VERSES TO SNAIX Anonymous +A GREAT MAN Oliver Goldsmith +AN ELEGY Oliver Goldsmith +PARSON GRAY Oliver Goldsmith +AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG Oliver Goldsmith +THE WONDERFUL OLD MAN Anonymous +A CHRONICLE Anonymous +ON THE OXFORD CARRIER John Milton +NEPHELIDIA A. C. Swinburne +MARTIN LUTHER AT POTSDAM Barry Pain +COMPANIONS C. S. Calverley +THE COCK AND THE BULL C. S. Calverley +LOVERS AND A REFLECTION C. S. Calverley +AN IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH Catharine M. Fanshawe. +THE FAMOUS BALLAD OF THE JUBILEE CUP Arthur T. Quiller-Couch +A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILITIES W. M. Praed +TRUST IN WOMEN Anonymous +HERE IS THE TALE Anthony C. Deane +THE AULD WIFE C. S. Calverley +NOT I R. L. Stevenson +MINNIE AND WINNIE Lord Tennyson +THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON Mary Mapes Dodge +THE PURPLE COW Gelett Burgess +THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE Gelett Burgess +THE LAZY ROOF Gelett Burgess +MY FEET Gelett Burgess +THE HEN Oliver Herford +THE COW Oliver Herford +THE CHIMPANZEE Oliver Herford +THE HIPPOPOTAMUS Oliver Herford +THE PLATYPUS Oliver Herford +SOME GEESE Oliver Herford +THE FLAMINGO Lewis Gaylord Clark +KINDNESS TO ANIMALS J. Ashby-Sterry +SAGE COUNSEL A. T. Quiller-Couch +OF BAITING THE LION Owen Seaman +THE FROG Hilaire Belloc +THE YAK Hilaire Belloc +THE PYTHON Hilaire Belloc +THE BISON Hilaire Belloc +THE PANTHER Anonymous +THE MONKEY'S GLUE Goldwin Goldsmith +THERE WAS A FROG Christ Church MS. +THE BLOATED BIGGABOON H. Cholmondeley-Pennell +WILD FLOWERS Peter Newell +TIMID HORTENSE Peter Newell +HER POLKA DOTS Peter Newell +HER DAIRY Peter Newell +TURVEY TOP Anonymous +WHAT THE PRINCE OF I DREAMT H. Cholmondeley-Pennell +THE DINKEY-BIRD Eugene Field +THE MAN IN THE MOON James Whitcomb Riley +THE STORY OF THE WILD HUNTSMAN Dr. Heinrich Hoffman +THE STORY OF PYRAMID THOTHMES Anonymous +THE STORY OF CRUEL PSAMTEK Anonymous +THE CUMBERBUNCE Paul West +THE AHKOND OF SWAT Edward Lear +A THRENODY George Thomas Lanigan +DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL George Thomas Lanigan +RUSSIAN AND TURK Anonymous +LINES TO MISS FLORENCE HUNTINGDON Anonymous +COBBE'S PROPHECIES 1614 +AN UNSUSPECTED FACT Edward Cannon +THE SORROWS OF WERTHER W. M. Thackeray +NONSENSE VERSES Charles Lamb +THE NOBLE TUCK-MAN Jean Ingelow +THE PESSIMIST Ben King +THE MODERN HIAWATHA Anonymous +ON THE ROAD Tudor Jenks +UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE JIM Artemus Ward +POOR DEAR GRANDPAPA D'Arcy W. Thompson +THE SEA-SERPENT Planche +MELANCHOLIA Anonymous +THE MONKEY'S WEDDING Anonymous +MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP Anonymous +THE SUN J. Davis +THE AUTUMN LEAVES Anonymous +IN THE NIGHT Anonymous +POOR BROTHER Anonymous +THE BOY Eugene Field +THE SEA Anonymous +THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL H. W. Longfellow +FIN DE SIÈCLE Newton Mackintosh +MARY JANE Anonymous +TENDER-HEARTEDNESS Col. D. Streamer +IMPETUOUS SAMUEL Col. D. Streamer +MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY Col. D. Streamer +AUNT ELIZA Col. D. Streamer +SUSAN Anonymous +BABY AND MARY Anonymous +THE SUNBEAM Anonymous +LITTLE WILLIE Anonymous +MARY AMES Anonymous +MUDDLED METAPHORS Tom Hood, Jr. +VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO ALL CROSS COVES + W. E. Henley +ODE TO THE HUMAN HEART Laman Blanchard +LIMERICKS Edward Lear + Anonymous + Cosmo Monkhouse + Walter Parke + George du Maurier + Robert J. Burdette + Gelett Burgess + Bruce Porter + Newton Mackintosh + Anonymous + Anonymous + Anonymous + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +On a topographical map of Literature Nonsense would be represented +by a small and sparsely settled country, neglected by the average +tourist, but affording keen delight to the few enlightened +travellers who sojourn within its borders. It is a field which has +been neglected by anthologists and essayists; one of its few serious +recognitions being in a certain "Treatise of Figurative Language," +which says: "Nonsense; shall we dignify that with a place on our list? +Assuredly will vote for doing so every one who hath at all duly +noticed what admirable and wise uses it can be, and often is, put to, +though never before in rhetoric has it been so highly honored. How +deeply does clever or quaint nonsense abide in the memory, and for +how many a decade--from earliest youth to age's most venerable years." + +And yet Hazlitt's "Studies in Jocular Literature" mentions six +divisions of the Jest, and omits Nonsense! + +Perhaps, partly because of such neglect, the work of the best +nonsense writers is less widely known than it might be. + +But a more probable reason is that the majority of the reading world +does not appreciate or enjoy real nonsense, and this, again, is +consequent upon their inability to discriminate between nonsense of +integral merit and simple chaff. + + A jest's prosperity lies in the ear + Of him that hears it. Never in the tongue + Of him that makes it, + +and a sense of nonsense is as distinct a part of our mentality as a +sense of humor, being by no means identical therewith. + +It is a fad at present for a man to relate a nonsensical story, and +then, if his hearer does not laugh, say gravely: "You have no sense +of humor. That is a test story, and only a true humorist laughs at it." +Now, the hearer may have an exquisite sense of humor, but he may be +lacking in a sense of nonsense, and so the story gives him no +pleasure. De Quincey said, "None but a man of extraordinary talent +can write first-rate nonsense." Only a short study of the subject is +required to convince us that De Quincey was right; and he might have +added, none but a man of extraordinary taste can appreciate +first-rate nonsense. As an instance of this, we may remember that +Edward Lear, "the parent of modern nonsense-writers," was a talented +author and artist, and a prime favorite of such men as Tennyson and +the Earls of Derby; and John Ruskin placed Lear's name at the head +of his list of the best hundred authors. + +"Don't tell me," said William Pitt, "of a man's being able to talk +sense; every one can talk sense. Can he talk nonsense?" + +The sense of nonsense enables us not only to discern pure nonsense, +but to consider intelligently nonsense of various degrees of purity. +Absence of sense is not necessarily nonsense, any more than absence +of justice is injustice. + +Etymologically speaking, nonsense may be either words without meaning, +or words conveying absurd or ridiculous ideas. It is the second +definition which expresses the great mass of nonsense literature, +but there is a small proportion of written nonsense which comes +under the head of language without meaning. + +Again, there are verses composed entirely of meaningless words, +which are not nonsense literature, because they are written with +some other intent. + +The nursery rhyme, of which there are almost as many versions as +there are nurseries, + + Eena, meena, mona, mi, + Bassalona, bona, stri, + Hare, ware, frown, whack, + Halico balico, we, wi, we, wack, + +is not strictly a nonsense verse, because it was invented and used +for "counting out," and the arbitrary words simply take the place of +the numbers 1, 2, 3, etc. + +Also, the nonsense verses with which students of Latin composition +are sometimes taught to begin their efforts, where words are used +with no relative meaning, simply to familiarize the pupil with the +mechanical values of quantity and metre, are not nonsense. It is +only nonsense for nonsense' sake that is now under our consideration. + +Doubtless the best and best-known example of versified words without +meaning is "Jabberwocky." Although (notwithstanding Lewis Carroll's +explanations) the coined words are absolutely without meaning, the +rhythm is perfect and the poetic quality decidedly apparent, and the +poem appeals to the nonsense lover as a work of pure genius. Bayard +Taylor is said to have recited "Jabberwocky" aloud for his own +delectation until he was forced to stop by uncontrollable laughter. +To us who know our _Alice_ it would seem unnecessary to quote this +poem, but it is a fact that among the general reading community the +appreciators of Lewis Carroll are surprisingly few. An editor of a +leading literary review, when asked recently if he had read +"Alice in Wonderland," replied, "No, but I mean to. It is by the +author of 'As in a looking-Glass,' is it not?" + +But of far greater interest and merit than nonsense of words, is +nonsense of ideas. Here, again, we distinguish between nonsense and +no sense. Ideas conveying no sense are often intensely funny, and +this type is seen in some of the best of our nonsense literature. + +A perfect specimen is the bit of evidence read by the White Rabbit +at the Trial of the Knave of Hearts.[1] One charm of these verses is +the serious air of legal directness which pervades their ambiguity, +and another is the precision with which the metrical accent +coincides exactly with the natural emphasis. They are marked, too, +by the liquid euphony that always distinguishes Lewis Carroll's +poetry. + +A different type is found in verses that refer to objects in terms +the opposite of true, thereby suggesting ludicrous incongruity, and +there is also the nonsense verse that uses word effects which have +been confiscated by the poets and tacitly given over to them. + +A refrain of nonsense words is a favorite diversion of many +otherwise serious poets. + + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + +is one of Shakespeare's many musical nonsense refrains. + +[Footnote 1: "She's all my Fancy painted him," page 20.] + +Burns gives us: + + Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose? + Igo and ago, + If he's 'mang his freens or foes? + Iram, coram, dago. + Is he slain by Highlan' bodies? + Igo and ago; + And eaten like a weather haggis? + Iram, coram, dago. + +Another very old refrain runs thus: + + Forum, corum, sunt di-vorum, + Harum, scarum, divo; + Tag-rag, merry-derry, periwig and hat-band, + Hic, hoc, horum, genitivo. + +An old ballad written before the Reformation has for a refrain: + + Sing go trix, + Trim go trix, + Under the greenwood tree. + +While a celebrated political ballad is known by its nonsense chorus, + + Lilliburlero bullin a-la. + +Mother Goose rhymes abound in these nonsense refrains, and they are +often fine examples of onomatopoeia. + +By far the most meritorious and most interesting kind of nonsense is +that which embodies an absurd or ridiculous idea, and treats it with +elaborate seriousness. The greatest masters of this art are +undoubtedly Edward Lear and Lewis Carroll. These Englishmen were men +of genius, deep thinkers, and hard workers. + +Lear was an artist draughtsman, his subjects being mainly +ornithological and zoological. Lewis Carroll (Charles L. Dodgson) +was an expert in mathematics and a lecturer on that science in +Christ Church, Oxford. + +Both these men numbered among their friends many of the greatest +Englishmen of the day. Tennyson was a warm friend and admirer of each, +as was also John Ruskin. + +Lear's first nonsense verses, published in 1846, are written in the +form of the well-known stanza beginning: + + There was an old man of Tobago. + +This type of stanza, known as the "Limerick," is said by a gentleman +who speaks with authority to have flourished in the reign of William +IV. This is one of several he remembers as current at his public +school in 1834: + + There was a young man at St. Kitts + Who was very much troubled with fits; + The eclipse of the moon + Threw him into a swoon, + When he tumbled and broke into bits. + +Lear distinctly asserts that this form of verse was not invented by +him, but was suggested by a friend as a useful model for amusing +rhymes. It proved so in his case, for he published no less than two +hundred and twelve of these "Limericks." + +In regard to his verses, Lear asserted that "nonsense, pure and +absolute," was his aim throughout; and remarked, further, that to +have been the means of administering innocent mirth to thousands was +surely a just excuse for satisfaction. He pursued his aim with +scrupulous consistency, and his absurd conceits are fantastic and +ridiculous, but never cheaply or vulgarly funny. + +Twenty-five years after his first book came out, Lear published +other books of nonsense verse and prose, with pictures which are +irresistibly mirth-provoking. Lear's nonsense songs, while retaining +all the ludicrous merriment of his Limericks, have an added quality +of poetic harmony. They are distinctly _singable_, and many of them +have been set to music by talented composers. Perhaps the best-known +songs are "The Owl and the Pussy-Cat" and "The Daddy-Long-Legs and +the Fly." + +Lear himself composed airs for "The Pelican Chorus" and "The +Yonghy-Bonghy Bo," which were arranged for the piano by Professor Pomè, +of San Remo, Italy. + +Although like Lear's in some respects, Lewis Carroll's nonsense is +perhaps of a more refined type. There is less of the grotesque and +more poetic imagery. But though Carroll was more of a poet than Lear, +both had the true sense of nonsense. Both assumed the most absurd +conditions, and proceeded to detail their consequences with a simple +seriousness that convulses appreciative readers, and we find +ourselves uncertain whether it is the manner or the matter that is +more amusing. + +Lewis Carroll was a man of intellect and education; his funniest +sayings are often based on profound knowledge or deep thought. Like +Lear, he never spoiled his quaint fancies by over-exaggerating their +quaintness or their fancifulness, and his ridiculous plots are as +carefully conceived, constructed, and elaborated as though they +embodied the soundest facts. No funny detail is ever allowed to +become _too_ funny; and it is in this judicious economy of +extravagance that his genius is shown. As he remarks in one of his +own poems: + + Then, fourthly, there are epithets + That suit with any word-- + As well as Harvey's Reading Sauce + With fish, or flesh, or bird. + Such epithets, like pepper, + Give zest to what you write; + And, if you strew them sparely, + They whet the appetite; + But if you lay them on too thick, + You spoil the matter quite! + +Both Lear and Carroll suffered from the undiscerning critics who +persisted in seeing in their nonsense a hidden meaning, a cynical, +political, or other intent, veiled under the apparent foolery. Lear +takes occasion to deny this in the preface to one of his books, and +asserts not only that his rhymes and pictures have no symbolical +meaning, but that he "took more care than might be supposed to make +the subjects incapable of such misinterpretation." + +Likewise, "Jabberwocky" was declared by one critic to be a +translation from the German, and by others its originality was +doubted. The truth is, that it was written by Lewis Carroll at an +evening party; it was quite impromptu, and no ulterior meaning was +intended. "The Hunting of the Snark" was also regarded by some as an +allegory, or, perhaps, a burlesque on a celebrated case, in which +the _Snark_ was used as a personification of popularity, but Lewis +Carroll protested that the poem had no meaning at all. + +A favorite trick of the Nonsensists is the coining of words to suit +their needs, and Lear and Carroll are especially happy in their +inventions of this kind. + +Lear gives us such gems as scroobious, meloobious, ombliferous, +borascible, slobaciously, himmeltanious, flumpetty, and mumbian; +while the best of Lewis Carroll's coined words are those found in +"Jabberwocky." + +Another of the great Nonsensists is W. S. Gilbert. Unlike Lear or +Carroll, his work is not characterized by absurd words or phrases; +he prefers a still wider scope, and invents a ridiculous plot. The +"Bab Ballads," as well as Mr. Gilbert's comic opera librettos, hinge +upon schemes of ludicrous impossibility, which are treated as the +most natural proceedings in the world. The best known of the +"Bab Ballads" is no doubt "The Yarn of the 'Nancy Bell,'" which was +long since set to music and is still a popular song. In addition to +his talent for nonsense, Mr. Gilbert possesses a wonderful rhyming +facility, and juggles cleverly with difficult and unusual metres. + +In regard to his "Bab Ballads," Mr. Gilbert gravely says that +"they are not, as a rule, founded on fact," and, remembering their +gory and often cannibalistic tendencies, we are grateful for this +assurance. An instance of Gilbert's appreciation of other people's +nonsense is his parody of Lear's verse: + + There was an old man in a tree + Who was horribly bored by a bee; + When they said, "Does it buzz?" + He replied, "Yes, it does! + It's a regular brute of a bee!" + +The parody attributed to Gilbert is called "A Nonsense Rhyme in +Blank Verse": + + There was an old man of St. Bees, + Who was stung in the arm by a wasp; + When they asked, "Does it hurt?" + He replied, "No, it doesn't, + But I thought all the while 'twas a Hornet!" + +Thackeray wrote spirited nonsense, but much of it had an +under-meaning, political or otherwise, which bars it from the field +of sheer nonsense. + +The sense of nonsense is no respecter of persons; even staid old +Dr. Johnson possessed it, though his nonsense verses are marked by +credible fact and irrefutable logic. Witness these two examples: + + As with my hat upon my head + I walked along the Strand, + I there did meet another man + With his hat in his hand. + + + The tender infant, meek and mild, + Fell down upon the stone; + The nurse took up the squealing child, + But still the child squealed on. + +The Doctor is also responsible for + + If a man who turnips cries, + Cry not when his father dies, + 'Tis a proof that he would rather + Have a turnip than a father. + +And indeed, among our best writers there are few who have not +dropped into nonsense or semi-nonsense at one time or another. + +A familiar bit of nonsense prose is by S. Foote, and it is said that +Charles Macklin used to recite it with great gusto: + + "She went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf to make + an apple-pie, and at the same time a great she-bear coming + up the street, pops its head into the shop. 'What, no + soap?' so he died. She imprudently married the barber, + and there were present the Pickaninnies, the Joblilies, the + Gayrulies, and the Grand Panjandrum himself with the little + round button on top, and they all fell to playing + catch-as-catch-can + till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their + boots." + +[Transcriber's note: The above paragraph is not an excerpt from a +longer work, but is complete as it stands.] + +An old nonsense verse attributed to an Oxford student, is the well +known: + + A centipede was happy quite, + Until a frog in fun + Said, "Pray, which leg comes after which?" + This raised her mind to such a pitch, + She lay distracted in the ditch + Considering how to run. + +So far as we know, Kipling has never printed anything which can be +called nonsense verse, but it is doubtless only a question of time +when that branch shall be added to his versatility. His "Just So" +stories are capital nonsense prose, and the following rhyme proves +him guilty of at least one Limerick: + + There was a small boy of Quebec, + Who was buried in snow to his neck; + When they said, "Are you friz?" + He replied, "Yes, I is-- + But we don't call this cold in Quebec." + +Among living authors, one who has written a great amount of good +nonsense is Mr. Gelett Burgess, late editor of _The Lark_. + +According to Mr. Burgess' own statement, the test of nonsense is its +quotability, and his work stands this test admirably, for what +absurd rhyme ever attained such popularity as his "Purple Cow"? This +was first printed in _The Lark_, a paper published in San +Francisco for two years, the only periodical of any merit that has +ever made intelligent nonsense its special feature. + +Another of the most talented nonsense writers of to-day is Mr. Oliver +Herford. It is a pity, however, to reproduce his verse without his +illustrations, for as nonsense these are as admirable as the text. +But the greater part of Mr. Herford's work belongs to the realm +of pure fancy, and though of a whimsical delicacy often equal to +Lewis Carroll's, it is rarely sheer nonsense. + +As a proof that good nonsense is by no means an easy achievement, +attention is called to a recent competition inaugurated by the +London _Academy_. + +Nonsense rhymes similar to those quoted from _The Lark_ were asked +for, and though many were received, it is stated that no brilliant +results were among them. + +The prize was awarded to this weak and uninteresting specimen: + + "If half the road was made of jam, + The other half of bread, + How very nice my walks would be," + The greedy infant said. + +These two were also offered by competitors: + + I love to stand upon my head + And think of things sublime + Until my mother interrupts + And says it's dinner-time. + + + + A lobster wooed a lady crab, + And kissed her lovely face. + "Upon my sole," the crabbess cried, + "I wish you'd mind your plaice!" + +Let us, then, give Nonsense its place among the divisions of Humor, +and though we cannot reduce it to an exact science, let us +acknowledge it as a fine art. + + + + + +A NONSENSE ANTHOLOGY + + + +JABBERWOCKY + + 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves + Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; + All mimsy were the borogoves, + And the mome raths outgrabe. + + "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! + The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! + Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun + The frumious Bandersnatch!" + + He took his vorpal sword in hand: + Long time the manxome foe he sought. + So rested he by the Tumtum tree, + And stood awhile in thought. + + And as in uffish thought he stood, + The Jabberwock with eyes of flame, + Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, + And burbled as it came! + + One, two! One, two! And through, and through + The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! + He left it dead, and with its head + He went galumphing back. + + "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? + Come to my arms, my beamish boy! + Oh, frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" + He chortled in his joy. + + 'T was brillig, and the slithy toves + Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; + All mimsy were the borogoves + And the mome raths outgrabe. + + _Lewis Carroll_. + + + + +MORS IABROCHII + + Coesper[1] erat: tunc lubriciles[2] ultravia circum + Urgebant gyros gimbiculosque tophi; + Moestenui visae borogovides ire meatu; + Et profugi gemitus exgrabuêre rathae. + + O fuge Iabrochium, sanguis meus![3] Ille recurvis + Unguibus, estque avidis dentibus ille minax. + Ububae fuge cautus avis vim, gnate! Neque unquam + Faederpax contra te frumiosus eat! + + Vorpali gladio juvenis succingitur: hostis + Manxumus ad medium quaeritur usque diem: + Jamque viâ fesso, sed plurima mente prementi, + Tumtumiae frondis suaserat umbra moram. + + Consilia interdum stetit egnia[4] mene revolvens; + At gravis in densa fronde susuffrus[5] erat, + Spiculaque[6] ex oculis jacientis flammea, tulseam + Per silvam venit burbur[7] labrochii! + + Vorpali, semel atque iterum collectus in ictum, + Persnicuit gladis persnacuitque puer: + Deinde galumphatus, spernens informe Cadaver, + Horrendum monstri rettulit ipse caput. + + Victor Iabrochii, spoliis insignis opimis, + Rursus in amplexus, o radiose, meos! + O frabiose dies! CALLO clamateque CALLA! + Vix potuit lastus chorticulare pater. + + Coesper erat: tune lubriciles ultravia circum + Urgebant gyros gimbiculosque tophi; + Moestenui visæ borogovides ire meatu; + Et profugi gemitus exgrabuêre rathæ. + + _Anonymous_. + +[Footnote 1: _Coesper_ from _Coena_ and _vesper_.] + +[Footnote 2: _lubriciles_ from _lubricus_ and _graciles_. See the +Commentary in Humpty Dumpty's square, which will also explain +_ultravia_, and--if it requires explanation--_moestenui_.] + +[Footnote 3: _Sanguis meus_: cf. Verg. Aen. 6. 836, "Projice tela +manu, sanguis meus!"] + +[Footnote 4: _egnia_: "muffish" = segnis; ... "uffish" = egnis. +This is a conjectural analogy, but I can suggest no better solution.] + +[Footnote 5: _susuffrus_ : "whiffling" :: _susurrus_ : "whistling."] + +[Footnote 6: _spicula_: see the picture.] + +[Footnote 7: _burbur_: apparently a labial variation of _murmur_, +stronger but more dissonant.] + + + + +_THE NYUM-NYUM_ + + The Nyum-Nyum chortled by the sea, + And sipped the wavelets green: + He wondered how the sky could be + So very nice and clean; + + He wondered if the chambermaid + Had swept the dust away, + And if the scrumptious Jabberwock + Had mopped it up that day. + + And then in sadness to his love + The Nyum-Nyum weeping said, + I know no reason why the sea + Should not be white or red. + + I know no reason why the sea + Should not be red, I say; + And why the slithy Bandersnatch + Has not been round to-day. + + He swore he'd call at two o'clock, + And now it's half-past four. + "Stay," said the Nyum-Nyum's love, "I think + I hear him at the door." + + In twenty minutes in there came + A creature black as ink, + Which put its feet upon a chair + And called for beer to drink. + + They gave him porter in a tub, + But, "Give me more!" he cried; + And then he drew a heavy sigh, + And laid him down, and died. + + He died, and in the Nyum-Nyum's cave + A cry of mourning rose; + The Nyum-Nyum sobbed a gentle sob, + And slily blew his nose. + + The Nyum-Nyum's love, we need not state, + Was overwhelmed and sad; + She said, "Oh, take the corpse away, + Or you will drive me mad!" + + The Nyum-Nyum in his supple arms + Took up the gruesome weight, + And, with a cry of bitter fear, + He threw it at his mate. + + And then he wept, and tore his hair, + And threw it in the sea, + And loudly sobbed with streaming eyes + That such a thing could be. + + The ox, that mumbled in his stall, + Perspired and gently sighed, + And then, in sympathy, it fell + Upon its back and died. + + The hen that sat upon her eggs, + With high ambition fired, + Arose in simple majesty, + And, with a cluck, expired. + + The jubejube bird, that carolled there, + Sat down upon a post, + And with a reverential caw, + Gave up its little ghost. + + And ere its kind and loving life + Eternally had ceased, + The donkey, in the ancient barn, + In agony deceased. + + The raven, perched upon the elm, + Gave forth a scraping note, + And ere the sound had died away, + Had cut its tuneful throat. + + The Nyum-Nyum's love was sorrowful; + And, after she had cried, + She, with a brand-new carving-knife, + Committed suicide. + + "Alas!" the Nyum-Nyum said, "alas! + With thee I will not part," + And straightway seized a rolling-pin + And drove it through his heart. + + The mourners came and gathered up + The bits that lay about; + But why the massacre had been, + They could not quite make out. + + One said there was a mystery + Connected with the deaths; + But others thought the silent ones + Perhaps had lost their breaths. + + The doctor soon arrived, and viewed + The corpses as they lay; + He could not give them life again, + So he was heard to say. + + But, oh! it was a horrid sight; + It made the blood run cold, + To see the bodies carried off + And covered up with mould. + + The Toves across the briny sea + Wept buckets-full of tears; + They were relations of the dead, + And had been friends for years. + + The Jabberwock upon the hill + Gave forth a gloomy wail, + When in his airy seat he sat, + And told the awful tale. + + And who can wonder that it made + That loving creature cry? + For he had done the dreadful work + And caused the things to die. + + That Jabberwock was passing bad-- + That Jabberwock was wrong, + And with this verdict I conclude + One portion of my song. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +UFFIA + + When sporgles spanned the floreate mead + And cogwogs gleet upon the lea, + Uffia gopped to meet her love + Who smeeged upon the equat sea. + + Dately she walked aglost the sand; + The boreal wind seet in her face; + The moggling waves yalped at her feet; + Pangwangling was her pace. + + _Harriet R. White_. + + + + +SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE + + The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon, + And wistfully gazed on the sea + Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune + To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee." + + The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek + Was fitfully wafted afar + To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek + With the pulverized rays of a star. + + The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig, + And his heart it grew heavy as lead + As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig + On the opposite side of his head; + + And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill + Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies + To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill + To pick the tears out of his eyes. + + The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance; + And the Squidjum hid under a tub + As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance + With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub! + + And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died, + "My fate there is none to bewail!" + While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide + With a long piece of crape to her tail. + + _James Whitcomb Riley_. + + + + +THE WHANGO TREE + + The woggly bird sat on the whango tree, + Nooping the rinkum corn, + And graper and graper, alas! grew he, + And cursed the day he was born. + His crute was clum and his voice was rum, + As curiously thus sang he, + "Oh, would I'd been rammed and eternally clammed + Ere I perched on this whango tree." + + Now the whango tree had a bubbly thorn, + As sharp as a nootie's bill, + And it stuck in the woggly bird's umptum lorn + And weepadge, the smart did thrill. + He fumbled and cursed, but that wasn't the worst, + For he couldn't at all get free, + And he cried, "I am gammed, and injustibly nammed + On the luggardly whango tree." + + And there he sits still, with no worm in his bill, + Nor no guggledom in his nest; + He is hungry and bare, and gobliddered with care, + And his grabbles give him no rest; + He is weary and sore and his tugmut is soar, + And nothing to nob has he, + As he chirps, "I am blammed and corruptibly jammed, + In this cuggerdom whango tree." + + _1840_. + + + + +SING FOR THE GARISH EYE + + Sing for the garish eye, + When moonless brandlings cling! + Let the froddering crooner cry, + And the braddled sapster sing, + For never and never again, + Will the tottering beechlings play, + For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, + And the throngers croon in May! + + _W.S. Gilbert_. + + + + +THE CRUISE OF THE "P.C." + + Across the swiffling waves they went, + The gumly bark yoked to and fro: + The jupple crew on pleasure bent, + Galored, "This is a go!" + + Beside the poo's'l stood the Gom, + He chirked and murgled in his glee; + While near him, in a grue jipon, + The Bard was quite at sea. + + "Gollop! Golloy! Thou scrumjous Bard! + Take pen (thy stylo) and endite + A pome, my brain needs kurgling hard, + And I will feast tonight." + + That wansome Bard he took his pen, + A flirgly look around he guv; + He squoffled once, he squirled, and then + He wrote what's writ above. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +TO MARIE + + When the breeze from the bluebottle's blustering blim + Twirls the toads in a tooroomaloo, + And the whiskery whine of the wheedlesome whim + Drowns the roll of the rattatattoo, + Then I dream in the shade of the shally-go-shee, + And the voice of the bally-molay + Brings the smell of stale poppy-cods blummered in blee + From the willy-wad over the way. + + Ah, the shuddering shoo and the blinketty-blanks + When the yungalung falls from the bough + In the blast of a hurricane's hicketty-hanks + On the hills of the hocketty-how! + Give the rigamarole to the clangery-whang, + If they care for such fiddlededee; + But the thingumbob kiss of the whangery-bang + Keeps the higgledy-piggle for me. + + _L'ENVOI_ + + It is pilly-po-doddle and aligobung + When the lollypop covers the ground, + Yet the poldiddle perishes punketty-pung + When the heart jimmy-coggles around. + If the soul cannot snoop at the giggle-some cart, + Seeking surcease in gluggety-glug, + It is useless to say to the pulsating heart, + "Panky-doodle ker-chuggetty-chug!" + + _John Bennett_. + + + + +_LUNAR STANZAS_ + + Night saw the crew like pedlers with their packs + Altho' it were too dear to pay for eggs; + Walk crank along with coffin on their backs + While in their arms they bow their weary legs. + + And yet 't was strange, and scarce can one suppose + That a brown buzzard-fly should steal and wear + His white jean breeches and black woollen hose, + But thence that flies have souls is very clear. + + But, Holy Father! what shall save the soul, + When cobblers ask three dollars for their shoes? + When cooks their biscuits with a shot-tower roll, + And farmers rake their hay-cocks with their hoes. + + Yet, 'twere profuse to see for pendant light, + A tea-pot dangle in a lady's ear; + And 'twere indelicate, although she might + Swallow two whales and yet the moon shine clear. + + But what to me are woven clouds, or what, + If dames from spiders learn to warp their looms? + If coal-black ghosts turn soldiers for the State, + With wooden eyes, and lightning-rods for plumes? + + Oh! too, too shocking! barbarous, savage taste! + To eat one's mother ere itself was born! + To gripe the tall town-steeple by the waste, + And scoop it out to be his drinking-horn. + + No more: no more! I'm sick and dead and gone; + Boxed in a coffin, stifled six feet deep; + Thorns, fat and fearless, prick my skin and bone, + And revel o'er me, like a soulless sheep. + + _Henry Coggswell Knight, 1815_. + + + + +NONSENSE + + Oh that my Lungs could bleat like butter'd Pease; + But bleating of my lungs hath Caught the itch, + And are as mangy as the Irish Seas + That offer wary windmills to the Rich. + + I grant that Rainbowes being lull'd asleep, + Snort like a woodknife in a Lady's eyes; + Which makes her grieve to see a pudding creep, + For Creeping puddings only please the wise. + + Not that a hard-row'd herring should presume + To swing a tyth pig in a Cateskin purse; + For fear the hailstons which did fall at Rome, + By lesning of the fault should make it worse. + + For 'tis most certain Winter woolsacks grow + From geese to swans if men could keep them so, + Till that the sheep shorn Planets gave the hint + To pickle pancakes in Geneva print. + + Some men there were that did suppose the skie + Was made of Carbonado'd Antidotes; + But my opinion is, a Whale's left eye, + Need not be coyned all King Harry groates. + + The reason's plain, for Charon's Westerne barge + Running a tilt at the Subjunctive mood, + Beckoned to Bednal Green, and gave him charge + To fasten padlockes with Antartic food. + + The End will be the Mill ponds must be laded, + To fish for white pots in a Country dance; + So they that suffered wrong and were upbraded + Shall be made friends in a left-handed trance. + + _Anonymous, 1617_. + + + + +SONNET FOUND IN A DESERTED MAD HOUSE + + Oh that my soul a marrow-bone might seize! + For the old egg of my desire is broken, + Spilled is the pearly white and spilled the yolk, and + As the mild melancholy contents grease + My path the shorn lamb baas like bumblebees. + Time's trashy purse is as a taken token + Or like a thrilling recitation, spoken + By mournful mouths filled full of mirth and cheese. + + And yet, why should I clasp the earthful urn? + Or find the frittered fig that felt the fast? + Or choose to chase the cheese around the churn? + Or swallow any pill from out the past? + Ah, no Love, not while your hot kisses burn + Like a potato riding on the blast. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE OCEAN WANDERER + + Bright breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave + Through realms that rove not, clouds that cannot save, + Sinks in the sunshine; dazzles o'er the tomb + And mocks the mutiny of Memory's gloom. + Oh! who can feel the crimson ecstasy + That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious Tree? + O'er the high rock the foam of gladness throws, + While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose: + Girds the white spray, and in the blue lagoon, + Weeps like a walrus o'er the waning moon? + Who can declare?--not thou, pervading boy + Whom pibrochs pierce not, crystals cannot cloy;-- + Not thou soft Architect of silvery gleams, + Whose soul would simmer in Hesperian streams, + Th' exhaustless fire--the bosom's azure bliss, + That hurtles, life-like, o'er a scene like this;-- + Defies the distant agony of Day-- + And sweeps o'er hetacombs--away! away! + Say shall Destruction's lava load the gale, + The furnace quiver and the mountain quail? + Say shall the son of Sympathy pretend + His cedar fragrance with our Chiefs to blend? + There, where the gnarled monuments of sand + Howl their dark whirlwinds to the levin brand; + Conclusive tenderness; fraternal grog, + Tidy conjunction; adamantine bog, + Impetuous arrant toadstool; Thundering quince, + Repentant dog-star, inessential Prince, + Expound. Pre-Adamite eventful gun, + Crush retribution, currant-jelly, pun, + Oh! eligible Darkness, fender, sting, + Heav'n-born Insanity, courageous thing. + Intending, bending, scouring, piercing all, + Death like pomatum, tea, and crabs must fall. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +SHE'S ALL MY FANCY PAINTED HIM + + She's all my fancy painted him, + (I make no idle boast); + If he or you had lost a limb, + Which would have suffered most? + + He said that you had been to her, + And seen me here before: + But, in another character + She was the same of yore. + + There was not one that spoke to us, + Of all that thronged the street; + So he sadly got into a 'bus, + And pattered with his feet. + + They told me you had been to her, + And mentioned me to him; + She gave me a good character, + But said I could not swim. + + He sent them word I had not gone + (We know it to be true); + If she should push the matter on, + What would become of you? + + I gave her one, they gave him two, + You gave us three or more; + They all returned from him to you, + Though they were mine before. + + If I or she should chance to be + Involved in this affair, + He trusts to you to set them free, + Exactly as we were. + + My notion was that you had been + (Before she had this fit) + An obstacle that came between + Him, and ourselves, and it. + + Don't let him know she liked them best, + For this must ever be + A secret, kept from all the rest, + Between yourself and me. + + _Lewis Carroll_. + + + + +MY RECOLLECTEST THOUGHTS + + My recollectest thoughts are those + Which I remember yet; + And bearing on, as you'd suppose, + The things I don't forget. + + But my resemblest thoughts are less + Alike than they should be; + A state of things, as you'll confess, + You very seldom see. + + And yet the mostest thought I love + Is what no one believes-- + That I'm the sole survivor of + The famous Forty Thieves! + + _Charles E. Carry_. + + + + +FATHER WILLIAM + + "You are old, Father William," the young man said, + "And your nose has a look of surprise; + Your eyes have turned round to the back of your head, + And you live upon cucumber pies." + + "I know it, I know it," the old man replied, + "And it comes from employing a quack, + Who said if I laughed when the crocodile died + I should never have pains in my back." + + "You are old, Father William," the young man said, + "And your legs always get in your way; + You use too much mortar in mixing your bread, + And you try to drink timothy hay." + + "Very true, very true," said the wretched old man, + "Every word that you tell me is true; + And it's caused by my having my kerosene can + Painted red where it ought to be blue." + + "You are old, Father William," the young man said, + "And your teeth are beginning to freeze, + Your favorite daughter has wheels in her head, + And the chickens are eating your knees." + + "You are right," said the old man, "I cannot deny, + That my troubles are many and great, + But I'll butter my ears on the Fourth of July, + And then I'll be able to skate." + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +IN THE GLOAMING + + The twilight twiles in the vernal vale, + In adumbration of azure awe, + And I listlessly list in my swallow-tail + To the limpet licking his limber jaw. + And it's O for the sound of the daffodil, + For the dry distillings of prawn and prout, + When hope hops high and a heather hill + Is a dear delight and a darksome doubt. + The snagwap sits in the bosky brae + And sings to the gumplet in accents sweet; + The gibwink hasn't a word to say, + But pensively smiles at the fair keeweet. + + And it's O for the jungles of Boorabul. + For the jingling jungles to jangle in, + With a moony maze of mellado mull, + And a protoplasm for next of kin. + O, sweet is the note of the shagreen shard + And mellow the mew of the mastodon, + When the soboliferous Somminard + Is scenting the shadows at set of sun. + And it's O for the timorous tamarind + In the murky meadows of Mariboo, + For the suave sirocco of Sazerkind, + And the pimpernell pellets of Pangipoo. + + _James C. Bayles_. + + + + +BALLAD OF BEDLAM + + Oh, lady, wake! the azure moon + Is rippling in the verdant skies, + The owl is warbling his soft tune, + Awaiting but thy snowy eyes. + + The joys of future years are past, + To-morrow's hopes have fled away; + Still let us love, and e'en at last + We shall be happy yesterday. + + The early beam of rosy night + Drives off the ebon morn afar, + While through the murmur of the light + The huntsman winds his mad guitar. + + Then, lady, wake! my brigantine + Pants, neighs, and prances to be free; + Till the creation I am thine, + To some rich desert fly with me. + + _Punch_. + + + + +'TIS SWEET TO ROAM + + 'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light + Resounds across the deep; + And the crystal song of the woodbine bright + Hushes the rocks to sleep, + And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon + Is bathed in a crumbling dew, + And the wolf rings out with a glittering shout, + To-whit, to-whit, to-whoo! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +HYMN TO THE SUNRISE + + The dreamy crags with raucous voices croon + Across the zephyr's heliotrope career; + I sit contentedly upon the moon + And watch the sunlight trickle round the sphere. + + The shiny trill of jagged, feathered rocks + I hear with glee as swift I fly away; + And over waves of subtle, woolly flocks + Crashes the breaking day! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + + +THE MOON IS UP + + The moon is up, the moon is up! + The larks begin to fly, + And, like a drowsy buttercup, + Dark Phoebus skims the sky, + The elephant, with cheerful voice, + Sings blithely on the spray; + The bats and beetles all rejoice, + Then let me, too, be gay. + + I would I were a porcupine, + And wore a peacock's tail; + To-morrow, if the moon but shine, + Perchance I'll be a whale. + Then let me, like the cauliflower, + Be merry while I may, + And, ere there comes a sunny hour + To cloud my heart, be gay! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +'TIS MIDNIGHT + + 'Tis midnight, and the setting sun + Is slowly rising in the west; + The rapid rivers slowly run, + The frog is on his downy nest. + The pensive goat and sportive cow, + Hilarious, leap from bough to bough. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +UPRISING SEE THE FITFUL LARK + + Uprising see the fitful lark + Unfold his pinion to the stream; + The pensive watch-dog's mellow bark + O'ershades yon cottage like a dream: + The playful duck and warbling bee + Hop gayly on, from tree to tree! + + How calmly could my spirit rest + Beneath yon primrose bell so blue, + And watch those airy oxen drest + In every tint of pearling hue! + As on they hurl the gladsome plough, + While fairy zephyrs deck each brow! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +LIKE TO THE THUNDERING TONE + + Like to the thundering tone of unspoke speeches, + Or like a lobster clad in logic breeches, + Or like the gray fur of a crimson cat, + Or like the mooncalf in a slipshod hat; + E'en such is he who never was begotten + Until his children were both dead and rotten. + + Like to the fiery tombstone of a cabbage, + Or like a crab-louse with its bag and baggage, + Or like the four square circle of a ring, + Or like to hey ding, ding-a, ding-a, ding; + E'en such is he who spake, and yet, no doubt, + Spake to small purpose, when his tongue was out. + + Like to a fair, fresh, fading, wither'd rose, + Or like to rhyming verse that runs in prose, + Or like the stumbles of a tinder-box, + Or like a man that's sound yet sickness mocks; + E'en such is he who died and yet did laugh + To see these lines writ for his epitaph. + + _Bishop Corbet + in 17th century_. + + + + +MY DREAM + + I dreamed a dream next Tuesday week, + Beneath the apple-trees; + I thought my eyes were big pork-pies, + And my nose was Stilton cheese. + The clock struck twenty minutes to six, + When a frog sat on my knee; + I asked him to lend me eighteenpence, + But he borrowed a shilling of me. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +MY HOME + + My home is on the rolling deep, + I spend my time a-feeding sheep; + And when the waves on high are running, + I take my gun and go a-gunning. + I shoot wild ducks down deep snake-holes, + And drink gin-sling from two-quart bowls. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +IN IMMEMORIAM + + We seek to know, and knowing seek; + We seek, we know, and every sense + Is trembling with the great intense, + And vibrating to what we speak. + + We ask too much, we seek too oft; + We know enough and should no more; + And yet we skim through Fancy's lore, + And look to earth and not aloft. + + * * * * * + + O Sea! whose ancient ripples lie + On red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone; + O moon! whose golden sickle's gone, + O voices all! like you I die! + + _Cuthbert Bede_. + + + + +THE HIGHER PANTHEISM IN A NUTSHELL + + One, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is; + Surely, this is not that; but that is assuredly this. + + What, and wherefore, and whence: for under is over and under; + If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without + thunder. + + Doubt is faith in the main; but faith, on the whole, is doubt; + We cannot believe by proof; but could we believe without? + + Why, and whither, and how? for barley and rye are not clover; + Neither are straight lines curves; yet over is under and over. + + One and two are not one; but one and nothing is two; + Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true. + + Parallels all things are; yet many of these are askew; + You are certainly I; but certainly I am not you. + + One, whom we see not, is; and one, who is not, we see; + Fiddle, we know, is diddle; and diddle, we take it, is dee. + + _A.C. Swinburne_. + + + + +DARWINITY + + Power to thine elbow, thou newest of sciences, + All the old landmarks are ripe for decay; + Wars are but shadows, and so are alliances, + Darwin the great is the man of the day. + + All other 'ologies want an apology; + Bread's a mistake--Science offers a stone; + Nothing is true but Anthropobiology-- + Darwin the great understands it alone. + + Mighty the great evolutionist teacher is, + Licking Morphology clean into shape; + Lord! what an ape the Professor or Preacher is, + Ever to doubt his descent from an ape. + + Man's an Anthropoid--he cannot help that, you know-- + First evoluted from Pongos of old; + He's but a branch of the _catarrhine_ cat, you know-- + Monkey I mean--that's an ape with a cold. + + Fast dying out are man's later Appearances, + Cataclysmitic Geologies gone; + Now of Creation completed the clearance is, + Darwin alone you must anchor upon. + + Primitive Life--Organisms were chemical, + Busting spontaneous under the sea; + Purely subaqueous, panaquademical, + Was the original Crystal of Me. + + I'm the Apostle of mighty Darwinity, + Stands for Divinity--sounds much the same-- + Apo-theistico-Pan-Asininity + Only can doubt whence the lot of us came. + + Down on your knees, Superstition and Flunkeydom! + Won't you accept such plain doctrines instead? + What is so simple as primitive Monkeydom + Born in the sea with a cold in its head? + + _Herman Merivale_. + + + + +SONG OF THE SCREW + + A moving form or rigid mass, + Under whate'er conditions + Along successive screws must pass + Between each two positions. + It turns around and slides along-- + This is the burden of my song. + + The pitch of screw, if multiplied + By angle of rotation, + Will give the distance it must glide + In motion of translation. + Infinite pitch means pure translation, + And zero pitch means pure rotation. + + Two motions on two given screws, + With amplitudes at pleasure, + Into a third screw-motion fuse; + Whose amplitude we measure + By parallelogram construction + (A very obvious deduction.) + + Its axis cuts the nodal line + Which to both screws is normal, + And generates a form divine, + Whose name, in language formal, + Is "surface-ruled of third degree." + Cylindroid is the name for me. + + Rotation round a given line + Is like a force along. + If to say couple you incline, + You're clearly in the wrong;-- + 'Tis obvious, upon reflection, + A line is not a mere direction. + + So couples with translations too + In all respects agree; + And thus there centres in the screw + A wondrous harmony + Of Kinematics and of Statics,-- + The sweetest thing in mathematics. + + The forces on one given screw, + With motion on a second, + In general some work will do, + Whose magnitude is reckoned + By angle, force, and what we call + The coefficient virtual. + + Rotation now to force convert, + And force into rotation; + Unchanged the work, we can assert, + In spite of transformation. + And if two screws no work can claim, + Reciprocal will be their name. + + Five numbers will a screw define, + A screwing motion, six; + For four will give the axial line, + One more the pitch will fix; + And hence we always can contrive + One screw reciprocal to five. + + Screws--two, three, four or five, combined + (No question here of six), + Yield other screws which are confined + Within one screw complex. + Thus we obtain the clearest notion + Of freedom and constraint of motion. + + In complex III., three several screws + At every point you find, + Or if you one direction choose, + One screw is to your mind; + And complexes of order III. + Their own reciprocals may be. + + In IV., wherever you arrive, + You find of screws a cone, + On every line in complex V. + There is precisely one; + At each point of this complex rich, + A plane of screws have given pitch. + + But time would fail me to discourse + Of Order and Degree; + Of Impulse, Energy and Force, + And Reciprocity. + All these and more, for motions small, + Have been discussed by Dr. Ball. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +MOORLANDS OF THE NOT + + Across the moorlands of the Not + We chase the gruesome When; + And hunt the Itness of the What + Through forests of the Then. + Into the Inner Consciousness + We track the crafty Where; + We spear the Ego tough, and beard + The Selfhood in his lair. + + With lassos of the brain we catch + The Isness of the Was; + And in the copses of the Whence + We hear the think bees buzz. + We climb the slippery Whichbark tree + To watch the Thusness roll + And pause betimes in gnostic rimes + To woo the Over Soul. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +METAPHYSICS + + Why and Wherefore set out one day + To hunt for a wild Negation. + They agreed to meet at a cool retreat + On the Point of Interrogation. + + But the night was dark and they missed their mark, + And, driven well-nigh to distraction, + They lost their ways in a murky maze + Of utter abstruse abstraction. + + Then they took a boat and were soon afloat + On a sea of Speculation, + But the sea grew rough, and their boat, though tough, + Was split into an Equation. + + As they floundered about in the waves of doubt + Rose a fearful Hypothesis, + Who gibbered with glee as they sank in the sea, + And the last they saw was this: + + On a rock-bound reef of Unbelief + There sat the wild Negation; + Then they sank once more and were washed ashore + At the Point of Interrogation. + + _Oliver Herford_. + + + + +ABSTROSOPHY + + If echoes from the fitful past + Could rise to mental view, + Would all their fancied radiance last + Or would some odors from the blast, + Untouched by Time, accrue? + + Is present pain a future bliss, + Or is it something worse? + For instance, take a case like this: + Is fancied kick a real kiss, + Or rather the reverse? + + Is plenitude of passion palled + By poverty of scorn? + Does Fiction mend where Fact has mauled? + Has Death its wisest victims called + When idiots are born? + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + +ABSTEMIA + + _In Mystic_ Argot _often Confounded with Farrago_ + + If aught that stumbles in my speech + Or stutters in my pen, + Or, claiming tribute, each to each, + Rise, not to fall again, + Let something lowlier far, for me, + Through evanescent shades-- + Than which my spirit might not be + Nourished in fitful ecstasy + Not less to know but more to see + Where that great Bliss pervades. + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + +PSYCHOLOPHON + + _Supposed to be Translated from the Old Parsee_ + + Twine then the rays + Round her soft Theban tissues! + All will be as She says, + When that dead past reissues. + Matters not what nor where, + Hark, to the moon's dim cluster! + How was her heavy hair + Lithe as a feather duster! + Matters not when nor whence; + Flittertigibbet! + Sounds make the song, not sense, + Thus I inhibit! + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + +TIMON OF ARCHIMEDES + + As one who cleaves the circumambient air + Seeking in azure what it lacks in space, + And sees a young and finely chiselled face + Filled with foretastes of wisdom yet more rare; + Touching and yet untouched--unmeasured grace! + A breathing credo and a living prayer-- + Yet of the earth, still earthy; debonair + The while in heaven it seeketh for a place. + + + + So thy dear eyes and thy kind lips but say-- + Ere from his cerements Timon seems to flit: + "What of the reaper grim with sickle keen?" + And then the sunlight ushers in new day + And for our tasks our bodies seem more fit-- + "Might of the night, unfleeing, sight unseen." + + _Charles Battell Loomis_. + + + + +ALONE + + Alone! Alone! + I sit in the solitudes of the moonshades, + Soul-hungering in the moonshade solitudes sit I-- + My heart-lifts beaten down in the wild wind-path. + Oppressed, and scourged and beaten down are my heart-lifts. + I fix my gaze on the eye-star, and the eye-star flings its dart + upon me. + I wonder why my soul is lost in wonder why I am, + And why the eye-star mocks me, + Why the wild wind beats down my heart-lifts; + Why I am stricken here in the moonshade solitudes. + Oh! why am I what I am, + And why am I anything? + Am I not as wild as the wind and more crazy? + Why do I sit in the moonshade, while the eye-star mocks me while I + ask what I am? + + Why? Why? + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +LINES BY A MEDIUM + + I might not, if I could; + I should not, if I might; + Yet if I should I would, + And, shoulding, I should quite! + + I must not, yet I may; + I can, and still I must; + But ah! I cannot--nay, + To must I may not, just! + + I shall, although I will, + But be it understood, + If I may, can, shall--still + I might, could, would, or should! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +TRANSCENDENTALISM + + It is told, in Buddhi-theosophic schools, + There are rules, + By observing which, when mundane labor irks + One can simulate quiescence + By a timely evanescence + From his Active Mortal Essence, + (Or his Works.) + + The particular procedure leaves research + In the lurch, + But, apparently, this matter-moulded form + Is a kind of outer plaster, + Which a well-instructed Master + Can remove without disaster + When he's warm. + + And to such as mourn an Indian Solar Clime + At its prime + 'Twere a thesis most immeasurably fit, + So expansively elastic, + And so plausibly fantastic, + That one gets enthusiastic + For a bit. + + _From the Times of India_. + + + + +INDIFFERENCE + + In loopy links the canker crawls, + Tads twiddle in their 'polian glee, + Yet sinks my heart as water falls. + The loon that laughs, the babe that bawls, + The wedding wear, the funeral palls, + Are neither here nor there to me. + Of life the mingled wine and brine + I sit and sip pipslipsily. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +HEART-FOAM + + Oh! to be wafted away + From this black Aceldama of sorrow, + Where the dust of an earthy to-day + Makes the earth of a dusty to-morrow. + + _W.S. Gilbert_. + + + + +COSSIMBAZAR + + Come fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar, + For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from afar. + "Banoolah! Banoolah!" The Brahmins are nigh, + And the depths of the jungle re-echo their cry. + _Pestonjee Bomanjee_! + Smite the guitar; + Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. + + Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon, + Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon. + Stick to thy music, and oh, let the sound + Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round. + _Famsetjee, Feejeebhoy_! + Sweep the guitar. + Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. + + Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed + Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed? + Art thou a Ghebir--a blinded Parsee? + Not that it matters an atom to me. + _Cursetjee Bomanjee_! + Twang the guitar + Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. + + _Henry S. Leigh_. + + + + +_THE PERSONIFIED SENTIMENTAL_ + + Affection's charm no longer gilds + The idol of the shrine; + But cold Oblivion seeks to fill + Regret's ambrosial wine. + Though Friendship's offering buried lies + 'Neath cold Aversion's snow, + Regard and Faith will ever bloom + Perpetually below. + + I see thee whirl in marble halls, + In Pleasure's giddy train, + Remorse is never on that brow, + Nor Sorrow's mark of pain. + Deceit has marked thee for her own; + Inconstancy the same; + And Ruin wildly sheds its gleam + Athwart thy path of shame. + + _Bret Harte_. + + + + +A CLASSIC ODE + + Oh, limpid stream of Tyrus, now I hear + The pulsing wings of Armageddon's host, + Clear as a colcothar and yet more clear-- + (Twin orbs, like those of which the Parsees boast;) + + Down in thy pebbled deeps in early spring + The dimpled naiads sport, as in the time + When Ocidelus with untiring wing + Drave teams of prancing tigers, 'mid the chime + + Of all the bells of Phicol. Scarcely one + Peristome veils its beauties now, but then-- + Like nascent diamonds, sparkling in the sun, + Or sainfoin, circinate, or moss in marshy fen. + + Loud as the blasts of Tubal, loud and strong, + Sweet as the songs of Sappho, aye more sweet; + Long as the spear of Arnon, twice as long, + What time he hurled it at King Pharaoh's feet. + + _Charles Battell Loomis_. + + + + +WHERE AVALANCHES WAIL + + Where avalanches wail, and green Distress + Sweeps o'er the pallid beak of loveliness: + Where melancholy Sulphur holds her sway: + And cliffs of conscience tremble and obey; + + And where Tartarean rattle snakes expire; + Twisting like tendrils of a hero's pyre? + No! dancing in the meteor's hall of power, + See, Genius ponders o'er Affection's tower! + A form of thund'ring import soars on high, + Hark! 'tis the gore of infant melody: + No more shall verdant Innocence amuse + The lips that death-fraught Indignation glues;-- + Tempests shall teach the trackless tide of thought. + That undiminish'd senselessness is naught; + Freedom shall glare; and oh! ye links divine, + The Poet's heart shall quiver in the brine. + + _Anonymous_ + + + + +BLUE MOONSHINE + + Mingled aye with fragrant yearnings, + Throbbing in the mellow glow, + Glint the silvery spirit-burnings, + Pearly blandishments of woe. + + Aye! forever and forever, + Whilst the love-lorn censers sweep, + Whilst the jasper winds dissever + Amber-like the crystal deep, + + Shall the soul's delirious slumber, + Sea-green vengeance of a kiss, + Teach despairing crags to number + Blue infinities of bliss. + + _Francis G. Stokes_. + + + + +NONSENSE + + Good reader, if you e'er have seen, + When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, + The mermaids with their tresses green + Dancing upon the western billow; + If you have seen at twilight dim, + When the lone spirit's vesper hymn + Floats wild along the winding shore, + The fairy train their ringlets weave + Glancing along the spangled green;-- + If you have seen all this, and more, + God bless me! what a deal you've seen! + + _Thomas Moore_. + + + + +SUPERIOR NONSENSE VERSES + + He comes with herald clouds of dust; + Ecstatic frenzies rend his breast; + A moment, and he graced the earth-- + Now, seek him at the eagle's nest. + + Hark! see'st thou not the torrent's flash + Far shooting o'er the mountain height? + Hear'st not the billow's solemn roar, + That echoes through the vaults of night? + + Anon the murky cloud is riven, + The lightnings leap in sportive play, + And through the clanging doors of heaven, + In calm effulgence bursts the day. + + Hope, peering from her fleecy car, + Smiles welcome to the coming spring, + And birds with blithesome songs of praise + Make every grove and valley ring. + + What though on pinions of the blast + The sea-gulls sweep with leaden flight? + What though the watery caverns deep + Gleam ghostly on the wandering sight? + + Is there no music in the trees + To charm thee with its frolic mirth? + Must Care's wan phantom still beguile + And chain thee to the stubborn earth? + + Lo! Fancy from her magic realm + Pours Boreal gleams adown the pole. + The tidal currents lift and swell-- + Dead currents of the ocean's soul. + + Yet never may their mystic streams + Breathe whispers of the mournful past, + Or Pallas wake her sounding lyre + Mid Ether's columned temples vast. + + Grave History walks again the earth + As erst it did in days of eld, + When seated on the golden throne + Her hand a jewelled sceptre held. + + The Delphian oracle is dumb, + Dread Cumae wafts no words of fate, + To fright the eager souls that press + Through sullen Lethe's iron gate. + + But deeper shadows gather o'er + The vales that sever night and morn; + And darkness folds with brooding wing + The rustling fields of waving corn. + + Then issuing from his bosky lair + The crafty tiger crouches low, + Or thunders from the frozen north + The white bear lapped in Arctic snow. + + Thus shift the scenes till high aloft + The young moon sets her crescent horn, + And in gray evening's emerald sea + The beauteous Star of Love is born. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS + + When moonlike ore the hazure seas + In soft effulgence swells, + When silver jews and balmy breaze + Bend down the Lily's bells; + + When calm and deap, the rosy sleap + Has lapt your soal in dreems, + R Hangeline! R lady mine! + Dost thou remember Jeames? + + I mark thee in the Marble all, + Where England's loveliest shine-- + I say the fairest of them hall + Is Lady Hangeline. + + My soul, in desolate eclipse, + With recollection teems-- + And then I hask, with weeping lips, + Dost thou remember Jeames? + + Away! I may not tell thee hall + This soughring heart endures-- + There is a lonely sperrit-call + That Sorrow never cures; + + There is a little, little Star, + That still above me beams; + It is the Star of Hope--but ar! + Dost thou remember Jeames? + + _W.M. Thackeray_. + + + + +LINES BY A PERSON OF QUALITY + + Fluttering spread thy purple pinions, + Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart, + I a slave in thy dominions, + Nature must give way to art. + + Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, + Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, + See my weary days consuming, + All beneath yon flowery rocks. + + Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping, + Mourned Adonis, darling youth: + Him the boar, in silence creeping, + Gored with unrelenting tooth. + + Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; + Fair Discretion, tune the lyre; + Soothe my ever-waking slumbers; + Bright Apollo, lend thy choir. + + Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, + Armed in adamantine chains, + Lead me to the crystal mirrors, + Watering soft Elysian plains. + + Mournful Cypress, verdant willow, + Gilding my Aurelia's brows, + Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow, + Hear me pay my dying vows. + + Melancholy, smooth Maeander, + Swiftly purling in a round, + On thy margin lovers wander + With thy flowery chaplets crowned. + + Thus when Philomela, drooping, + Softly seeks her silent mate, + So the bird of Juno stooping; + Melody resigns to fate. + + _Alexander Pope_. + + + + +FRANGIPANNI + + Untwine those ringlets! Ev'ry dainty clasp + That shines like twisted sunlight in my eye + Is but the coiling of the jewelled asp + That smiles to see men die. + + Oh, cobra-curlèd! Fierce-fanged fair one! Draw + Night's curtain o'er the landscape of thy hair! + I yield! I kneel! I own, I bless thy law + That dooms me to despair. + + I mark the crimson ruby of thy lips, + I feel the witching weirdness of thy breath! + I droop! I sink into my soul's eclipse,-- + I fall in love with death! + + And yet, vouchsafe a moment! I would gaze + Once more into those sweetly-murderous eyes, + Soft glimmering athwart the pearly haze + That smites to dusk the skies. + + Hast thou no pity? Must I darkly tread + The unknown paths that lead me wide from thee? + Hast thou no garland for this aching head + That soon so low must be? + + No sound? No sigh? No smile? Is _all_ forgot? + Then spin my shroud out of that golden skein + Thou callst thy tresses! _I_ shall stay thee not-- + My struggles were but vain! + + But shall I see thee far beyond the sun, + When the new dawn lights Empyrean scenes? + What matters now? I know the poem's done, + And wonder what the dickens it all means! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +LINES BY A FOND LOVER + + Lovely maid, with rapture swelling, + Should these pages meet thine eye, + Clouds of absence soft dispelling;-- + Vacant memory heaves a sigh. + + As the rose, with fragrance weeping, + Trembles to the tuneful wave, + So my heart shall twine unsleeping, + Till it canopies the grave. + + Though another's smile's requited, + Envious fate my doom should be; + Joy forever disunited, + Think, ah! think, at times on me! + + Oft, amid the spicy gloaming, + Where the brakes their songs instil, + Fond affection silent roaming, + Loves to linger by the rill-- + + There, when echo's voice consoling, + Hears the nightingale complain, + Gentle sighs my lips controlling, + Bind my soul in beauty's chain. + + Oft in slumber's deep recesses, + I thy mirror'd image see; + Fancy mocks the vain caresses + I would lavish like a bee! + + But how vain is glittering sadness! + Hark, I hear distraction's knell! + Torture gilds my heart with madness! + Now forever fare thee well! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +FORCING A WAY + + How many strive to force a way + Where none can go save those who pay, + To verdant plains of soft delight + The homage of the silent night, + When countless stars from pole to pole + Around the earth unceasing roll + In roseate shadow's silvery hue, + Shine forth and gild the morning dew. + + And must we really part for good, + But meet again here where we've stood? + No more delightful trysting-place, + We've watched sweet Nature's smiling face. + No more the landscape's lovely brow, + Exchange our mutual breathing vow. + Then should the twilight draw around + No loving interchange of sound. + + Less for renown than innate love, + These to my wish must recreant prove; + Nor whilst an impulse here remain, + Can ever hope the soul to gain; + For memory scanning all the past, + Relaxes her firm bonds at last, + And gives to candor all the grace + The heart can in its temple trace. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THY HEART + + Thy heart is like some icy lake, + On whose cold brink I stand; + Oh, buckle on my spirit's skate, + And lead, thou living saint, the way + To where the ice is thin-- + That it may break beneath my feet + And let a lover in! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +A LOVE-SONG BY A LUNATIC + + There's not a spider in the sky, + There's not a glowworm in the sea, + There's not a crab that soars on high, + But bids me dream, dear maid, of thee! + + When watery Phoebus ploughs the main, + When fiery Luna gilds the lea, + As flies run up the window-pane, + So fly my thoughts, dear love, to thee! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE PARTERRE + + I don't know any greatest treat + As sit him in a gay parterre, + And sniff one up the perfume sweet + Of every roses buttoning there. + + It only want my charming miss + Who make to blush the self red rose; + Oh! I have envy of to kiss + The end's tip of her splendid nose. + + Oh! I have envy of to be + What grass 'neath her pantoffle push, + And too much happy seemeth me + The margaret which her vestige crush. + + But I will meet her nose at nose, + And take occasion for her hairs, + And indicate her all my woes, + That she in fine agree my prayers. + + THE ENVOY + I don't know any greatest treat + As sit him in a gay parterre, + With Madame who is too more sweet + Than every roses buttoning there. + + _E.H. Palmer_ + + + + +TO MOLLIDUSTA + + When gooseberries grow on the stem of a daisy, + And plum-puddings roll on the tide to the shore, + And julep is made from the curls of a jazey, + Oh, then, Mollidusta, I'll love thee no more. + + When steamboats no more on the Thames shall be going, + And a cast-iron bridge reach Vauxhall from the Nore, + And the Grand Junction waterworks cease to be flowing, + Oh, then, Mollidusta, I'll love thee no more. + + _Planché_. + + + + +JOHN JONES + + _At the Piano_ + + I + + Love me and leave me; what love bids retrieve me? can June's fist + grasp May? + Leave me and love me; hopes eyed once above me like spring's + sprouts, decay; + Fall as the snow falls, when summer leaves grow false--cards + packed for storm's play! + + II + + Nay, say Decay's self be but last May's elf, wing shifted, eye + sheathed-- + Changeling in April's crib rocked, who lets 'scape rills locked + fast since frost breathed-- + Skin cast (think!) adder-like, now bloom bursts bladder-like,-- + bloom frost bequeathed? + + III + + Ah, how can fear sit and hear as love hears it grief's heart's + cracked grate's screech? + Chance lets the gate sway that opens on hate's way and shews on + shame's beach + Crouched like an imp sly change watch sweet love's shrimps lie, a + toothful in each. + + IV + + Time feels his tooth slip on husks wet from Truth's lip, which + drops them and grins-- + Shells where no throb stirs of life left in lobsters since joy + thrilled their fins-- + Hues of the pawn's tail or comb that makes dawn stale, so red for + our sins! + + V + + Leaves love last year smelt now feel dead love's tears melt--flies + caught in time's mesh! + Salt are the dews in which new time breeds new sin, brews blood + and stews flesh; + Next year may see dead more germs than this weeded and reared them + afresh. + + Old times left perish, new time to cherish; life just shifts its + tune; + As, when the day dies, half afraid, eyes the growth of the moon; + Love me and save me, take me or waive me; death takes one so soon! + + _A.C. Swinburne_. + + + + +_THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT_ + + The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea + In a beautiful pea-green boat: + They took some honey, and plenty of money + Wrapped up in a five-pound note. + The Owl looked up to the stars above, + And sang to a small guitar, + "Oh, lovely Pussy, oh, Pussy, my love, + What a beautiful Pussy you are, + You are, + You are! + What a beautiful Pussy you are!" + + Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl, + How charmingly sweet you sing! + Oh, let us be married; too long we have tarried: + But what shall we do for a ring?" + They sailed away for a year and a day, + To the land where the bong-tree grows; + And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood, + With a ring at the end of his nose, + His nose, + His nose, + With a ring at the end of his nose. + + "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling + Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." + So they took it away and were married next day + By the Turkey who lives on the hill. + They dined on mince and slices of quince, + Which they ate with a runcible spoon; + And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, + They danced by the light of the moon, + The moon, + The moon, + They danced by the light of the moon. + + _Edward Lear_. + + + + +A BALLADE OF THE NURSERIE + + She hid herself in the _soirée_ kettle + Out of her Ma's way, wise, wee maid! + Wan was her lip as the lily's petal, + Sad was the smile that over it played. + Why doth she warble not? Is she afraid + Of the hound that howls, or the moaning mole? + Can it be on an errand she hath delayed? + Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul! + + The nightingale sings to the nodding nettle + In the gloom o' the gloaming athwart the glade: + The zephyr sighs soft on Popòcatapètl, + And Auster is taking it cool in the shade: + Sing, hey, for a _gutta serenade_! + Not mine to stir up a storied pole, + No noses snip with a bluggy blade-- + Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul! + + Shall I bribe with a store of minted metal? + With Everton toffee thee persuade? + That thou in a kettle thyself shouldst settle, + When grandly and gaudily all arrayed! + Thy flounces 'ill foul and fangles fade. + Come out, and Algernon Charles 'ill roll + Thee safe and snug in Plutonian plaid-- + Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul! + + + ENVOI + + When nap is none and raiment frayed, + And winter crowns the puddered poll, + A kettle sings ane soote ballade-- + Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul. + + _John Twig_. + + + + +_A BALLAD OF HIGH ENDEAVOR_ + + Ah Night! blind germ of days to be, + Ah me! ah me! + (Sweet Venus, mother!) + What wail of smitten strings hear we? + (Ah me! ah me! + _Hey diddle dee_!) + + Ravished by clouds our Lady Moon, + Ah me! ah me! + (Sweet Venus, mother!) + Sinks swooning in a lady-swoon + (Ah me! ah me! + _Dum diddle dee_!) + + What profits it to rise i' the dark? + Ah me! ah me! + (Sweet Venus, mother!) + If love but over-soar its mark + (Ah me! ah me! + _Hey diddle dee_!) + + What boots to fall again forlorn? + Ah me! ah me! + (Sweet Venus, mother!) + Scorned by the grinning hound of scorn, + (Ah me! ah me! + _Dum diddle dee_!) + + Art thou not greater who art less? + Ah me! ah me! + (Sweet Venus, mother!) + Low love fulfilled of low success? + (Ah me! ah me! + _Hey diddle dee_!) + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG + + Out on the margin of moonshine land, + Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, + Out where the whing-whang loves to stand, + Writing his name with his tail on the sand, + And wiping it out with his oogerish hand; + Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs. + + Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks? + Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, + Or what _is_ the sound the whing-whang seeks, + Crouching low by the winding creeks, + And holding his breath for weeks and weeks? + Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs. + + Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things! + Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, + 'Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings, + And bridal jewels of fangs and stings, + + _James W. Riley_ + + + + +OH! WEARY MOTHER + + The lilies lie in my lady's bower, + (Oh! weary mother, drive the cows to roost;) + They faintly droop for a little hour; + My lady's head droops like a flower. + + She took the porcelain in her hand, + (Oh! weary mother, drive the cows to roost;) + She poured; I drank at her command; + Drank deep, and now--you understand! + (Oh! weary mother, drive the cows to roost.) + + _Barry Pain_. + + + + +SWISS AIR + + I'm a gay tra, la, la, + With my fal, lal, la, la, + And my bright-- + And my light-- + Tra, la, le. [_Repeat_.] + + Then laugh, ha, ha, ha, + And ring, ting, ling, ling, + And sing, fal, la, la, + La, la, le. [_Repeat_.] + + _Bret Harte_. + + + + +_THE BULBUL_ + + The bulbul hummeth like a book + Upon the pooh-pooh tree, + And now and then he takes a look + At you and me, + At me and you. + Kuchi! + Kuchoo! + + _Owen Seaman_. + + + + +_BALLAD_ + + _With an Ancient Refrain_ + + O stoodent A has gone and spent, + With a hey-lililu and a how-low-lan + All his money to a Cent, + And the birk and the broom blooms bonny. + + His Creditors he could not pay, + With a hey-lililu and a how-low-lan, + And Prison proved a shock to A, + And the birk and the broom blooms bonny. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +OH, MY GERALDINE + + Oh, my Geraldine, + No flow'r was ever seen so toodle um. + You are my lum ti toodle lay, + Pretty, pretty queen, + Is rum ti Geraldine and something teen, + More sweet than tiddle lum in May. + Like the star so bright + That somethings all the night, + My Geraldine! + You're fair as the rum ti lum ti sheen, + Hark! there is what--ho! + From something--um, you know, + Dear, what I mean. + Oh! rum! tum!! tum!!! my Geraldine. + + _F.C. Burnand_. + + + + +BUZ, QUOTH THE BLUE FLY + + Buz, quoth the blue fly, + Hum, quoth the bee, + Buz and hum they cry, + And so do we: + In his ear, in his nose, thus, do you see? + He ate the dormouse, else it was he. + + _Ben Jonson + in "The Masque of Oberon_." + + + + +A SONG ON KING WILLIAM III + + As I walked by myself, + And talked to myself, + Myself said unto me, + Look to thyself, + Take care of thyself, + For nobody cares for thee. + + I answered myself, + And said to myself, + In the self-same repartee, + Look to thyself, + Or not look to thyself, + The selfsame thing will be. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THERE WAS A MONKEY + + There was a monkey climbed up a tree, + When he fell down, then down fell he. + + There was a crow sat on a stone, + When he was gone, then there was none. + + There was an old wife did eat an apple, + When she had eat two, she had eat a couple. + + There was a horse going to the mill, + When he went on, he stood not still. + + There was a butcher cut his thumb, + When it did bleed, then blood did come. + + There was a lackey ran a race, + When he ran fast, he ran apace. + + There was a cobbler clouting shoon, + When they were mended, they were done. + + There was a chandler making candle, + When he them strip, he did them handle. + + There was a navy went into Spain, + When it returned, it came again. + + _Anonymous, 1626_. + + + + +THE GUINEA PIG + + There was a little Guinea-pig, + Who, being little, was not big; + He always walked upon his feet, + And never fasted when he eat. + + When from a place he ran away, + He never at that place did stay; + And while he ran, as I am told, + He ne'er stood still for young or old. + + He often squeaked, and sometimes vi'lent, + And when he squeaked he ne'er was silent: + Though ne'er instructed by a cat, + He knew a mouse was not a rat. + + One day, as I am certified, + He took a whim, and fairly died; + And as I'm told by men of sense, + He never has been living since! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THREE CHILDREN + + Three children sliding on the ice + Upon a summer's day, + As it fell out they all fell in, + The rest they ran away. + + Now, had these children been at home, + Or sliding on dry ground, + Ten thousand pounds to one penny + They had not all been drowned. + + You parents all that children have, + And you too that have none, + If you would have them safe abroad + Pray keep them safe at home. + + _London, 1662_ + + + + +_IF_ + + If all the land were apple-pie, + And all the sea were ink; + And all the trees were bread and cheese, + What should we do for drink? + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_A RIDDLE_ + + The man in the wilderness asked of me + How many strawberries grew in the sea. + I answered him as I thought good, + As many as red herrings grow in the wood. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN_ + + There were three jovial huntsmen, + As I have heard them say, + And they would go a-hunting + All on a summer's day. + + All the day they hunted, + And nothing could they find + But a ship a-sailing, + A-sailing with the wind. + + One said it was a ship, + The other said Nay; + The third said it was a house + With the chimney blown away. + + And all the night they hunted, + And nothing could they find; + But the moon a-gliding, + A-gliding with the wind. + + One said it was the moon, + The other said Nay; + The third said it was a cheese, + And half o't cut away. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THREE ACRES OF LAND + + My father left me three acres of land, + Sing ivy, sing ivy; + My father left me three acres of land, + Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy! + + I ploughed it with a ram's horn, + Sing ivy, sing ivy; + And sowed it all over with one peppercorn. + Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy! + + I harrowed it with a bramble bush, + Sing ivy, sing ivy; + And reaped it with my little penknife, + Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy! + + I got the mice to carry it to the barn, + Sing ivy, sing ivy; + And thrashed it with a goose's quill, + Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy! + + I got the cat to carry it to the mill, + Sing ivy, sing ivy; + The miller he swore he would have her paw, + And the cat she swore she would scratch his face, + Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +MASTER AND MAN + + Master I have, and I am his man, + Gallop a dreary dun; + Master I have, and I am his man, + And I'll get a wife as fast as I can; + With a heighly gaily gamberally, + Higgledy piggledy, niggledy, niggledy, + Gallop a dreary dun. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +HYDER IDDLE + + Hyder iddle diddle dell, + A yard of pudding is not an ell; + Not forgetting tweedle-dye, + A tailor's goose will never fly. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +KING ARTHUR + + When good King Arthur ruled the land, + He was a goodly king: + He stole three pecks of barley meal, + To make a bag-pudding. + + A bag-pudding the king did make, + And stuffed it well with plums; + And in it put great lumps of fat, + As big as my two thumbs. + + The king and queen did eat thereof, + And noblemen beside; + And what they could not eat that night, + The queen next morning fried. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +IN THE DUMPS + + We're all in the dumps, + For diamonds are trumps; + The kittens are gone to St. Paul's! + The babies are bit, + The moon's in a fit, + And the houses are built without walls. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +TWEEDLE-DUM AND TWEEDLE-DEE + + Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee + Resolved to have a battle, + For Tweedle-dum said Tweedle-dee + Had spoiled his nice new rattle. + Just then flew by a monstrous crow, + As big as a tar-barrel, + Which frightened both the heroes so + They quite forgot their quarrel. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +MARTIN TO HIS MAN + + Martin said to his man, + Fie! man, fie! + Oh, Martin said to his man, + Who's the fool now? + Martin said to his man, + Fill thou the cup, and I the can; + Thou hast well drunken, man: + Who's the fool now? + + I see a sheep shearing corn, + Fie! man, fie! + I see a sheep shearing corn, + Who's the fool now? + I see a sheep shearing corn, + And a cuckoo blow his horn; + Thou hast well drunken, man: + Who's the fool now? + + I see a man in the moon, + Fie! man, fie! + I see a man in the moon, + Who's the fool now? + I see a man in the moon, + Clouting of St. Peter's shoon, + Thou hast well drunken, man: + Who's the fool now? + + I see a hare chase a hound, + Fie! man, fie! + I see a hare chase a hound, + Who's the fool now? + I see a hare chase a hound, + Twenty mile above the ground; + Thou hast well drunken, man: + Who's the fool now? + + I see a goose ring a hog, + Fie! man, fie! + I see a goose ring a hog, + Who's the fool now? + I see a goose ring a hog, + And a snail that bit a dog; + Thou hast well drunken, man: + Who's the fool now? + + I see a mouse catch the cat, + Fie! man, fie! + I see a mouse catch the cat, + Who's the fool now? + I see a mouse catch the cat, + And the cheese to eat the rat; + Thou hast well drunken, man: + Who's the fool now? + + From _Deuteromelia + printed in the reign of James I_. + + + + +_THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO_ + + I + + On the Coast of Coromandel + Where the early pumpkins blow, + In the middle of the woods + Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + Two old chairs, and half a candle, + One old jug without a handle,-- + These were all his worldly goods: + In the middle of the woods, + These were all the worldly goods + Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + + II + + Once, among the Bong-trees walking + Where the early pumpkins blow, + To a little heap of stones + Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + There he heard a Lady talking, + To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,-- + "'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones! + On that little heap of stones + Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!" + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + + + III + + "Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly! + Sitting where the pumpkins blow, + Will you come and be my wife?" + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + "I am tired of living singly,-- + On this coast so wild and shingly,-- + I'm a-weary of my life; + If you'll come and be my wife, + Quite serene would be my life!" + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + + + IV + + "On this Coast of Coromandel + Shrimps and watercresses grow, + Prawns are plentiful and cheap," + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + "You shall have my chairs and candle, + And my jug without a handle! + Gaze upon the rolling deep + (Fish is plentiful and cheap): + As the sea, my love is deep!" + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + + Lady Jingly answered sadly, + And her tears began to flow,-- + "Your proposal comes too late, + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! + I would be your wife most gladly!" + (Here she twirled her fingers madly,) + "But in England I've a mate! + Yes! you've asked me far too late, + For in England I've a mate, + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!" + + + VI + + Mr. Jones (his name is Handel,-- + Handel Jones, Esquire & Co.) + Dorking fowls delights to send, + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! + Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle, + And your jug without a handle,-- + I can merely be your friend! + Should my Jones more Dorkings send, + I will give you three, my friend! + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! + + + VII + + "Though you've such a tiny body, + And your head so large doth grow,-- + Though your hat may blow away, + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! + Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy, + Yet I wish that I could modi- + fy the words I needs must say! + Will you please to go away? + That is all I have to say, + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! + Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!" + + + VIII + + Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, + Where the early pumpkins blow, + To the calm and silent sea + Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle, + Lay a large and lively Turtle. + "You're the Cove," he said, "for me: + On your back beyond the sea, + Turtle, you shall carry me!" + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + + IX + + Through the silent roaring ocean + Did the Turtle swiftly go; + Holding fast upon his shell + Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + With a sad primaeval motion + Toward the sunset isles of Boshen + Still the Turtle bore him well, + Holding fast upon his shell. + "Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!" + Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + + X + + From the Coast of Coromandel + Did that Lady never go, + On that heap of stones she mourns + For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + On that Coast of Coromandel, + In his jug without a handle + Still she weeps, and daily moans; + On the little heap of stones + To her Dorking Hens she moans, + For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, + For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. + + _Edward Lear_. + + + + +_THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES_ + + The Pobble who has no toes + Had once as many as we; + When they said, "Some day you may lose them all," + He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!" + And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink + Lavender water tinged with pink; + For she said, "The World in general knows + There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!" + + The Pobble who has no toes + Swam across the Bristol Channel; + But before he set out he wrapped his nose + In a piece of scarlet flannel. + For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm + Can come to his toes if his nose is warm; + And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes + Are safe--provided he minds his nose." + + The Pobble swam fast and well, + And when boats or ships came near him, + He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell + So that all the world could hear him. + And all the Sailors and Admirals cried, + When they saw him nearing the farther side, + "He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's + Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!" + + But before he touched the shore-- + The shore of the Bristol Channel, + A sea-green Porpoise carried away + His wrapper of scarlet flannel. + And when he came to observe his feet, + Formerly garnished with toes so neat, + His face at once became forlorn + On perceiving that all his toes were gone! + + And nobody ever knew, + From that dark day to the present, + Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes, + In a manner so far from pleasant. + Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray, + Or crafty mermaids stole them away, + Nobody knew; and nobody knows + How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes! + + The Pobble who has no toes + Was placed in a friendly Bark, + And they rowed him back and carried him up + To his Aunt Jobiska's Park. + And she made him a feast at his earnest wish, + Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish; + And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows, + That Pobbles are happier without their toes." + + _Edward Lear_. + + + + +THE JUMBLIES + + I + + They went to sea in a sieve, they did; + In a sieve they went to sea: + In spite of all their friends could say, + On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, + In a sieve they went to sea. + And when the sieve turned round and round, + And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!" + They called aloud, "Our sieve ain't big; + But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig: + In a sieve we'll go to sea!" + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + + II + + They sailed away in a sieve, they did, + In a sieve they sailed so fast, + With only a beautiful pea-green veil + Tied with a ribbon by way of a sail, + To a small tobacco-pipe mast. + And every one said who saw them go, + "Oh! won't they soon be upset, you know? + For the sky is dark and the voyage is long, + And, happen what may, it's extremely wrong + In a sieve to sail so fast." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + + III + + The water it soon came in, it did; + The water it soon came in: + So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet + In a pinky paper all folded neat; + And they fastened it down with a pin. + And they passed the night in a crockery-jar; + And each of them said, "How wise we are! + Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, + Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, + While round in our sieve we spin." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + + IV + + And all night long they sailed away; + And when the sun went down, + They whistled and warbled a moony song + To the echoing sound of a coppery gong, + In the shade of the mountains brown. + "O Timballoo! How happy we are + When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar! + And all night long, in the moonlight pale, + We sail away with a pea-green sail + In the shade of the mountains brown." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + + V + They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,-- + To a land all covered with trees; + And they bought an owl and a useful cart, + And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart, + And a hive of silvery bees; + And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, + And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws, + And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree, + And no end of Stilton cheese. + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + + VI + + And in twenty years they all came back,-- + In twenty years or more; + And every one said, "How tall they've grown! + For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, + And the hills of the Chankly Bore." + And they drank their health, and gave them a feast + Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; + And every one said, "If we only live, + We, too, will go to sea in a sieve, + To the hills of the Chankly Bore." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + + _Edward Lear_. + + + + +INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY + + I + + Oh! my aged Uncle Arly, + Sitting on a heap of barley + Through the silent hours of night, + Close beside a leafy thicket; + On his nose there was a cricket, + In his hat a Railway-Ticket, + (But his shoes were far too tight.) + + II + + Long ago, in youth, he squander'd + All his goods away, and wander'd + To the Timskoop-hills afar. + There on golden sunsets glazing + Every evening found him gazing, + Singing, "Orb! you're quite amazing! + How I wonder what you are!" + + III + + Like the ancient Medes and Persians, + Always by his own exertions + He subsisted on those hills; + Whiles, by teaching children spelling, + Or at times by merely yelling, + Or at intervals by selling + "Propter's Nicodemus Pills." + + IV + + Later, in his morning rambles, + He perceived the moving brambles + Something square and white disclose:-- + 'Twas a First-class Railway-Ticket; + But on stooping down to pick it + Off the ground, a pea-green cricket + Settled on my uncle's nose. + + V + + Never, nevermore, oh! never + Did that cricket leave him ever,-- + Dawn or evening, day or night; + Clinging as a constant treasure, + Chirping with a cheerious measure, + Wholly to my uncle's pleasure, + (Though his shoes were far too tight.) + + VI + + So for three and forty winters, + Till his shoes were worn to splinters + All those hills he wander'd o'er,-- + Sometimes silent, sometimes yelling; + Till he came to Borley-Melling, + Near his old ancestral dwelling, + (But his shoes were far too tight.) + + VII + + On a little heap of barley + Died my aged Uncle Arly, + And they buried him one night + Close beside the leafy thicket; + There, his hat and Railway-Ticket; + There, his ever faithful cricket; + (But his shoes were far too tight.) + + _Edward Lear_. + + + + +LINES TO A YOUNG LADY + + How pleasant to know Mr. Lear! + Who has written such volumes of stuff! + Some think him ill-tempered and queer, + But a few think him pleasant enough. + + His mind is concrete and fastidious, + His nose is remarkably big; + His visage is more or less hideous, + His beard it resembles a wig. + + He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers, + Leastways if you reckon two thumbs; + Long ago he was one of the singers, + But now he is one of the dumbs. + + He sits in a beautiful parlour, + With hundreds of books on the wall; + He drinks a great deal of Marsala, + But never gets tipsy at all. + + He has many friends, laymen and clerical, + Old Foss is the name of his cat: + His body is perfectly spherical, + He weareth a runcible hat. + + When he walks in a waterproof white, + The children run after him so! + Calling out, "He's come out in his night- + Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!" + + He weeps by the side of the ocean, + He weeps on the top of the hill; + He purchases pancakes and lotion, + And chocolate shrimps from the mill. + + He reads but he cannot speak Spanish, + He cannot abide ginger-beer: + Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish, + How pleasant to know Mr. Lear. + + _Edward Lear_. + + + + +WAYS AND MEANS + + I'll tell thee everything I can; + There's little to relate. + I saw an aged aged man, + A-sitting on a gate. + "Who are you, aged man?" I said, + "And how is it you live?" + His answer trickled through my head + Like water through a sieve. + + He said, "I look for butterflies + That sleep among the wheat: + I make them into mutton-pies, + And sell them in the street. + I sell them unto men," he said, + "Who sail on stormy seas; + And that's the way I get my bread-- + A trifle, if you please." + + But I was thinking of a plan + To dye one's whiskers green, + And always use so large a fan + That they could not be seen. + So, having no reply to give + To what the old man said, + I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!" + And thumped him on the head. + + His accents mild took up the tale; + He said, "I go my ways + And when I find a mountain-rill + I set it in a blaze; + And thence they make a stuff they call + Rowland's Macassar Oil-- + Yet twopence-halfpenny is all + They give me for my toil." + + But I was thinking of a way + To feed oneself on batter, + And so go on from day to day + Getting a little fatter. + I shook him well from side to side, + Until his face was blue; + "Come, tell me how you live," I cried, + "And what it is you do!" + + He said, "I hunt for haddock's eyes + Among the heather bright, + And work them into waistcoat-buttons + In the silent night. + And these I do not sell for gold + Or coin of silvery shine, + But for a copper halfpenny + And that will purchase nine." + + "I sometimes dig for buttered rolls, + Or set limed twigs for crabs; + I sometimes search the grassy knolls + For wheels of Hansom cabs. + And that's the way" (he gave a wink) + "By which I get my wealth-- + And very gladly will I drink + Your Honor's noble health." + + I heard him then, for I had just + Completed my design + To keep the Menai Bridge from rust + By boiling it in wine. + I thanked him much for telling me + The way he got his wealth, + But chiefly for his wish that he + Might drink my noble health. + + And now if e'er by chance I put + My fingers into glue, + Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot + Into a left-hand shoe, + Or if I drop upon my toe + A very heavy weight, + I weep, for it reminds me so + Of that old man I used to know-- + Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow, + Whose hair was whiter than the snow, + Whose face was very like a crow, + With eyes, like cinders, all aglow, + Who seemed distracted with his woe, + Who rocked his body to and fro, + And muttered mumblingly, and low, + As if his mouth were full of dough, + Who snorted like a buffalo-- + That summer evening, long ago, + A-sitting on a gate. + + _Lewis Carroll_ + + + + +THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER + + The sun was shining on the sea, + Shining with all his might: + He did his very best to make + The billows smooth and bright-- + And this was odd, because it was + The middle of the night. + + The moon was shining sulkily, + Because she thought the sun + Had got no business to be there + After the day was done-- + "It's very rude of him," she said, + "To come and spoil the fun!" + + The sea was wet as wet could be, + The sands were dry as dry. + You could not see a cloud, because + No cloud was in the sky: + No birds were flying overhead-- + There were no birds to fly. + + The Walrus and the Carpenter + Were walking close at hand; + They wept like anything to see + Such quantities of sand: + "If this were only cleared away," + They said, "it would be grand!" + + "If seven maids with seven mops + Swept it for half a year, + Do you suppose," the Walrus said, + "That they could get it clear?" + "I doubt it," said the Carpenter, + And shed a bitter tear. + + "O Oysters come and walk with us!" + The Walrus did beseech. + "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, + Along the briny beach: + We cannot do with more than four, + To give a hand to each." + + The eldest Oyster looked at him, + But not a word he said: + The eldest Oyster winked his eye, + And shook his heavy head-- + Meaning to say he did not choose + To leave the oyster-bed. + + But four young Oysters hurried up, + All eager for the treat: + Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, + Their shoes were clean and neat-- + And this was odd, because, you know, + They hadn't any feet. + + Four other Oysters followed them, + And yet another four; + And thick and fast they came at last, + And more, and more, and more-- + All hopping through the frothy waves, + And scrambling to the shore. + + The Walrus and the Carpenter + Walked on a mile or so, + And then they rested on a rock + Conveniently low: + And all the little Oysters stood + And waited in a row. + + "The time has come," the Walrus said, + "To talk of many things: + Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- + Of cabbages--and kings-- + And why the sea is boiling hot-- + And whether pigs have wings." + + "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, + "Before we have our chat; + For some of us are out of breath, + And all of us are fat!" + "No hurry!" said the Carpenter, + They thanked him much for that. + + "A loaf of bread," the Walrus said, + "Is what we chiefly need: + Pepper and vinegar besides + Are very good indeed-- + Now if you 're ready, Oysters dear, + We can begin to feed." + + "But not on us!" the Oysters cried, + Turning a little blue. + "After such kindness that would be + A dismal thing to do!" + "The night is fine," the Walrus said, + "Do you admire the view?" + + "It was so kind of you to come! + And you are very nice!" + The Carpenter said nothing but + "Cut us another slice: + I wish you were not quite so deaf-- + I've had to ask you twice!" + + "It seems a shame," the Walrus said, + "To play them such a trick, + After we've brought them out so far, + And made them trot so quick!" + The Carpenter said nothing but + "The butter's spread too thick!" + + "I weep for you," the Walrus said; + "I deeply sympathize." + With sobs and tears he sorted out + Those of the largest size, + Holding his pocket-handkerchief + Before his streaming eyes. + + "O Oysters," said the Carpenter, + "You've had a pleasant run! + Shall we be trotting home again?" + But answer came there none-- + And this was scarcely odd, because + They'd eaten every one. + + _Lewis Carroll_. + + + + +THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK + + We have sailed many months, we have sailed many weeks, + (Four weeks to the month you may mark), + But never as yet ('tis your Captain who speaks) + Have we caught the least glimpse of a Snark! + + "We have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many days, + (Seven days to the week I allow), + But a Snark, on the which we might lovingly gaze, + We have never beheld until now!" + + "Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again + The five unmistakable marks + By which you may know, wheresoever you go, + The warranted genuine Snarks." + + "Let us take them in order. The first is the taste, + Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp: + Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist, + With a flavour of Will-o-the-wisp." + + "Its habit of getting up late you'll agree + That it carries too far, when I say + That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea, + And dines on the following day." + + "The third is its slowness in taking a jest. + Should you happen to venture on one, + It will sigh like a thing that is greatly distressed; + And it always looks grave at a pun." + + "The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines, + Which it constantly carries about, + And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes-- + A sentiment open to doubt." + + "The fifth is ambition. It next will be right + To describe each particular batch; + Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite, + From those that have whiskers, and scratch." + + "For, although common Snarks do no manner of harm, + Yet I feel it my duty to say + Some are Boojums--" The Bellman broke off in alarm, + For the Baker had fainted away. + + They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice-- + They roused him with mustard and cress-- + They roused him with jam and judicious advice-- + They set him conundrums to guess. + + When at length he sat up and was able to speak, + His sad story he offered to tell; + And the Bellman cried, "Silence! Not even a shriek!" + And excitedly tingled his bell. + + "My father and mother were honest, though poor--" + "Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste, + "If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark, + We have hardly a minute to waste!" + + "I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears, + "And proceed without further remark + To the day when you took me aboard of your ship + To help you in hunting the Snark." + + "You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care; + You may hunt it with forks and hope; + You may threaten its life with a railway-share; + You may charm it with smiles and soap--" + + "I said it in Hebrew--I said it in Dutch-- + I said it in German and Greek; + But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much) + That English is what you speak!" + + "The thing can be done," said the Butcher, "I think + The thing must be done, I am sure. + The thing shall be done! Bring me paper and ink, + The best there is time to procure." + + So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them not, + As he wrote with a pen in each hand, + And explained all the while in a popular style + Which the Beaver could well understand. + + "Taking Three as the subject to reason about-- + A convenient number to state-- + We add Seven and Ten and then multiply out + By One Thousand diminished by Eight." + + "The result we proceed to divide, as you see, + By Nine Hundred and Ninety and Two; + Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be + Exactly and perfectly true." + + "As to temper, the Jubjub's a desperate bird, + Since it lives in perpetual passion: + Its taste in costume is entirely absurd-- + It is ages ahead of the fashion." + + "Its flavor when cooked is more exquisite far + Than mutton or oysters or eggs: + (Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar, + And some, in mahogany kegs.)" + + "You boil it in sawdust; you salt it in glue: + You condense it with locusts and tape; + Still keeping one principal object in view-- + To preserve its symmetrical shape." + + The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day, + But he felt that the Lesson must end, + And he wept with delight in attempting to say + He considered the Beaver his friend. + + _Lewis Carroll_. + + + + +_SYLVIE AND BRUNO_ + + He thought he saw a Banker's clerk + Descending from the 'bus; + He looked again, and found it was + A Hippopotamus. + "If this should stay to dine," he said, + "There won't be much for us!" + + He thought he saw an Albatross + That fluttered round the lamp: + He looked again, and found it was + A Penny-Postage-Stamp. + "You'd best be getting home," he said; + "The nights are very damp!" + + He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four + That stood beside his bed: + He looked again, and found it was + A Bear without a Head. + "Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing! + It's waiting to be fed!" + + He thought he saw a Kangaroo + That worked a coffee-mill: + He looked again, and found it was + A Vegetable-Pill. + "Were I to swallow this," he said, + "I should be very ill!" + + He thought he saw a Rattlesnake + That questioned him in Greek: + He looked again, and found it was + The Middle of Next Week. + "The one thing I regret," he said, + "Is that it cannot speak!" + + _Lewis Carroll_. + + + + +GENTLE ALICE BROWN + + It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown. + Her father was the terror of a small Italian town; + Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing; + But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing. + + As Alice was a-sitting at her window-sill one day, + A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way; + She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true, + That she thought, "I could be happy with a gentleman like you!" + + And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen, + She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten, + A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road + (The Custom-house was fifteen minutes' walk from her abode.) + + But Alice was a pious girl, who knew it wasn't wise + To look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes; + So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed, + The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed. + + "Oh, holy father," Alice said, "'twould grieve you, would it not? + To discover that I was a most disreputable lot! + Of all unhappy sinners I'm the most unhappy one!" + The padre said, "Whatever have you been and gone and done?" + + "I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad, + I've assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad. + I've planned a little burglary and forged a little check, + And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!" + + The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear-- + And said, "You mustn't judge yourself too heavily, my dear-- + It's wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece; + But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece." + + "Girls will be girls--you're very young, and flighty in your mind; + Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find: + We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricks-- + Let's see--five crimes at half-a-crown--exactly twelve-and-six." + + "Oh, father," little Alice cried, "your kindness makes me weep, + You do these little things for me so singularly cheap-- + Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget; + But O there is another crime I haven't mentioned yet!" + + "A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes, + I've noticed at my window, as I've sat a-catching flies; + He passes by it every day as certain as can be-- + I blush to say I've winked at him and he has winked at me!" + + "For shame," said Father Paul, "my erring daughter! On my word + This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard. + Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand + To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band!" + + "This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so! + They are the most remunerative customers I know; + For many many years they've kept starvation from my doors, + I never knew so criminal a family as yours!" + + "The common country folk in this insipid neighborhood + Have nothing to confess, they're so ridiculously good; + And if you marry any one respectable at all, + Why, you'll reform, and what will then become of Father Paul?" + + The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown, + And started off in haste to tell the news to Robber Brown; + To tell him how his daughter, who now was for marriage fit, + Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it. + + Good Robber Brown, he muffled up his anger pretty well, + He said, "I have a notion, and that notion I will tell; + I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits, + And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits." + + "I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two, + Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do-- + A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall + When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small." + + He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square; + He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware; + He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head, + And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to bed. + + And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her mind, + She nevermore was guilty of a weakness of the kind, + Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty hand + On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band. + + _W.S. Gilbert_. + + + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB + + Strike the concertina's melancholy string! + Blow the spirit-stirring harp like any thing! + Let the piano's martial blast + Rouse the Echoes of the Past, + For of Agib, Prince of Tartary, I sing! + + Of Agib, who amid Tartaric scenes, + Wrote a lot of ballet-music in his teens: + His gentle spirit rolls + In the melody of souls-- + Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means + + Of Agib, who could readily, at sight, + Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite: + He would diligently play + On the Zoetrope all day, + And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night. + + One winter--I am shaky in my dates-- + Came two starving minstrels to his gates, + Oh, Allah be obeyed, + How infernally they played! + I remember that they called themselves the "Oiiaits." + + Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, + I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, + Photographically lined + On the tablet of my mind, + When a yesterday has faded from its page! + + Alas! Prince Agib went and asked them in! + Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scents, and tin. + And when (as snobs would say) + They "put it all away," + He requested them to tune up and begin. + + Though its icy horror chill you to the core, + I will tell you what I never told before, + The consequences true + Of that awful interview, + _For I listened at the key-hole in the door_! + + They played him a sonata--let me see! + "_Medulla oblongata_"--key of G. + Then they began to sing + That extremely lovely thing, + "Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp." + + He gave them money, more than they could count, + Scent, from a most ingenious little fount, + More beer, in little kegs, + Many dozen hard-boiled eggs, + And goodies to a fabulous amount. + + Now follows the dim horror of my tale, + And I feel I'm growing gradually pale, + For, even at this day, + Though its sting has passed away, + When I venture to remember it, I quail! + + The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, + All-overish it made me for to feel! + "Oh Prince," he says, says he, + "_If a Prince indeed you be_, + I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!" + + "Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death, + To what the gent who's speaking to you, saith: + No 'Oiiaits' in truth are we, + As you fancy that we be, + For (ter-remble) I am Aleck--this is Beth!" + + Said Agib, "Oh! accursed of your kind, + I have heard that you are men of evil mind!" + Beth gave a dreadful shriek-- + But before he'd time to speak + I was mercilessly collared from behind. + + In number ten or twelve or even more, + They fastened me, full length upon the floor. + On my face extended flat + I was walloped with a cat + For listening at the key-hole of the door. + + Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill! + (I can feel the place in frosty weather still). + For a week from ten to four + I was fastened to the floor, + While a mercenary wopped me with a will! + + They branded me, and broke me on a wheel, + And they left me in an hospital to heal; + And, upon my solemn word, + I have never never heard + What those Tartars had determined to reveal. + + But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, + I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, + Photographically lined + On the tablet of my mind, + When a yesterday has faded from its page! + + _W.S. Gilbert_. + + + + +FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA, OR THE GENTLE PIEMAN + + * * * * * + + "Love you?" said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her + sweetly-- + For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly-- + + "Tell me whither I may his me, tell me, dear one, that I may know-- + Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?" + + But she said, "It isn't polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes, + Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes." + + Seven weary years I wandered--Patagonia, China, Norway, + Till at last I sank exhausted, at a pastrycook his doorway. + + And he chirped and sang and skipped about, and laughed with + laughter hearty, + He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party. + + And I said, "Oh, gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? + Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?" + + * * * * * + + "Then I polish all the silver which a supper-table lacquers; + Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers." + + "Found at last!" I madly shouted. "Gentle pieman, you astound me!" + Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me. + + And I shouted and I danced until he'd quite a crowd around him, + And I rushed away, exclaiming, "I have found him! I have found him!" + + _W.S. Gilbert_. + + + + +GENERAL JOHN + + The bravest names for fire and flames, + And all that mortal durst, + Were General John and Private James, + Of the Sixty-seventy-first. + + General John was a soldier tried, + A chief of warlike dons; + A haughty stride and a withering pride + Were Major-General John. + + A sneer would play on his martial phiz, + Superior birth to show; + "Pish!" was a favorite word of his, + And he often said "Ho! Ho!" + + Full-Private James described might be, + As a man of mournful mind; + No characteristic trait had he + Of any distinctive kind. + + From the ranks, one day, cried Private James, + "Oh! Major-General John, + I've doubts of our respective names, + My mournful mind upon." + + "A glimmering thought occurs to me, + (Its source I can't unearth), + But I've a kind of notion we + Were cruelly changed at birth." + + "I've a strange idea, each other's names + That we have each got on. + Such things have been," said Private James. + "They have!" sneered General John. + + "My General John, I swear upon + My oath I think it is so--" + "Pish!" proudly sneered his General John, + And he also said "Ho! ho!" + + "My General John! my General John! + My General John!" quoth he, + "This aristocratical sneer upon + Your face I blush to see." + + "No truly great or generous cove + Deserving of them names + Would sneer at a fixed idea that's drove + In the mind of a Private James!" + + Said General John, "Upon your claims + No need your breath to waste; + If this is a joke, Full-Private James, + It's a joke of doubtful taste." + + "But being a man of doubtless worth, + If you feel certain quite + That we were probably changed at birth, + I'll venture to say you're right." + + So General John as Private James + Fell in, parade upon; + And Private James, by change of names, + Was Major-General John. + + _W.S. Gilbert_ + + + + +LITTLE BILLEE + + There were three sailors of Bristol City + Who took a boat and went to sea, + But first with beef and captain's biscuits, + And pickled pork they loaded she. + + There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy, + And the youngest he was little Billee. + Now when they'd got as far as the Equator, + They'd nothing left but one split pea. + + Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, + "I am extremely hungaree." + To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, + "We've nothing left, us must eat we." + + Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, + "With one another we shouldn't agree! + There's little Bill, he's young and tender, + We're old and tough, so let's eat he." + + "O Billy! we're going to kill and eat you, + So undo the button of your chemie." + When Bill received this information, + He used his pocket-handkerchie, + + "First let me say my catechism, + Which my poor mother taught to me." + "Make haste! make haste!" says guzzling Jimmy, + While Jack pulled out his snicker-snee. + + Then Bill went up to the main-top-gallant-mast, + And down he fell on his bended knee, + He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment + When up he jumps--"There's land I see!" + + "Jerusalem and Madagascar, + And North and South Amerikee, + There's the British flag a-riding at anchor, + With Admiral Napier, K.C.B." + + So when they got aboard of the Admiral's, + He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee, + But as for little Bill, he made him + The captain of a Seventy-three. + + _W. M. Thackeray_. + + + + +_THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE_" + + On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, + De win' she blow, blow, blow, + An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante" + Got scar't an' run below-- + For de win' she blow lak hurricane; + Bimeby she blow some more, + An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre + Wan arpent from de shore. + + De captinne walk on de fronte deck, + An' walk de him' deck too-- + He call de crew from up de hole, + He call de cook also. + De cook she's name was Rosie, + She come from Montreal, + Was chambre maid on lumber barge, + On de Grande Lachine Canal. + + De win' she blow from nor'-eas'-wes',-- + De sout' win' she blow too, + Wen Rosie cry, "Mon cher captinne, + Mon cher, w'at I shall do?" + Den de captinne t'row de big ankerre, + But still de scow she dreef, + De crew he can't pass on de shore, + Becos he los' hees skeef. + + De night was dark lak wan black cat, + De wave run high an' fas', + Wen de captinne tak' de Rosie girl + An' tie her to de mas'. + Den he also tak' de life preserve, + An' jomp off on de lak', + An' say, "Good-by, ma Rosie dear, + I go down for your sak'." + + Nex' morning very early + 'Bout ha'f-pas' two--t'ree--four-- + De captinne--scow--an' de poor Rosie + Was corpses on de shore. + For de win' she blow lak' hurricane, + Bimeby she blow some more, + An' de scow, bus' up on Lac St. Pierre, + Wan arpent from de shore. + + MORAL + + Now all good wood scow sailor man + Tak' warning by dat storm + An' go an' marry some nice French girl + An' live on wan beeg farm. + De win' can blow lak' hurricane + An' s'pose she blow some more, + You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre + So long you stay on shore. + + _William H. Drummond_. + + + + +THE SHIPWRECK + + Upon the poop the captain stands, + As starboard as may be; + And pipes on deck the topsail hands + To reef the topsail-gallant strands + Across the briny sea. + + "Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!" + The captain loudly cried; + "Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay! + For we must luff for Falmouth Bay + Before to-morrow's tide." + + The good ship was a racing yawl, + A spare-rigged schooner sloop, + Athwart the bows the taffrails all + In grummets gay appeared to fall, + To deck the mainsail poop. + + But ere they made the Foreland Light, + And Deal was left behind, + The wind it blew great gales that night, + And blew the doughty captain tight, + Full three sheets in the wind. + + And right across the tiller head + The horse it ran apace, + Whereon a traveller hitched and sped + Along the jib and vanished + To heave the trysail brace. + + What ship could live in such a sea? + What vessel bear the shock? + "Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee! + Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree, + With many a running block!" + + And right upon the Scilly Isles + The ship had run aground; + When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles + Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles, + And slews the compass round. + + "Saved! saved!" with joy the sailors cry, + And scandalize the skiff; + As taut and hoisted high and dry + They see the ship unstoppered lie + Upon the sea-girt cliff. + + And since that day in Falmouth Bay, + As herring-fishers trawl, + The younkers hear the boatswains say + How Captain Giles that awful day + Preserved the sinking yawl. + + _E.H. Palmer_. + + + + +_A SAILOR'S YARN_ + + _As narrated by the second mate to one of the marines_. + + This is the tale that was told to me, + By a battered and shattered son of the sea: + To me and my messmate, Silas Green, + When I was a guileless young marine. + + "'T was the good ship 'Gyacutus,' + All in the China seas; + With the wind a lee, and the capstan free, + To catch the summer breeze." + + "'T was Captain Porgie on the deck + To the mate in the mizzen hatch, + While the boatswain bold, in the for'ard hold, + Was winding his larboard watch." + + "'Oh, how does our good ship head to-night? + How heads our gallant craft?' + 'Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by N. + And the binnacle lies abaft.'" + + "'Oh, what does the quadrant indicate? + And how does the sextant stand?' + 'Oh, the sextant's down to the freezing point + And the quadrant's lost a hand.'" + + "'Oh, if the quadrant's lost a hand, + And the sextant falls so low, + It's our body and bones to Davy Jones + This night are bound to go." + + "'Oh, fly aloft to the garboard-strake, + And reef the spanker boom, + Bend a stubbing sail on the martingale + To give her weather room." + + "'Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold + What water do you find?' + 'Four foot and a half by the royal gaff + And rather more behind.'" + + "'Oh, sailors, collar your marline spikes + And each belaying pin; + Come, stir your stumps to spike the pumps, + Or more will be coming in.'" + + "'They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps + They spliced the mizzen brace; + Aloft and alow they worked, but, oh! + The water gained apace." + + "They bored a hole below her line + To let the water out, + But more and more with awful roar + The water in did spout." + + "Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship-- + And he was a lubber brave-- + 'I've several wives in various ports, + And my life I'd like to save.'" + + "Then up spoke the captain of marines, + Who dearly loved his prog: + 'It's awful to die, and it's worse to be dry, + And I move we pipes to grog.'" + + "Oh, then 'twas the gallant second-mate + As stopped them sailors' jaw, + 'Twas the second-mate whose hand had weight + In laying down the law." + + "He took the anchor on his back, + And leapt into the main; + Through foam and spray he clove his way, + And sunk, and rose again." + + "Through foam and spray a league away + The anchor stout he bore, + Till, safe at last, I made it fast, + And warped the ship ashore." + + This is the tale that was told to me, + By that modest and truthful son of the sea. + And I envy the life of a second mate, + Though captains curse him and sailors hate; + For he ain't like some of the swabs I've seen, + As would go and lie to a poor marine. + + _J.J. Rache_. + + + + +THE WALLOPING WINDOW-BLIND + + A capital ship for an ocean trip + Was the "Walloping Window-blind"-- + No gale that blew dismayed her crew + Or troubled the captain's mind. + The man at the wheel was taught to feel + Contempt for the wildest blow, + And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared, + That he'd been in his bunk below. + + The boatswain's mate was very sedate, + Yet fond of amusement, too; + And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch, + While the captain tickled the crew. + And the gunner we had was apparently mad, + For he sat on the after rail, + And fired salutes with the captain's boots, + In the teeth of the booming gale. + + The captain sat in a commodore's hat + And dined in a royal way + On toasted pigs and pickles and figs + And gummery bread each day. + But the cook was Dutch and behaved as such: + For the food that he gave the crew + Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns + Chopped up with sugar and glue. + + And we all felt ill as mariners will, + On a diet that's cheap and rude; + And we shivered and shook as we dipped the cook + In a tub of his gluesome food. + Then nautical pride we laid aside, + And we cast the vessel ashore + On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles, + And the Anagazanders roar. + + Composed of sand was that favored land, + And trimmed with cinnamon straws; + And pink and blue was the pleasing hue + Of the Tickletoeteaser's claws. + And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge + And shot at the whistling bee; + And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats + As they danced in the sounding sea. + + On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark, + We fed, till we all had grown + Uncommonly shrunk,--when a Chinese junk + Came by from the torriby zone. + She was stubby and square, but we didn't much care, + And we cheerily put to sea; + And we left the crew of the junk to chew + The bark of the rubagub tree. + + _Charles E. Carryl_. + + + + +THE ROLLICKING MASTODON + + A rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain, + In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree. + His face was plain, but his jocular vein + Was a burst of the wildest glee. + His voice was strong and his laugh so long + That people came many a mile, + And offered to pay a guinea a day + For the fractional part of a smile. + + The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide-- + Indeed, 't was a matter of family pride; + And oh! so proud of his jocular vein + Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. + + The Rollicking Mastodon said one day, + "I feel that I need some air, + For a little ozone's a tonic for bones, + As well as a gloss for the hair." + So he skipped along and warbled a song + In his own triumphulant way. + His smile was bright and his skip was light + As he chirruped his roundelay. + + The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along, + And sang what Mastodons call a song; + But every note of it seemed to pain + The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. + + A Little Peetookle came over the hill, + Dressed up in a bollitant coat; + And he said, "You need some harroway seed, + And a little advice for your throat." + The Mastodon smiled and said, "My child, + There's a chance for your taste to grow. + If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find + How little, how little you know." + + The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground + At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound; + For he felt it a sort of a musical stain + On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. + "Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?" + Said the Little Peetookle. "Dear me! + It certainly seems your horrible screams + Intended for music must be!" + + The Mastodon stopped, his ditty he dropped, + And murmured, "Good morning, my dear! + I never will sing to a sensitive thing + That shatters a song with a sneer!" + The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu." + Of course 't was a sensible thing to do; + For Little Peetookle is spared the strain + Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. + + _Arthur Macy_. + + + + +THE SILVER QUESTION + + The Sun appeared so smug and bright, + One day, that I made bold + To ask him what he did each night + With all his surplus gold. + + He flushed uncomfortably red, + And would not meet my eye. + "I travel round the world," he said, + "And travelling rates are high." + + With frigid glance I pierced him through. + He squirmed and changed his tune. + Said he: "I will be frank with you: + I lend it to the Moon." + + "Poor thing! You know she's growing old + And hasn't any folk. + She suffers terribly from cold, + And half the time she's broke." + + * * * * * + + That evening on the beach I lay + Behind a lonely dune, + And as she rose above the bay + I buttonholed the Moon. + + "Tell me about that gold," said I. + I saw her features fall. + "You see, it's useless to deny; + The Sun has told me all." + + "Sir!" she exclaimed, "how _can_ you try + An honest Moon this way? + As for the gold, I put it by + Against a rainy day." + + I smiled and shook my head. "All right, + If you _must_ know," said she, + "I change it into silver bright + Wherewith to tip the Sea." + + "He is so faithful and so good, + A most deserving case; + If he should leave, I fear it would + Be hard to fill his place." + + * * * * * + + When asked if they accepted tips, + The waves became so rough; + I thought of those at sea in ships, + And felt I'd said enough. + + For if one virtue I have learned, + 'Tis _tact_; so I forbore + To press the matter, though I burned + To ask one question more. + + I hate a scene, and do not wish + To be mixed up in gales, + But, oh, I longed to ask the Fish + Whence came their silver scales! + + _Oliver Herfora_. + + + + +THE SINGULAR SANGFROID OF BABY BUNTING + + Bartholomew Benjamin Bunting + Had only three passions in life, + And one of the trio was hunting, + The others his babe and his wife. + And always, so rigid his habits, + He frolicked at home until two, + And then started hunting for rabbits, + And hunted till fall of the dew. + + Belinda Bellonia Bunting, + Thus widowed for half of the day, + Her duty maternal confronting, + With baby would patiently play. + When thus was her energy wasted, + A patented food she'd dispense. + (She had bought it the day that they pasted + The posters all over her fence.) + + But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting, + The infant thus blindly adored, + Replied to her worship by grunting, + Which showed he was brutally bored. + 'Twas little he cared for the troubles + Of life. Like a crab on the sands, + From his sweet little mouth he blew bubbles, + And threatened the air with his hands. + + Bartholomew Benjamin Bunting + One night, as his wife let him in, + Produced as the fruit of his hunting + A cottontail's velvety skin, + Which, seeing young Bonaparte wriggle, + He gave him without a demur, + And the babe with an aqueous giggle + He swallowed the whole of the fur! + + Belinda Bellonia Bunting + Behaved like a consummate loon: + Her offspring in frenzy confronting + She screamed herself mottled maroon: + She felt of his vertebrae spinal, + Expecting he'd surely succumb, + And gave him one vigorous, final, + Hard prod in the pit of his tum. + + But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting, + At first but a trifle perplexed, + By a change in his manner of grunting + Soon showed he was horribly vexed. + He displayed not a sign of repentance + But spoke, in a dignified tone, + The only consecutive sentence + He uttered. 'Twas: "Lemme alone." + + The Moral: The parent that uses + Precaution his folly regrets: + An infant gets all that he chooses, + An infant chews all that he gets. + + And colics? He constantly has 'em + So long as his food is the best, + But he'll swallow with never a spasm + What ostriches couldn't digest. + + _Guy Wetmore Carryl_. + + + + +FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY + + Ben Battle was a soldier bold, + And used to war's alarms: + But a cannon-ball took off his legs, + So he laid down his arms! + + Now, as they bore him off the field, + Said he, "Let others shoot, + For here I leave my second leg, + And the Forty-second Foot!" + + The army surgeons made him limbs: + Said he, "They're only pegs; + But there's as wooden members quite, + As represent my legs!" + + Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, + Her name was Nelly Gray; + So he went to pay her his devours + When he'd devoured his pay! + + But when he called on Nelly Gray, + She made him quite a scoff; + And when she saw his wooden legs, + Began to take them off! + + "O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! + Is this your love so warm? + The love that loves a scarlet coat, + Should be more uniform!" + + Said she, "I loved a soldier once, + For he was blithe and brave; + But I will never have a man + With both legs in the grave!" + + "Before you had those timber toes, + Your love I did allow, + But then you know, you stand upon + Another footing now!" + + "O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! + For all your jeering speeches, + At duty's call I left my legs + In Badajos's breaches!" + + "Why, then," said she, "you've lost the feet + Of legs in war's alarms, + And now you cannot wear your shoes + Upon your feats of arms!" + + "Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray; + I know why you refuse: + Though I've no feet--some other man + Is standing in my shoes!" + + "I wish I ne'er had seen your face; + But now a long farewell! + For you will be my death--alas! + You will not be my Nell!" + + Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, + His heart so heavy got-- + And life was such a burden grown, + It made him take a knot! + + So round his melancholy neck + A rope he did entwine, + And, for his second time in life + Enlisted in the Line! + + One end he tied around a beam, + And then removed his pegs, + And as his legs were off,--of course, + He soon was off his legs! + + And there he hung till he was dead + As any nail in town,-- + For though distress had cut him up, + It could not cut him down! + + A dozen men sat on his corpse, + To find out why he died-- + And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, + With a stake in his inside! + + _Thomas Hood_. + + + + +THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN + + By the side of a murmuring stream an elderly gentleman sat. + On the top of his head was a wig, and a-top of his wig was his hat. + + The wind it blew high and blew strong, as the elderly gentleman sat; + And bore from his head in a trice, and plunged in the river his hat. + + The gentleman then took his cane which lay by his side as he sat; + And he dropped in the river his wig, in attempting to get out his + hat. + + His breast it grew cold with despair, and full in his eye madness + sat; + So he flung in the river his cane to swim with his wig, and his hat. + + Cool reflection at last came across while this elderly gentleman + sat; + So he thought he would follow the stream and look for his cane, wig, + and hat. + + His head being thicker than common, o'er-balanced the rest of his + fat; + And in plumped this son of a woman to follow his wig, cane, and hat. + + _George Canning_. + + + + +MALUM OPUS + + Prope ripam fluvii solus + A senex silently sat; + Super capitum ecce his wig, + Et wig super, ecce his hat. + + Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, + Dum elderly gentleman sat; + Et a capite took up quite torve + Et in rivum projecit his hat. + + Tunc soft maledixit the old man, + Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat + Et cum scipio poked in the water, + Conatus servare his hat. + + Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, + The moment it saw him at that; + Et whisked his novum scratch wig + In flumen, along with his hat. + + Ab imo pectore damnavit + In coeruleus eye dolor sat; + Tunc despairingly threw in his cane + Nare cum his wig and his hat. + + L'ENVOI + + Contra bonos mores, don't swear + It 'est wicked you know (verbum sat), + Si this tale habet no other moral + Mehercle! You're gratus to that! + + _James Appleton Morgan_. + + + + +_ÆSTIVATION_ + + In candent ire the solar splendor flames; + The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames; + His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes, + And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes. + + How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, + Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, + Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, + And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine. + + To me also, no verdurous visions come + Save you exiguous pool's confervascum,-- + No concave vast repeats the tender hue + That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue. + + Me wretched! Let me curr to quercine shades! + Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids! + Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous chump,-- + Depart,--be off,--excede,--evade,--erump! + + _O. W. Holmes_. + + + + +A HOLIDAY TASK + + _Air--Jullien's Polka_ + + Qui nunc dancere vult modo + Wants to dance in the fashion, oh! + Discere debet--ought to know, + Kickere floor cum heel et toe + One, two three, + Hop with me, + Whirligig, twirligig, rapidè. + + Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis, + Will you join the Polka, Miss? + Liberius--most willingly. + Sic agimus--then let us try: + Nunc vide + Skip with me, + Whirlabout, roundabout, celerè. + + Tum laevâ citò, tum dextrâ + First to the left, and then t' other way; + Aspice retrò in vultu, + You look at her, and she looks at you. + Das palmam, + Change hands ma'am + Celerè--run away, just in sham. + + _Gilbert Abbott à Becket_. + + + + +PUER EX JERSEY + + Puer ex Jersey + Iens ad school; + Vidit in meadow, + Infestum mule. + + Ille approaches + O magnus sorrow! + Puer it skyward. + Funus ad morrow. + + MORAL + + Qui vidit a thing + Non ei well-known, + Est bene for him + Relinqui id alone. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE LITTLE PEACH + + Une petite pêche dans un orchard fleurit, + Attendez à mon narration triste! + Une petite pêche verdante fleurit. + Grâce à chaleur de soleil, et moisture de miste. + Il fleurit, il fleurit, + Attendez à mon narration triste! + + Signes dures pour les deux, + Petit Jean et sa soeur Sue, + Et la pêche d'une verdante hue, + Qui fleurit, qui fleurit, + Attendez a mon narration triste! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_MONSIEUR McGINTÉ_ + + Monsieur McGinté allait en has jusqu'an fond du mer, + Ils ne l'ont pas encore trouvé + Je crois qu'il est certainement mouillé. + Monsieur McGinté, je le repéte, allait jusqu'au fond du mer, + Habillé dans sa meilleure costume. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_YE LAYE OF YE WOODPECKORE_ + + _Picus Erythrocephalus_: + + O whither goest thou, pale studént + Within the wood so fur? + Art on the chokesome cherry bent? + Dost seek the chestnut burr? + + _Pale Studént_: + + O it is not for the mellow chestnut + That I so far am come, + Nor yet for puckery cherries, but + For Cypripediúm. + + A blossom hangs the choke-cherry + And eke the chestnut burr, + And thou a silly fowl must be, + Thou red-head wood-peckére. + + _Picas Erythrocephalus_: + + Turn back, turn back, thou pale studént, + Nor in the forest go; + There lurks beneath his bosky tent + The deadly mosquitó, + + And there the wooden-chuck doth tread, + And from the oak-tree's top + The red, red squirrels on thy head + The frequent acorn drop. + + _Pale Studént_: + + The wooden-chuck is next of kin + Unto the wood-peckére: + I fear not thine ill-boding din, + And why should I fear her? + + What though a score of acorns drop + And squirrels' fur be red! + 'Tis not so ruddy as thy top-- + So scarlet as thy head. + + O rarely blooms the Cypripe- + diúm upon its stalk; + And like a torch it shines to me + Adown the dark wood-walk. + + O joy to pluck it from the ground, + To view the purple sac, + To touch the sessile stigma's round-- + And shall I then turn back? + + _Picus Erytbrocephalus_: + + O black and shining is the log + That feeds the sumptuous weed, + Nor stone is found nor bedded log + Where foot may well proceed. + + Midmost it glimmers in the mire + Like Jack o' Lanthorn's spark, + Lighting, with phosphorescent fire, + The green umbrageous dark. + + There while thy thirsty glances drink + The fair and baneful plant, + Thy shoon within the ooze shall sink + And eke thine either pant. + + _Pale Studént_: + + Give o'er, give o'er, thou wood-peckóre; + The bark upon the tree, + Thou, at thy will, mayst peck and bore + But peck and bore not me. + + Full two long hours I've searched about + And 't would in sooth be rum, + If I should now go back without + The Cypripediúm. + + _Picus Erythrocephalus_: + + Farewell! Farewell! But this I tell + To thee, thou pale studént, + Ere dews have fell, thou'lt rue it well + That woodward thou didst went: + + Then whilst thou blows the drooping nose + And wip'st the pensive eye-- + There where the sad _symplocarpus foetidus_ grows, + Then think--O think of I! + + Loud flouted there that student wight + Solche warnynge for to hear; + "I scorn, old hen, thy threats of might, + And eke thine ill grammére." + + "Go peck the lice (or green or red) + That swarm the bass-wood tree, + But wag no more thine addled head + Nor clack thy tongue at me." + + The wood-peck turned to whet her beak, + The student heard her drum, + As through the wood he went to seek + The Cypripediúm. + + Alas! and for that pale studént: + The evening bell did ring, + And down the walk the Freshmen went + Unto the prayer-meetíng; + + Upon the fence loud rose the song, + The weak, weak tea was o'er-- + Ha! who is he that sneaks along + Into South Middle's door? + + The mud was on his shoon, and O! + The briar was in his thumb, + His staff was in his hand but no-- + No Cypripediúm. + + _Henry A. Beers_. + + + + +_COLLUSION BETWEEN A ALEGAITER AND A WATER-SNAIK_ + + There is a niland on a river lying, + Which runs into Gautimaly, a warm country, + Lying near the Tropicks, covered with sand; + Hear and their a symptum of a Wilow, + Hanging of its umberagious limbs & branches + Over the clear streme meandering far below. + This was the home of the now silent Alegaiter, + When not in his other element confine'd: + Here he wood set upon his eggs asleep + With 1 ey observant of flis and other passing + Objects: a while it kept a going on so: + Fereles of danger was the happy Alegaiter! + But a las! in a nevil our he was fourced to + Wake! that dreme of Blis was two sweet for him. + 1 morning the sun arose with unusool splender + Whitch allso did our Alegaiter, coming from the water, + His scails a flinging of the rais of the son back, + To the fountain-head which tha originly sprung from, + But having not had nothing to eat for some time, he + Was slepy and gap'd, in a short time, widely. + Unfoalding soon a welth of perl-white teth, + The rais of the son soon shet his sinister ey + Because of their mutool splendor and warmth. + The evil Our (which I sed) was now come; + Evidently a good chans for a water-snaik + Of the large specie, which soon appeared + Into the horison, near the bank where reposed + Calmly in slepe the Alegaiter before spoken of. + About 60 feet was his Length (not the 'gaiter) + And he was aperiently a well-proportioned snaik. + When he was all ashore he glared upon + The iland with approval, but was soon + "Astonished with the view and lost to wonder" (from Wats) + (For jest then he began to see the Alegaiter) + Being a nateral enemy of his'n, he worked hisself + Into a fury, also a ni position. + Before the Alegaiter well could ope + His eye (in other words perceive his danger) + The Snaik had enveloped his body just 19 + Times with "foalds voluminous and vast" (from Milton) + And had tore off several scails in the confusion, + Besides squeazing him awfully into his stomoc. + Just then, by a fortinate turn in his affairs, + He ceazed into his mouth the careless tale + Of the unreflecting water-snaik! Grown desperate + He, finding that his tale was fast squesed + Terrible while they roaled all over the iland. + + It was a well-conduckted Affair; no noise + Disturbed the harmony of the seen, ecsept + Onct when a Willow was snaped into by the roaling. + Eeach of the combatence hadn't a minit for holering. + So the conflick was naterally tremenjous! + But soon by grate force the tail was bit complete- + Ly of; but the eggzeration was too much + For his delicate Constitootion; he felt a compression + Onto his chest and generally over his body; + When he ecspressed his breathing, it was with + Grate difficulty that he felt inspired again onct more. + Of course this state must suffer a revolootion. + So the alegaiter give but one yel, and egspired. + The water-snaik realed hisself off, & survay'd + For say 10 minits, the condition of + His fo: then wondering what made his tail hurt, + He slowly went off for to cool. + + _J. W. Morris_. + + + + +_ODD TO A KROKIS_ + + Selestial apoley which Didest inspire. + the souls of burns and pop with sackred fir. + Kast thy Mantil over me When i shal sing, + the praiz Of A sweat flower who grows in spring + Which has of late kome under the Fokis. + of My eyes. It is called a krokis. + Sweat lovly prety littil sweat Thing, + you bloometh before The lairicks on High sing, + thy lefs are neithir Red Nor yelly. + but Just betwixt the two you hardy felly. + + i fear youl yet be Nippit with the frost. + As Maney a one has known to there kost. + you should have not kome out in such a hurrey. + As this is only the Month of Febrywurrey. + and you may expick yet Much bad wethir. + when all your blads will krunkil up like Burnt leather. + alas. alas. theres Men which tries to rime, + who have like you kome out befor there time. + The Moril of My peese depend upon it. + is good so here i End my odd or sonit. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_SOME VERSES TO SNAIX_ + + Prodiggus reptile! long and skaly kuss! + You are the dadrattedest biggest thing I ever + Seed that cud ty itself into a double bo- + Not, and cum all strate again in a + Minnit or so, without winkin or seemin + To experience any particular pane + In the diafram. + + Stoopenjus inseck! marvelous annimile! + You are no doubt seven thousand yeres + Old, and hav a considerable of a + Family sneekin round thru the tall + Gras in Africa, a eetin up little greezy + Niggers, and wishin they was biggir. + + I wonder how big yu was when yu + Was a inphant about 2 fete long. I + Expec yu was a purty good size, and + Lived on phrogs, and lizzerds, and polly- + Wogs and sutch things. + + You are havin' a nice time now, ennyhow-- + Don't have nothing to do but lay oph. + And etc kats and rabbits, and stic + Out yure tung and twist yur tale. + I wunder if yu ever swollered a man + Without takin oph his butes. If there was + Brass buttins on his kote, I spose + Yu had ter swaller a lot of buttin- + Wholes, and a shu--hamer to nock + The soals oph of the boots and drive in + The tax, so that they wouldn't kut yure + Inside. I wunder if vittles taste + Good all the way down. I expec so-- + At leest, fur 6 or 7 fete. + + You are so mighty long, I shud thynk + If your tale was kold, yure hed + Woodent no it till the next day, + But it's hard tu tell: snaix is snaix. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_A GREAT MAN_ + + Ye muses, pour the pitying tear + For Pollio snatch'd away: + For had he liv'd another year! + --He had not dy'd to-day. + + O, were he born to bless mankind, + In virtuous times of yore, + Heroes themselves had fallen behind! + --Whene'er he went before. + + How sad the groves and plains appear, + And sympathetic sheep: + Even pitying hills would drop a tear! + --If hills could learn to weep. + + His bounty in exalted strain + Each bard might well display: + Since none implor'd relief in vain! + --That went reliev'd away. + + And hark! I hear the tuneful throng; + His obsequies forbid. + He still shall live, shall live as long + --As ever dead man did. + + _Oliver Goldsmith_. + + + + +_AN ELEGY_ + + _On the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize_ + + Good people all, with one accord, + Lament for Madam Blaize, + Who never wanted a good word-- + From those who spoke her praise. + + The needy seldom pass'd her door, + And always found her kind; + She freely lent to all the poor-- + Who left a pledge behind. + + She strove the neighborhood to please + With manners wondrous winning; + And never follow'd wicked ways-- + Unless when she was sinning. + + At church, in silks and satins new, + With hoop of monstrous size, + She never slumber'd in her pew-- + But when she shut her eyes. + + Her love was sought, I do aver, + By twenty beaux and more; + The King himself has follow'd her-- + When she has walk'd before. + + But now, her wealth and finery fled, + Her hangers-on cut short all; + The doctors found, when she was dead-- + Her last disorder mortal. + + Let us lament, in sorrow sore, + For Kent Street well may say, + That had she lived a twelvemonth more-- + She had not died to-day. + + _Oliver Goldsmith_. + + + + +_PARSON GRAY_ + + A quiet home had Parson Gray, + Secluded in a vale; + His daughters all were feminine, + And all his sons were male. + + How faithfully did Parson Gray + The bread of life dispense-- + Well "posted" in theology, + And post and rail his fence. + + 'Gainst all the vices of the age + He manfully did battle; + His chickens were a biped breed, + And quadruped his cattle. + + No clock more punctually went, + He ne'er delayed a minute-- + Nor ever empty was his purse, + When he had money in it. + + His piety was ne'er denied; + His truths hit saint and sinner; + At morn he always breakfasted; + He always dined at dinner. + + He ne'er by any luck was grieved, + By any care perplexed-- + No filcher he, though when he preached, + He always "took" a text. + + As faithful characters he drew + As mortal ever saw; + But ah! poor parson! when he died, + His breath he could not draw! + + _Oliver Goldsmith_. + + + + +_AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG_ + + Good people all, of every sort, + Give ear unto my song; + And if you find it wondrous short,-- + It cannot hold you long. + + In Islington there was a man, + Of whom the world might say + That still a godly race he ran,-- + Whene'er he went to pray. + + A kind and gentle heart he had, + To comfort friends and foes; + The naked every day he clad,-- + When he put on his clothes. + + And in that town a dog was found, + As many dogs there be, + Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, + And curs of low degree. + + The dog and man at first were friends; + But when a pique began, + The dog, to gain some private ends, + Went mad, and bit the man. + + Around from all the neighboring streets, + The wondering neighbors ran, + And swore the dog had lost his wits + To bite so good a man. + + The wound it seemed both sore and sad + To every Christian eye; + And while they swore the dog was mad + They swore the man would die. + + But soon a wonder came to light, + That showed the rogues they lied; + The man recovered of the bite, + The dog it was that died. + + _Oliver Goldsmith_. + + + + +_THE WONDERFUL OLD MAN_ + + There was an old man + Who lived on a common + And, if fame speaks true, + He was born of a woman. + Perhaps you will laugh, + But for truth I've been told + He once was an infant + Tho' age made him old. + + Whene'er he was hungry + He longed for some meat; + And if he could get it + 'T was said he would eat. + When thirsty he'd drink + If you gave him a pot, + And what he drank mostly + Ran down his throat. + + He seldom or never + Could see without light, + And yet I've been told he + Could hear in the night. + He has oft been awake + In the daytime, 't is said, + And has fallen asleep + As he lay in his bed. + + 'T is reported his tongue + Always moved when he talk'd, + And he stirred both his arms + And his legs when he walk'd; + And his gait was so odd + Had you seen him you 'd burst, + For one leg or t' other + Would always be first. + + His face was the drollest + That ever was seen, + For if 't was not washed + It seldom was clean; + His teeth he expos'd when + He happened to grin, + And his mouth stood across + 'Twixt his nose and his chin. + + When this whimsical chap + Had a river to pass, + If he couldn't get over + He stayed where he was. + 'T is said he ne'er ventured + To quit the dry ground, + Yet so great was his luck + He never was drowned. + + At last he fell sick, + As old chronicles tell, + And then, as folks say, + He was not very well. + But what was as strange + In so weak a condition, + As he could not give fees + He could get no physician. + + What wonder he died! + Yet 't is said that his death + Was occasioned at last + By the loss of his breath. + But peace to his bones + Which in ashes now moulder. + Had he lived a day longer + He'd have been a day older. + + _Anonymous_ + + + + +_A CHRONICLE_ + + Once--but no matter when-- + There lived--no matter where-- + A man, whose name--but then + I need not that declare. + + He--well, he had been born, + And so he was alive; + His age--I details scorn-- + Was somethingty and five. + + He lived--how many years + I truly can't decide; + But this one fact appears + He lived--until he died. + + "He died," I have averred, + But cannot prove 't was so, + But that he was interred, + At any rate, I know. + + I fancy he'd a son, + I hear he had a wife: + Perhaps he'd more than one, + I know not, on my life! + + But whether he was rich, + Or whether he was poor, + Or neither--both--or which, + I cannot say, I'm sure. + + I can't recall his name, + Or what he used to do: + But then--well, such is fame! + 'T will so serve me and you. + + And that is why I thus, + About this unknown man + Would fain create a fuss, + To rescue, if I can. + + From dark oblivion's blow, + Some record of his lot: + But, ah! I do not know + Who--where--when--why--or what. + + MORAL + + In this brief pedigree + A moral we should find-- + But what it ought to be + Has quite escaped my mind! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_ON THE OXFORD CARRIER_ + + Here lieth one, who did most truly prove + That he could never die while he could move; + So hung his destiny never to rot + While he might still jog on and keep his trot; + Made of sphere metal, never to decay + Until his revolution was at stay. + Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime + 'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time, + And like an engine moved with wheel and weight, + His principles being ceased, he ended straight. + Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death, + And too much breathing put him out of breath; + Nor were it contradiction to affirm, + Too long vacation hasten'd on his term. + Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd, + Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd; + "Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd, + "If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd, + But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers, + For one carrier put down to make six bearers." + Ease was his chief disease; and to judge right, + He died for heaviness that his cart went light: + His leisure told him that his time was come, + And lack of load made his life burdensome. + That even to his last breath (there be that say't), + As he were press'd to death, he cried, "More weight;" + But, had his doings lasted as they were, + He had been an immortal carrier. + Obedient to the moon he spent his date + In course reciprocal, and had his fate + Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas, + Yet (strange to think) his wane was his increase: + His letters are deliver'd all, and gone, + Only remains the superscription. + + _John Milton_. + + + + +_NEPHELIDIA_ + + From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn + through a notable nimbus of nebulous noonshine, + Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower + that flickers with fear of the flies as they float, + Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a marvel + of mystic miraculous moonshine, + These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that thicken and + threaten with sobs from the throat? + Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal of an actor's + appalled agitation, + Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than pale with the + promise of pride in the past; + Flushed with the famishing fulness of fever that reddens with + radiance of rathe recreation, + Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom + of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast? + Nay, for the nick of the tick of the time is a tremulous touch + on the temples of terror, + Strained as the sinews yet strenuous with strife of the dead who + is dumb as the dust-heaps of death: + Surely no soul is it, sweet as the spasm of erotic emotional + exquisite error, + Bathed in the balms of beatified bliss, beatific itself by + beatitude's breath. + Surely no spirit or sense of a soul that was soft to the spirit + and soul of our senses + Sweetens the stress of suspiring suspicion that sobs in the + semblance and sound of a sigh; + Only this oracle opens Olympian, in mystical moods and + triangular tenses-- + Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the + dawn of the day when we die. + Mild is the mirk and monotonous music of memory melodiously mute + as it may be, + While the hope in the heart of a hero is bruised by the breach of + men's rapiers resigned to the rod; + Made meek as a mother whose bosom--beats bound with the bliss-- + bringing bulk of a balm--breathing baby, + As they grope through the grave-yards of creeds, under skies + growing green'at a groan for the grimness of God. + Blank is the book of his bounty beholden of old and its binding + is blacker than bluer: + Out of blue into black is the scheme of the skies, and their + dews are the wine of the bloodshed of things; + Till the darkling desire of delight shall be free as a fawn that + is freed from the fangs that pursue her, + Till the heart-beats of hell shall be hushed by a hymn from the + hunt that has harried the kernel of kings. + + _A. C. Swinburne, + in "The Heptalogia_." + + + +_MARTIN LUTHER AT POTSDAM_ + + What lightning shall light it? What thunder shall tell it? + In the height of the height, in the depth of the deep? + + Shall the sea--storm declare it, or paint it, or smell it? + Shall the price of a slave be its treasure to keep? + When the night has grown near with the gems on her bosom, + When the white of mine eyes is the whiteness of snow, + When the cabman--in liquor--drives a blue roan, a kicker, + Into the land of the dear long ago. + + Ah!--Ah, again!--You will come to me, fall on me-- + You are _so_ heavy, and I am _so_ flat. + And I? I shall not be at home when you call on me, + But stray down the wind like a gentleman's hat: + I shall list to the stars when the music is purple, + Be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled into rings; + Turn to sparks, and then straightway get stuck in the gateway + That stands between speech and unspeakable things. + + As I mentioned before, by what light is it lighted? + Oh! Is it fourpence, or piebald, or gray? + Is it a mayor that a mother has knighted, + Or is it a horse of the sun and the day? + Is it a pony? If so, who will change it? + O golfer, be quiet, and mark where it scuds, + And think of its paces--of owners and races-- + Relinquish the links for the study of studs. + + Not understood? Take me hence! Take me yonder! + Take me away to the land of my rest-- + There where the Ganges and other gees wander, + And uncles and antelopes act for the best, + And all things are mixed and run into each other + In a violet twilight of virtues and sins, + With the church-spires below you and no one to show you + Where the curate leaves off and the pew-rent begins! + + In the black night through the rank grass the snakes peer-- + The cobs and the cobras are partial to grass-- + And a boy wanders out with a knowledge of Shakespeare + That's not often found in a boy of his class, + And a girl wanders out without any knowledge, + And a bird wanders out, and a cow wanders out, + Likewise one wether, and they wander together-- + There's a good deal of wandering lying about. + + But it's all for the best; I've been told by my friends, Sir, + That in verses I'd written the meaning was slight; + I've tried with no meaning--to make 'em amends, Sir-- + And find that this kind's still more easy to write. + The title has nothing to do with the verses, + But think of the millions--the laborers who + In busy employment find deepest enjoyment, + And yet, like my title, have nothing to do! + + _Barry Pain_. + + + + +_COMPANIONS_ + + I know not of what we ponder'd + Or made pretence to talk, + As, her hand within mine, we wander'd + Tow'rd the pool by the limetree walk, + While the dew fell in showers from the passion flowers + And the blush-rose bent on her stalk. + + I cannot recall her figure: + Was it regal as Juno's own? + Or only a trifle bigger + Than the elves who surround the throne + Of the Faëry Queen, and are seen, I ween, + By mortals in dreams alone? + + What her eyes were like, I know not: + Perhaps they were blurred with tears; + And perhaps in your skies there glow not + (On the contrary) clearer spheres. + No as to her eyes I am just as wise + As you or the cat, my dears. + + Her teeth, I presume, were "pearly": + But which was she, brunette or blonde? + Her hair, was it quaintly curly, + Or as straight as a beadle's wand? + That I failed to remark;--it was rather dark + And shadowy round the pond. + + Then the hand that reposed so snugly + In mine--was it plump or spare? + Was the countenance fair or ugly? + Nay, children, you have me there! + My eyes were p'raps blurr'd; and besides, I'd heard + That it's horribly rude to stare. + + And I--was I brusque and surly? + Or oppressively bland and fond? + Was I partial to rising early? + Or why did we twain abscond, + All breakfastless too, from the public view + To prowl by a misty pond? + + What passed, what was felt or spoken-- + Whether anything passed at all-- + And whether the heart was broken + That beat under that sheltering shawl-- + (If shawl she had on, which I doubt)--has gone. + Yes, gone from me past recall. + + Was I haply the lady's suitor? + Or her uncle? I can't make out-- + Ask your governess, dears, or tutor. + For myself, I'm in hopeless doubt + As to why we were there, and who on earth we were, + And what this is all about. + + _C. S. Calverley_. + + + + +_THE COCK AND THE BULL_ + + You see this pebble-stone? It's a thing I bought + Of a bit of a chit of a boy i' the mid o' the day-- + I like to dock the smaller parts-o-speech, + As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur + (You catch the paronomasia, play 'po' words?) + Did, rather, i' the pre-Landseerian days. + Well, to my muttons. I purchased the concern, + And clapt it i' my poke, having given for same + By way o' chop, swop, barter or exchange-- + "Chop" was my snickering dandiprat's own term-- + One shilling and fourpence, current coin o' the realm. + O-n-e one and f-o-u-r four + Pence, one and fourpence--you are with me, sir?-- + What hour it skills not: ten or eleven o' the clock, + One day (and what a roaring day it was + Go shop or sight-see--bar a spit o' rain!) + In February, eighteen sixty nine, + Alexandrina Victoria, Fidei, + Hm--hm--how runs the jargon? being on the throne. + + Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put, + The basis or substratum--what you will-- + Of the impending eighty thousand lines. + "Not much in 'em either," quoth perhaps simple Hodge. + But there's a superstructure. Wait a bit. + + Mark first the rationale of the thing: + Hear logic rivel and levigate the deed. + That shilling--and for matter o' that, the pence-- + I had o' course upo' me--wi' me say-- + (_Mecum's_ the Latin, make a note o' that) + When I popp'd pen i' stand, scratched ear, wiped snout, + (Let everybody wipe his own himself) + Sniff'd--tch!--at snuffbox; tumbled up, he-heed, + Haw-haw'd (not he-haw'd, that's another guess thing): + Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door, + I shoved the timber ope wi' my omoplat; + And _in vestibulo_, i' the lobby to-wit, + (Iacobi Facciolati's rendering, sir,) + Donned galligaskins, antigropeloes, + And so forth; and, complete with hat and gloves, + One on and one a-dangle i' my hand, + And ombrifuge (Lord love you!) cas o' rain, + I flopped forth, 'sbuddikins! on my own ten toes, + (I do assure you there be ten of them) + And went clump-clumping up hill and down dale + To find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy. + Put case I hadn't 'em on me, could I ha' bought + This sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call-toy, + This pebble-thing, o' the boy-thing? Q. E. D. + That's proven without aid for mumping Pope, + Sleek porporate or bloated cardinal. + (Isn't it, old Fatchops? You're in Euclid now.) + So, having the shilling--having i' fact a lot-- + And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them, + I purchased, as I think I said before, + The pebble (_lapis, lapidis, di, dem, de_-- + What nouns 'crease short i' the genitive, Fatchops, eh?) + O the boy, a bare-legg'd beggarly son of a gun, + For one-and-fourpence. Here we are again. + Now Law steps in, biwigged, voluminous-jaw'd; + Investigates and re-investigates. + Was the transaction illegal? Law shakes head. + Perpend, sir, all the bearings of the case. + + At first the coin was mine, the chattel his. + But now (by virtue of the said exchange + And barter) _vice versa_ all the coin, + _Rer juris operationem_, vests + I' the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom; + _In saecula saeculo-o-o-orum_; + (I think I hear the Abate mouth out that.) + To have and hold the same to him and them ... + Confer some idiot on Conveyancing. + Whereas the pebble and every part thereof, + And all that appertaineth thereunto, + _Quodcunque pertinet ad em rem_, + (I fancy, sir, my Latin's rather pat) + Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would, or should, + _Subaudi caetera_--clap we to the close-- + For what's the good of law in such a case o' the kind + Is mine to all intents and purposes. + This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale. + + Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality. + He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him, + (This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my hand)-- + And paid for 't, _like_ a gen'lman, on the nail. + "Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny? Devil a bit. + Fiddlepin's end! Get out, you blazing ass! + Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-baby _me_! + Go double or quits? Yah! tittup! what's the odds?" + --There's the transaction viewed in the vendor's light. + + Next ask that dumpled hag, stood snuffling by, + With her three frowsy blowsy brats o' babes, + The scum o' the Kennel, cream o' the filth-heap--Faugh! + Aie, aie, aie, aie! [Greek: otototototoi], + ('Stead which we blurt out, Hoighty toighty now)-- + And the baker and candlestick maker, and Jack and Gill, + Blear'd Goody this and queasy Gaffer that, + Ask the Schoolmaster, Take Schoolmaster first. + He saw a gentleman purchase of a lad + A stone, and pay for it _rite_ on the square, + And carry it off _per saltum_, jauntily + _Propria quae maribus_, gentleman's property now + (Agreeable to the law explained above). + _In proprium usum_, for his private ends, + The boy he chucked a brown i' the air, and bit + I' the face the shilling; heaved a thumping stone + At a lean hen that ran cluck-clucking by, + (And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door,) + Then _abiit_--What's the Ciceronian phrase? + _Excessit, evasit, erupit_--off slogs boy; + Off like bird, _avi similis_--(you observed + The dative? Pretty i' the Mantuan!)--_Anglice_ + Off in three flea skips. _Hactenus_, so far, + So good, _tam bene. Bene, satis, male_,-- + Where was I with my trope 'bout one in a quag? + I did once hitch the Syntax into verse + _Verbum personale_, a verb personal, + _Concordat_--"ay", agrees old Fatchops--_cum + Nominativo_, with its nominative, + _Genere_, i' point of gender, _numero_, + O' number, _et persona_, and person. _Ut_, + Instance: _Sol ruit_, down flops sun, _et_ and, + _Montes umbrantur_, out flounce mountains. Pah! + Excuse me, sir, I think I'm going mad. + + You see the trick on't, though, and can yourself + Continue the discourse _ad libitum_. + It takes up about eighty thousand lines, + A thing imagination boggles at; + And might, odds-bobs, sir! in judicious hands + Extend from here to Mesopotamy. + + _C.S. Calverley_. + + + + +LOVERS AND A REFLECTION + + In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter + (And heaven it knoweth what that may mean; + Meaning, however, is no great matter) + Where woods are a-tremble with words a-tween; + + Thro' God's own heather we wonned together, + I and my Willie (O love my love): + I need hardly remark it was glorious weather, + And flitter-bats wavered alow, above: + + Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing, + (Boats in that climate are so polite,) + And sands were a ribbon of green endowing, + And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight! + + Thro' the rare red heather we danced together + (O love my Willie,) and smelt for flowers: + I must mention again it was glorious weather, + Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours: + + By rises that flushed with their purple favors, + Thro' becks that brattled o'er grasses sheen, + We walked or waded, we two young shavers, + Thanking our stars we were both so green. + + We journeyed in parallels, I and Willie, + In fortunate parallels! Butterflies, + Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly + Or marjoram, kept making peacock eyes: + + Song-birds darted about, some inky + As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds; + Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky-- + They reek of no eerie To-come, those birds! + + But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes, + Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem; + They need no parasols, no goloshes; + And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them. + + Then we thrid God's cowslips (as erst his heather), + That endowed the wan grass with their golden blooms; + And snapt--(it was perfectly charming weather)-- + Our fingers at Fate and her goddess-glooms: + + And Willie 'gan sing--(Oh, his notes were fluty; + Wafts fluttered them out to the white-winged sea)-- + Something made up of rhymes that have done much duty, + Rhymes (better to put it) of "ancientry": + + Bowers of flowers encountered showers + In William's carol--(O love my Willie!) + Then he bade sorrow borrow from blithe tomorrow + I quite forget what--say a daffodilly. + + A nest in a hollow, "with buds to follow," + I think occurred next in his nimble strain; + And clay that was "kneaden" of course in Eden-- + A rhyme most novel I do maintain: + + Mists, bones, the singer himself, love-stories, + And all least furlable things got furled; + Not with any design to conceal their glories, + But simply and solely to rhyme with world. + + O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers, + And all the brave rhymes of an elder day, + Could be furled together, this genial weather, + And carted or carried on wafts away, + + Nor ever again trotted out--ah me! + How much fewer volumes of verse there'd be. + + _C.S. Calverley_ + + + + +AN IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH + + There is a river clear and fair, + 'Tis neither broad nor narrow; + It winds a little here and there-- + It winds about like any hare; + And then it takes as straight a course + As on the turnpike road a horse, + Or through the air an arrow. + + The trees that grow upon the shore, + Have grown a hundred years or more; + So long there is no knowing. + Old Daniel Dobson does not know + When first these trees began to grow; + But still they grew, and grew, and grew, + As if they'd nothing else to do, + But ever to be growing. + + The impulses of air and sky + Have rear'd their stately heads so high, + And clothed their boughs with green; + Their leaves the dews of evening quaff,-- + And when the wind blows loud and keen, + I've seen the jolly timbers laugh, + And shake their sides with merry glee-- + Wagging their heads in mockery. + + Fix'd are their feet in solid earth, + Where winds can never blow; + But visitings of deeper birth + Have reach'd their roots below. + For they have gain'd the river's brink, + And of the living waters drink. + + There's little Will, a five years child-- + He is my youngest boy: + To look on eyes so fair and wild, + It is a very joy:-- + He hath conversed with sun and shower, + And dwelt with every idle flower, + As fresh and gay as them. + He loiters with the briar rose,-- + The blue-belles are his play-fellows, + That dance upon their slender stem. + + And I have said, my little Will, + Why should not he continue still + A thing of Nature's rearing? + A thing beyond the world's control-- + A living vegetable soul,-- + No human sorrow fearing. + + It were a blessed sight to see + That child become a Willow-tree, + His brother trees among. + He'd be four times as tall as me, + And live three times as long. + + _Catharine M. Fanshawe_. + + + + +THE FAMOUS BALLAD OF THE JUBILEE CUP + + You may lift me up in your arms, lad, and turn my face to the sun, + For a last look back at the dear old track where the Jubilee cup + was won; + And draw your chair to my side, lad--no, thank ye, I feel no pain-- + For I'm going out with the tide, lad; but I'll tell you the tale + again. + + I'm seventy-nine or nearly, and my head it has long turned gray, + But it all comes back as clearly as though it was yesterday-- + The dust, and the bookies shouting around the clerk of the scales, + And the clerk of the course, and the nobs in force, and 'Is + 'Ighness the Pr**ce of W*les. + + 'Twas a nine-hole thresh to wind'ard (but none of us cared for that), + With a straight run home to the service tee, and a finish along + the flat, + "Stiff?" ah, well you may say it! Spot barred, and at five stone + ten! + But at two and a bisque I'd ha' run the risk; for I was a + greenhorn then. + + So we stripped to the B. Race signal, the old red swallowtail-- + There was young Ben Bolt and the Portland Colt, and Aston Villa, + and Yale; + And W. G., and Steinitz, Leander and The Saint, + And the G*rm*n Emp*r*r's Meteor, a-looking as fresh as paint; + + John Roberts (scratch), and Safety Match, The Lascar, and Lorna + Doone, + Oom Paul (a bye), and Romany Rye, and me upon Wooden Spoon; + And some of us cut for partners, and some of us strung for baulk, + And some of us tossed for stations--But there, what use to talk? + + Three-quarter-back on the Kingsclere crack was station enough for + me, + With a fresh jackyarder blowing and the Vicarage goal a-lee! + And I leaned and patted her centre-bit and eased the quid in her + cheek, + With a "Soh my lass!" and a "Woa you brute!"--for she could do all + but speak. + + She was geared a thought too high perhaps; she was trained a + trifle fine; + But she had the grand reach forward! I never saw such a line! + Smooth-bored, clean run, from her fiddle head with its dainty ear + half-cock, + Hard-bit, _pur sang_, from her overhang to the heel of her off + hind sock. + + Sir Robert he walked beside me as I worked her down to the mark; + "There's money on this, my lad," said he, "and most of 'em's + running dark; + But ease the sheet if you're bunkered, and pack the scrummages + tight, + And use your slide at the distance, and we'll drink to your health + to-night!" + + But I bent and tightened my stretcher. Said I to myself, said I-- + "John Jones, this here is the Jubilee Cup, and you have to do or + die." + And the words weren't hardly spoken when the umpire shouted + "Play!" + And we all kicked off from the Gasworks End with a "Yoicks!" and a + "Gone Away!" + + And at first I thought of nothing, as the clay flew by in lumps, + But stuck to the old Ruy Lopez, and wondered who'd call for trumps, + And luffed her close to the cushion, and watched each one as it + broke, + And in triple file up the Rowley Mile we went like a trail of smoke. + + The Lascar made the running but he didn't amount to much, + For old Oom Paul was quick on the ball, and headed it back to touch; + And the whole first flight led off with the right as The Saint + took up the pace, + And drove it clean to the putting green and trumped it there with + an ace. + + John Roberts had given a miss in baulk, but Villa cleared with a + punt; + And keeping her service hard and low the Meteor forged to the front; + With Romany Rye to windward at dormy and two to play, + And Yale close up--but a Jubilee Cup isn't run for every day. + + We laid our course for the Warner--I tell you the pace was hot! + And again off Tattenham Corner a blanket covered the lot. + Check side! Check side! now steer her wide! and barely an inch of + room, + With The Lascar's tail over our lee rail and brushing Leander's + boom. + + We were running as strong as ever--eight knots--but it couldn't + last; + For the spray and the bails were flying, the whole field tailing + fast; + And the Portland Colt had shot his bolt, and Yale was bumped at + the Doves, + And The Lascar resigned to Steinitz, stalemated in fifteen moves. + + It was bellows to mend with Roberts--starred three for a penalty + kick: + But he chalked his cue and gave 'em the butt, and Oom Paul marked + the trick-- + "Offside--No Ball--and at fourteen all! Mark Cock! and two for his + nob!" + When W.G. ran clean through his lee and beat him twice with a lob. + + He yorked him twice on a crumbling pitch and wiped his eye with a + brace, + But his guy-rope split with the strain of it and he dropped back + out of the race; + And I drew a bead on the Meteor's lead, and challenging none too + soon, + Bent over and patted her garboard strake, and called upon Wooden + Spoon. + + She was all of a shiver forward, the spoondrift thick on her flanks, + But I'd brought her an easy gambit, and nursed her over the banks; + She answered her helm--the darling! and woke up now with a rush, + While the Meteor's jock, he sat like a rock--he knew we rode for + his brush! + + There was no one else left in it. The Saint was using his whip, + And Safety Match, with a lofting catch, was pocketed deep at slip; + And young Ben Bolt with his niblick took miss at Leander's lunge, + But topped the net with the ricochet, and Steinitz threw up the + sponge. + + But none of the lot could stop the rot--nay, don't ask _me_ to stop! + The villa had called for lemons, Oom Paul had taken his drop, + And both were kicking the referee. Poor fellow! he done his best; + But, being in doubt, he'd ruled them out--which he always did when + pressed. + + So, inch by inch, I tightened the winch, and chucked the sandbags + out-- + I heard the nursery cannons pop, I heard the bookies shout: + "The Meteor wins!" "No, Wooden Spoon!" "Check!" "Vantage!" + "Leg Before!" + "Last Lap!" "Pass Nap!" At his saddle-flap I put up the helm and + wore. + + You may overlap at the saddle-flap, and yet be loo'd on the tape: + And it all depends upon changing ends, how a seven-year-old will + shape; + It was tack and tack to the Lepe and back--a fair ding-dong to the + Ridge, + And he led by his forward canvas yet as we shot 'neath Hammersmith + Bridge. + + He led by his forward canvas--he led from his strongest suit-- + But along we went on a roaring scent, and at Fawley I gained a foot. + He fisted off with his jigger, and gave me his wash--too late! + Deuce--Vantage--Check! By neck and neck we rounded into the + straight. + + I could hear the "Conquering 'Ero" a-crashing on Godfrey's band, + And my hopes fell sudden to zero, just there, with the race in + hand-- + In sight of the Turf's Blue Ribbon, in sight of the umpire's tape, + As I felt the tack of her spinnaker c-rack! as I heard the steam + escape! + + Had I lost at that awful juncture my presence of mind? ... but no! + I leaned and felt for the puncture, and plugged it there with my + toe.... + Hand over hand by the Members' Stand I lifted and eased her up, + Shot--clean and fair--to the crossbar there, and landed the + Jubilee Cup! + + "The odd by a head, and leg before," so the Judge he gave the word: + And the umpire shouted "Over!" but I neither spoke nor stirred. + They crowded round: for there on the ground I lay in a dead-cold + swoon, + Pitched neck and crop on the turf atop of my beautiful Wooden Spoon. + + Her dewlap tire was punctured, her bearings all red hot; + She'd a lolling tongue, and her bowsprit sprung, and her running + gear in a knot; + And amid the sobs of her backers, Sir Robert loosened her girth + And led her away to the knacker's. She had raced her last on earth! + + But I mind me well of the tear that fell from the eye of our noble + Pr*nce, + And the things he said as he tucked me in bed--and I 've lain + there ever since; + Tho' it all gets mixed up queerly that happened before my spill,-- + But I draw my thousand yearly: it 'll pay for the doctor's bill. + + I'm going out with the tide, lad--you 'll dig me a numble grave, + And whiles you will bring your bride, lad, and your sons, if sons + you have, + And there when the dews are weeping, and the echoes murmur + "Peace!" + And the salt, salt tide comes creeping and covers the + popping-crease; + + In the hour when the ducks deposit their eggs with a boasted force, + They'll look and whisper "How was it?" and you'll take them over + the course, + And your voice will break as you try to speak of the glorious + first of June, + When the Jubilee Cup, with John Jones up, was won upon Wooden Spoon. + + _Arthur T. Quiller-Couch_. + + + + +A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILITIES + + Lady, I loved you all last year, + How honestly and well-- + Alas! would weary you to hear, + And torture me to tell; + I raved beneath the midnight sky, + I sang beneath the limes-- + Orlando in my lunacy, + And Petrarch in my rhymes. + But all is over! When the sun + Dries up the boundless main, + When black is white, false-hearted one, + I may be yours again! + + When passion's early hopes and fears + Are not derided things; + When truth is found in falling tears, + Or faith in golden rings; + When the dark Fates that rule our way + Instruct me where they hide + One woman that would ne'er betray, + One friend that never lied; + When summer shines without a cloud, + And bliss without a pain; + When worth is noticed in a crowd, + I may be yours again! + + When science pours the light of day + Upon the lords of lands; + When Huskisson is heard to say + That Lethbridge understands; + When wrinkles work their way in youth, + Or Eldon's in a hurry; + When lawyers represent the truth, + Or Mr. Sumner Surrey; + When aldermen taste eloquence + Or bricklayers champagne; + When common law is common sense, + I may be yours again! + + When learned judges play the beau, + Or learned pigs the tabor; + When traveller Bankes beats Cicero, + Or Mr. Bishop Weber; + When sinking funds discharge a debt, + Or female hands a bomb; + When bankrupts study the _Gazette_, + Or colleges _Tom Thumb_; + When little fishes learn to speak, + Or poets not to feign; + When Dr. Geldart construes Greek, + I may be yours again! + + When Pole and Thornton honor cheques, + Or Mr. Const a rogue; + When Jericho's in Middlesex, + Or minuets in vogue; + When Highgate goes to Devonport, + Or fashion to Guildhall; + When argument is heard at Court, + Or Mr. Wynn at all; + When Sydney Smith forgets to jest, + Or farmers to complain; + When kings that are are not the best, + I may be yours again! + + When peers from telling money shrink, + Or monks from telling lies; + When hydrogen begins to sink, + Or Grecian scrip to rise; + When German poets cease to dream, + Americans to guess; + When Freedom sheds her holy beam + On Negroes, and the Press; + When there is any fear of Rome, + Or any hope of Spain; + When Ireland is a happy home, + I may be yours again! + + When you can cancel what has been, + Or alter what must be, + Or bring once more that vanished scene, + Those withered joys to me; + When you can tune the broken lute, + Or deck the blighted wreath, + Or rear the garden's richest fruit, + Upon a blasted heath; + When you can lure the wolf at bay + Back to his shattered chain, + To-day may then be yesterday-- + I may be yours again! + + _W.M. Praed_. + + + + +TRUST IN WOMEN + + When these things following be done to our intent, + Then put women in trust and confident. + + When nettles in winter bring forth roses red, + And all manner of thorn trees bear figs naturally, + And geese bear pearls in every mead, + And laurel bear cherries abundantly, + And oaks bear dates very plenteously, + And kisks give of honey superfluence, + Then put women in trust and confidence. + + When box bear paper in every land and town, + And thistles bear berries in every place, + And pikes have naturally feathers in their crown, + And bulls of the sea sing a good bass, + And men be the ships fishes trace, + And in women be found no insipience, + Then put them in trust and confidence. + + When whitings do walk forests to chase harts, + And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow, + And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes, + And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow, + And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow, + And sprats bear spears in armes of defence, + Then put women in trust and confidence. + + When swine be cunning in all points of music, + And asses be doctors of every science, + And cats do heal men by practising of physic, + And buzzards to scripture give any credence, + And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats and pence, + And pyes be made poets for their eloquence, + Then put women in trust and confidence. + + When sparrows build churches on a height, + And wrens carry sacks unto the mill, + And curlews carry timber houses to dight, + And fomalls bear butter to market to sell, + And woodcocks bear woodknives cranes to kill, + And greenfinches to goslings do obedience, + Then put women in trust and confidence. + + When crows take salmon in woods and parks, + And be take with swifts and snails, + And camels in the air take swallows and larks, + And mice move mountains by wagging of their tails, + And shipmen take a ride instead of sails, + And when wives to their husbands do no offence, + Then put women in trust and confidence. + + When antelopes surmount eagles in flight, + And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower, + And wrens set gos-hawks by force and might, + And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour, + And ships sail on dry land, silt give flower, + And apes in Westminster give judgment and sentence, + Then put women in trust and confidence. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +HERE IS THE TALE + + AFTER RUDYARD KIPLING + + _Here is the tale--and you must make the most of it! + Here is the rhyme--ah, listen and attend! + Backwards--forwards--read it all and boast of it + If you are anything the wiser at the end_! + + + Now Jack looked up--it was time to sup, and the bucket was yet to + fill, + And Jack looked round for a space and frowned, then beckoned his + sister Jill, + And twice he pulled his sister's hair, and thrice he smote her side; + "Ha' done, ha' done with your impudent fun--ha' done with your + games!" she cried; + "You have made mud-pies of a marvellous size--finger and face are + black, + You have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay--now up and wash you, + Jack! + Or else, or ever we reach our home, there waiteth an angry dame-- + Well you know the weight of her blow--the supperless open shame! + Wash, if you will, on yonder hill--wash, if you will, at the spring,-- + Or keep your dirt, to your certain hurt, and an imminent walloping!" + + "You must wash--you must scrub--you must scrape!" growled Jack, + "you must traffic with cans and pails, + Nor keep the spoil of the good brown soil in the rim of your + finger-nails! + The morning path you must tread to your bath--you must wash ere + the night descends, + And all for the cause of conventional laws and the soapmakers' + dividends! + But if 'tis sooth that our meal in truth depends on our washing, + Jill, + By the sacred right of our appetite--haste--haste to the top of + the hill!" + + They have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay, they have toiled + and travelled far, + They have climbed to the brow of the hill-top now, where the + bubbling fountains are, + They have taken the bucket and filled it up--yea, filled it up to + the brim; + But Jack he sneered at his sister Jill, and Jill she jeered at him: + "What, blown already!" Jack cried out (and his was a biting mirth!) + "You boast indeed of your wonderful speed--but what is the + boasting worth? + Now, if you can run as the antelope runs, and if you can turn like + a hare, + Come, race me, Jill, to the foot of the hill--and prove your + boasting fair!" + + "Race? What is a race" (and a mocking face had Jill as she spake + the word) + "Unless for a prize the runner tries? The truth indeed ye heard, + For I can run as the antelope runs, and I can turn like a hare:-- + The first one down wins half-a-crown--and I will race you there!" + "Yea, if for the lesson that you will learn (the lesson of humbled + pride) + The price you fix at two-and-six, it shall not be denied; + Come, take your stand at my right hand, for here is the mark we toe: + Now, are you ready, and are you steady? Gird up your petticoats! Go!" + + And Jill she ran like a winging bolt, a bolt from the bow released, + But Jack like a stream of the lightning gleam, with its pathway + duly greased; + He ran down hill in front of Jill like a summer-lightning flash-- + Till he suddenly tripped on a stone, or slipped, and fell to the + earth with a crash. + Then straight did rise on his wondering eyes the constellations + fair, + Arcturus and the Pleiades, the Greater and Lesser Bear, + The swirling rain of a comet's train he saw, as he swiftly fell-- + And Jill came tumbling after him with a loud triumphant yell: + "You have won, you have won, the race is done! And as for the + wager laid-- + You have fallen down with a broken crown--the half-crown debt is + paid!" + + They have taken Jack to the room at the back where the family + medicines are, + And he lies in bed with a broken head in a halo of vinegar; + While, in that Jill had laughed her fill as her brother fell to + earth, + She had felt the sting of a walloping--she hath paid the price of + her mirth! + + _Here is the tale--and now you have the whole of it, + Here is the story--well and wisely planned, + Beauty--Duty--these make up the soul of it-- + But, ah, my little readers, will you mark and understand_? + + _Anthony C. Deane_. + + + + +THE AULD WIFE + + The auld wife sat at her ivied door, + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + A thing she had frequently done before; + And her spectacles lay on her aproned knees. + + The piper he piped on the hill-top high, + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + Till the cow said "I die" and the goose asked "Why;" + And the dog said nothing, but searched for fleas. + + The farmer he strode through the square farmyard; + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + His last brew of ale was a trifle hard, + The connection of which with the plot one sees. + + The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes, + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, + As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas. + + The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips; + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + If you try to approach her, away she skips + Over tables and chairs with apparent ease. + + The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair; + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, + Which wholly consisted of lines like these. + + She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks, + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + And spake not a word. While a lady speaks + There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze. + + She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks; + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) + She gave up mending her father's breeks, + And let the cat roll in her best chemise. + + She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_), + And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks; + Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas. + + Her sheep followed her as their tails did them + (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_), + And this song is considered a perfect gem, + And as to the meaning, it's what you please. + + _Charles S. Calverley_. + + + + +NOT I + + Some like drink + In a pint pot, + Some like to think, + Some not. + + Strong Dutch cheese, + Old Kentucky Rye, + Some like these; + Not I. + + Some like Poe, + And others like Scott; + Some like Mrs. Stowe, + Some not. + + Some like to laugh, + Some like to cry, + Some like to chaff; + Not I. + + _R.L. Stevenson_. + + + + +MINNIE AND WINNIE + + Minnie and Winnie + Slept in a shell. + Sleep, little ladies! + And they slept well. + + Pink was the shell within, + Silver without; + Sounds of the great sea + Wandered about. + + Sleep little ladies! + Wake not soon! + Echo on echo + Dies to the moon. + + Two bright stars + Peep'd into the shell, + What are they dreaming of? + Who can tell? + + Started a green linnet + Out of the croft; + Wake, little ladies, + The sun is aloft! + + _Lord Tennyson_. + + + + +THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON + + The Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose + Trying to warm his copper toes; + He lost his money and spoiled his will + By signing his name with an icicle quill; + He went bareheaded, and held his breath, + And frightened his grandame most to death; + He loaded a shovel and tried to shoot, + And killed the calf in the leg of his boot; + + He melted a snowbird and formed the habit + Of dancing jigs with a sad Welsh rabbit; + He lived on taffy and taxed the town; + And read his newspaper upside down; + Then he sighed and hung his hat on a feather, + And bade the townspeople come together; + But the worst of it all was, nobody knew + What the Mayor of Scuttleton next would do. + + _Mary Mapes Dodge_. + + + + +THE PURPLE COW + + I never saw a Purple Cow, + I never hope to see one; + But I can tell you, anyhow, + I'd rather see than be one. + + ENVOI + + Ah yes, I wrote the Purple Cow, + I'm sorry now I wrote it. + But I can tell you anyhow, + I'll kill you if you quote it. + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + +THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE + + I'd Never Dare to Walk across + A Bridge I Could Not See; + For Quite afraid of Falling off, + I fear that I Should Be! + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + +THE LAZY ROOF + + The Roof it has a Lazy Time + A-lying in the Sun; + The Walls they have to Hold Him Up; + They do Not Have Much Fun! + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + +MY FEET + + My feet, they haul me Round the House, + They Hoist me up the Stairs; + I only have to Steer them and + They Ride me Everywheres. + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + +THE HEN + + Alas! my Child, where is the Pen + That can do Justice to the Hen? + Like Royalty, She goes her way, + Laying foundations every day, + Though not for Public Buildings, yet + For Custard, Cake and Omelette. + + Or if too Old for such a use + They have their Fling at some Abuse, + As when to Censure Plays Unfit + Upon the Stage they make a Hit, + Or at elections Seal the Fate + Of an Obnoxious Candidate. + No wonder, Child, we prize the Hen, + Whose Egg is Mightier than the Pen. + + _Oliver Herford_. + + + + +THE COW + + The Cow is too well known, I fear, + To need an introduction here. + If She should vanish from earth's face + It would be hard to fill her place; + For with the Cow would disappear + So much that every one holds Dear. + Oh, think of all the Boots and Shoes, + Milk Punches, Gladstone Bags and Stews, + And Things too numerous to count, + Of which, my child, she is the Fount. + Let's hope, at least, the Fount may last + Until _our_ Generation's past. + + _Oliver Herford_. + + + + +THE CHIMPANZEE + + Children, behold the Chimpanzee: + He sits on the ancestral tree + From which we sprang in ages gone. + I'm glad we sprang: had we held on, + We might, for aught that I can say, + Be horrid Chimpanzees today. + + _Oliver Herford_. + + + + +THE HIPPOPOTAMUS + + "Oh, say, what is this fearful, wild, + Incorrigible cuss?" + "This _creature_ (don't say 'cuss,' my child; + 'Tis slang)--this creature fierce is styled + The Hippopotamus. + His curious name derives its source + From two Greek words: _hippos_--a horse, + _Potamos_--river. See? + The river's plain enough, of course; + But why they called _that_ thing a _horse_, + That's what is Greek to me." + + _Oliver Herford_. + + + + +THE PLATYPUS + + My child, the Duck-billed Platypus + A sad example sets for us: + From him we learn how Indecision + Of character provokes Derision. + + This vacillating Thing, you see, + Could not decide which he would be, + Fish, Flesh or Fowl, and chose all three. + The scientists were sorely vexed + To classify him; so perplexed + Their brains, that they, with Rage at bay, + Call him a horrid name one day,-- + A name that baffles, frights and shocks us, + Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus. + + _Oliver Herford_. + + + + +SOME GEESE + + Ev-er-y child who has the use + Of his sen-ses knows a goose. + See them un-der-neath the tree + Gath-er round the goose-girl's knee, + While she reads them by the hour + From the works of Scho-pen-hau-er. + + How pa-tient-ly the geese at-tend! + But do they re-al-ly com-pre-hend + What Scho-pen-hau-er's driv-ing at? + Oh, not at all; but what of that? + Nei-ther do I; nei-ther does she; + And, for that mat-ter, nor does he. + + _Oliver Herford_. + + + + +THE FLAMINGO + + _Inspired by reading a chorus of spirits in a German play_ + + + FIRST VOICE. + + Oh! tell me have you ever seen a red, long-leg'd Flamingo? + Oh! tell me have you ever yet seen him the water in go? + + SECOND VOICE. + + Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've seen a red long-leg'd Flamingo, + Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've there seen him the water in go. + + FIRST VOICE. + + Oh! tell me did you ever see a bird so funny stand-o + When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o? + + SECOND VOICE. + + No! in my life I ne'er did see a bird so funny stand-o + When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o. + + FIRST VOICE. + + He has a leg some three feet long, or near it, so they say, Sir. + Stiff upon one alone he stands, t'other he stows away, Sir. + + SECOND VOICE. + + And what an ugly head he's got! I wonder that he'd wear it. + But rather _more_ I wonder that his long, thin neck can bear it. + + FIRST VOICE. + + And think, this length of neck and legs (no doubt they have their + uses) + Are members of a little frame, much smaller than a goose's! + + BOTH. + + Oh! isn't he a curious bird, that red, long-leg'd Flamingo? + A water bird, a gawky bird, a sing'lar bird, by jingo! + + _Lewis Gaylord Clark_. + + + + +KINDNESS TO ANIMALS + + Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf, + Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles don't laugh! + Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear, + Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a hare! + Oh, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises draw nigh, + And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper Pie! + But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea,-- + Be always kind to animals wherever you may be! + + Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram, + And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb. + Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the cod to crimp, + Don't cheat the pike, or ever try to pot the playful shrimp. + Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise the butterfly, + Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry; + Oh, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams disagree,-- + Be always kind to animals wherever you may be! + + Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs, + And be not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs; + Chase not the Cochin-China, chaff not the ox obese, + And babble not of feather-beds in company with geese. + Be tender with the tadpole, and let the limpet thrive, + Be merciful to mussels, don't skin your eels alive; + When talking to a turtle don't mention calipee-- + Be always kind to animals wherever you may be. + + _J. Ashby-Sterry_. + + + + +SAGE COUNSEL + + The lion is the beast to fight, + He leaps along the plain, + And if you run with all your might, + He runs with all his mane. + I'm glad I'm not a Hottentot, + But if I were, with outward cal-lum + I'd either faint upon the spot + Or hie me up a leafy pal-lum. + + The chamois is the beast to hunt; + He's fleeter than the wind, + And when the chamois is in front, + The hunter is behind. + The Tyrolese make famous cheese + And hunt the chamois o'er the chaz-zums; + I'd choose the former if you please, + For precipices give me spaz-zums. + + The polar bear will make a rug + Almost as white as snow; + But if he gets you in his hug, + He rarely lets you go. + And Polar ice looks very nice, + With all the colors of a pris-sum; + But, if you'll follow my advice, + Stay home and learn your catechissum. + + _A.T. Quiller-Couch_. + + + + +OF BAITING THE LION + + Remembering his taste for blood + You'd better bait him with a cow; + Persuade the brute to chew the cud + Her tail suspended from a bough; + It thrills the lion through and through + To hear the milky creature moo. + + Having arranged this simple ruse, + Yourself you climb a neighboring tree; + See to it that the spot you choose + Commands the coming tragedy; + Take up a smallish Maxim gun, + A search-light, whisky, and a bun. + + It's safer, too, to have your bike + Standing immediately below, + In case your piece should fail to strike, + Or deal an ineffective blow; + The Lion moves with perfect grace, + But cannot go the scorcher's pace. + + Keep open ear for subtle signs; + Thus, when the cow profusely moans, + That means to say, the Lion dines. + The crunching sound, of course, is bones; + Silence resumes her ancient reign-- + This shows the cow is out of pain. + + But when a fat and torpid hum + Escapes the eater's unctuous nose, + Turn up the light and let it come + Full on his innocent repose; + Then pour your shot between his eyes, + And go on pouring till he dies. + + Play, even so, discretion's part; + Descend with stealth; bring on your gun; + Then lay your hand above his heart + To see if he is really done; + Don't skin him till you know he's dead + Or you may perish in his stead! + + Years hence, at home, when talk is tall, + You'll set the gun-room wide agape, + Describing how with just a small + Pea-rifle, going after ape + You met a Lion unaware, + And felled him flying through the air. + + _Owen Seaman_. + + + + +THE FROG + + Be kind and tender to the Frog, + And do not call him names, + As "Slimy-Skin," or "Polly-wog," + Or likewise, "Uncle James," + Or "Gape-a-grin," or "Toad-gone-wrong," + Or "Billy-Bandy-knees;" + The Frog is justly sensitive + To epithets like these. + + No animal will more repay + A treatment kind and fair, + At least, so lonely people say + Who keep a frog (and, by the way, + They are extremely rare). + + _Hilaire Belloc_. + + + + +THE YAK + + As a friend to the children commend me the yak, + You will find it exactly the thing: + It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back, + Or lead it about with a string. + + A Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet + (A desolate region of snow) + Has for centuries made it a nursery pet, + And surely the Tartar should know! + + Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got, + And if he is awfully rich, + He will buy you the creature--or else he will not, + (I cannot be positive which). + + _Hilaire Belloc_. + + + + +THE PYTHON + + A python I should not advise, + It needs a doctor for its eyes, + And has the measles yearly. + + However, if you feel inclined + To get one (to improve your mind, + And not from fashion merely), + + Allow no music near its cage; + And when it flies into a rage + Chastise it most severely. + + I had an Aunt in Yucatan + Who bought a Python from a man + And kept it for a pet. + + She died because she never knew + These simple little rules and few;-- + The snake is living yet. + + _Hilaire Belloc_. + + + + +THE BISON + + The Bison is vain, and (I write it with pain) + The Door-mat you see on his head + Is not, as some learned professors maintain, + The opulent growth of a genius' brain; + But is sewn on with needle and thread. + + _Hilaire Belloc_. + + + + +THE PANTHER + + Be kind to the panther! for when thou wert young, + In thy country far over the sea, + 'Twas a panther ate up thy papa and mamma, + And had several mouthfuls of thee! + + Be kind to the badger! for who shall decide + The depths of his badgerly soul? + And think of the tapir when flashes the lamp + O'er the fast and the free-flowing bowl. + + Be kind to the camel! nor let word of thine + Ever put up his bactrian back; + And cherish the she-kangaroo with her bag, + Nor venture to give her the sack. + + Be kind to the ostrich! for how canst thou hope + To have such a stomach as it? + And when the proud day of your bridal shall come, + Do give the poor birdie a bit. + + Be kind to the walrus! nor ever forget + To have it on Tuesday to tea; + But butter the crumpets on only one side, + Save such as are eaten by thee. + + Be kind to the bison! and let the jackal + In the light of thy love have a share; + And coax the ichneumon to grow a new tail, + And have lots of larks in its lair. + + Be kind to the bustard! that genial bird, + And humor its wishes and ways; + And when the poor elephant suffers from bile, + Then tenderly lace up his stays! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE MONKEY'S GLUE + + When the monkey in his madness + Took the glue to mend his voice, + 'Twas the crawfish showed his sadness + That the bluebird could rejoice. + + Then the perspicacious parrot + Sought to save the suicide + By administering carrot, + But the monkey merely died. + + So the crawfish and the parrot + Sauntered slowly toward the sea, + While the bluebird stole the carrot + And returned the glue to me. + + _Goldwin Goldsmith_. + + + + +THERE WAS A FROG + + There was a frog swum in the lake, + The crab came crawling by: + "Wilt thou," coth the frog, "be my make?" + Coth the crab, "No, not I." + "My skin is sooth and dappled fine, + I can leap far and nigh. + Thy shell is hard: so is not mine." + Coth the crab, "No, not I." + "Tell me," then spake the crab, "therefore, + Or else I thee defy: + Give me thy claw, I ask no more." + Coth the frog, "That will I." + The crab bit off the frog's fore-feet; + The frog then he must die. + To woo a crab it is not meet: + If any do, it is not I. + + _From Christ Church MS., I. 549_. + + + + +THE BLOATED BIGGABOON + + The bloated Biggaboon + Was so haughty, he would not repose + In a house, or a hall, or _ces choses_, + But he slept his high sleep in his clothes-- + 'Neath the moon. + The bloated Biggaboon + Pour'd contempt upon waistcoat and skirt, + Holding swallow-tails even as dirt-- + So he puff'd himself out in his shirt, + Like a b'loon. + + _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell_. + + + + +WILD FLOWERS + + "Of what are you afraid, my child?" inquired the kindly teacher. + "Oh, sir! the flowers, they are wild," replied the timid creature. + + _Peter Newell_. + + + + +TIMID HORTENSE + + + "Now, if the fish will only bite, we'll have some royal fun." + "And do fish bite? The horrid things! Indeed, I'll not catch one!" + + _Peter Newell_. + + + + +HER POLKA DOTS + + She played upon her music-box a fancy air by chance, + And straightway all her polka-dots began a lively dance. + + _Peter Newell_. + + + + +HER DAIRY + + "A milkweed, and a buttercup, and cowslip," said sweet Mary, + "Are growing in my garden-plot, and this I call my dairy." + + _Peter Newell_. + + + + +TURVEY TOP + + 'Twas after a supper of Norfolk brawn + That into a doze I chanced to drop, + And thence awoke in the gray of dawn, + In the wonder-land of Turvey Top. + + A land so strange I never had seen, + And could not choose but look and laugh-- + A land where the small the great includes, + And the whole is less than the half! + + A land where the circles were not lines + Round central points, as schoolmen show, + And the parallels met whenever they chose, + And went playing at touch-and-go! + + There--except that every round was square + And save that all the squares were rounds-- + No surface had limits anywhere, + So they never could beat the bounds. + + In their gardens, fruit before blossom came, + And the trees diminished as they grew; + And you never went out to walk a mile, + 'Twas the mile that walked to you. + + The people there are not tall or short, + Heavy or light, or stout or thin, + And their lives begin where they should leave off, + Or leave off where they should begin. + + There childhood, with naught of childish glee, + Looks on the world with thoughtful brow; + 'Tis only the aged who laugh and crow, + And cry, "We have done with it now!" + + A singular race! what lives they spent! + Got up before they went to bed! + And never a man said what he meant, + Or a woman meant what she said. + + They blended colours that will not blend, + All hideous contrasts voted sweet; + In yellow and red their Quakers dress'd, + And considered it rather neat. + + They didn't believe in the wise and good, + Said the best were worst, the wisest fools; + And 'twas only to have their teachers taught + That they founded national schools. + + They read in "books that are no books," + Their classics--chess-boards neatly bound; + Those their greatest authors who never wrote, + And their deepest the least profound. + + Now, such were the folks of that wonder-land, + A curious people, as you will own; + But are there none of the race abroad, + Are no specimens elsewhere known? + + Well, I think that he whose views of life + Are crooked, wrong, perverse, and odd, + Who looks upon all with jaundiced eyes-- + Sees himself and believes it God, + + Who sneers at the good, and makes the ill, + Curses a world he cannot mend; + Who measures life by the rule of wrong + And abuses its aim and end, + + The man who stays when he ought to move, + And only goes when he ought to stop-- + Is strangely like the folk in my dream, + And would flourish in Turvey Top. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +WHAT THE PRINCE OF I DREAMT + + I dreamt it! such a funny thing-- + And now it's taken wing; + I s'pose no man before or since + Dreamt such a funny thing? + + It had a Dragon; with a tail; + A tail both long and slim, + And ev'ry day he wagg'd at it-- + How good it was of him! + + And so to him the tailest + Of all three-tailed Bashaws, + Suggested that for reasons + The waggling should pause; + + And held his tail--which, parting, + Reversed that Bashaw, which + Reversed that Dragon, who reversed + Himself into a ditch. + + * * * * * + + It had a monkey--in a trap-- + Suspended by the tail: + Oh! but that monkey look'd distress'd, + And his countenance was pale. + + And he had danced and dangled there; + Till he grew very mad: + For his tail it was a handsome tail + And the trap had pinched it--bad. + + The trapper sat below, and grinn'd; + His victim's wrath wax'd hot: + He bit his tail in two--and fell-- + And killed him on the spot. + + * * * * * + + It had a pig--a stately pig; + With curly tail and quaint: + And the Great Mogul had hold of that + Till he was like to faint. + + So twenty thousand Chinamen, + With three tails each at least, + Came up to help the Great Mogul, + And took him round the waist. + + And so, the tail slipp'd through his hands; + And so it came to pass, + That twenty thousand Chinamen + Sat down upon the grass. + + * * * * * + + It had a Khan--a Tartar Khan-- + With tail superb, I wis; + And that fell graceful down a back + Which was considered his. + + Wherefore all sorts of boys that were + Accursed, swung by it; + Till he grew savage in his mind + And vex'd, above a bit: + + And so he swept his tail, as one + Awak'ning from a dream; + And those abominable ones + Flew off into the stream. + + Likewise they hobbled up and down, + Like many apples there; + Till they subsided--and became + Amongst the things that were. + + * * * * * + + And so it had a moral too, + That would be bad to lose; + "Whoever takes a Tail in hand + Should mind his p's and queues." + + I dreamt it!--such a funny thing! + And now it's taken wing; + I s'pose no man before or since + Dreamt such a funny thing? + + _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell_. + + + + +THE DINKEY-BIRD + + In an ocean, 'way out yonder + (As all sapient people know), + Is the land of Wonder-Wander, + Whither children love to go; + It's their playing, romping, swinging, + That give great joy to me + While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing + In the Amfalula-tree! + + There the gum-drops grow like cherries, + And taffy's thick as peas,-- + Caramels you pick like berries + When, and where, and how you please: + Big red sugar-plums are clinging + To the cliffs beside that sea + Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the Amfalula-tree. + + So when children shout and scamper + And make merry all the day, + When there's naught to put a damper + To the ardor of their play; + When I hear their laughter ringing, + Then I'm sure as sure can be + That the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the Amfalula-tree. + + For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras + And staccatos are so sweet-- + His roulades, appogiaturas, + And robustos so complete, + That the youth of every nation-- + Be they near or far away-- + Have especial delectation + In that gladsome roundelay. + + Their eyes grow bright and brighter, + Their lungs begin to crow, + Their hearts get light and lighter, + And their cheeks are all aglow; + For an echo cometh bringing + The news to all and me. + That the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the Amfalula-tree. + + I'm sure you'd like to go there + To see your feathered friend-- + And so many goodies grow there + You would like to comprehend! + _Speed, little dreams, your winging + To that land across the sea + Where the Dickey-Bird is singing + In the Amfalula-Tree_! + + _Eugene Field_. + + + + +THE MAN IN THE MOON + + Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon, + "My! + Sakes! + What a lot o' mistakes + Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon! + But people that's been up to see him like Me, + And calls on him frequent and intimutly, + Might drop a few hints that would interest you + Clean! + Through! + If you wanted 'em to-- + Some actual facts that might interest you!" + + "O the Man in the Moon has a crick in his back; + Whee! + Whimm! + Ain't you sorry for him? + And a mole on his nose that is purple and black; + And his eyes are so weak that they water and run + If he dares to _dream_ even he looks at the sun,-- + So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctors advise-- + My! + Eyes! + But isn't he wise-- + To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise?" + + "And the Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear-- + Whee! + Whing! + What a singular thing! + I know! but these facts are authentic, my dear,-- + There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin,-- + He calls it a dimple,--but dimples stick in,-- + Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know! + Whang! + Ho! + Why certainly so!-- + It might be a dimple turned over, you know!" + + "And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee, + Gee! + Whizz! + What a pity that is! + And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be. + So whenever he wants to go North he goes South, + And comes back with the porridge crumbs all round his mouth, + And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan, + Whing! + Whann! + What a marvellous man! + What a very remarkably marvellous man!" + + "And the Man in the Moon," sighed the Raggedy Man, + "Gits! + So! + Sullonesome, you know! + Up there by himself since creation began!-- + That when I call on him and then come away, + He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay,-- + Till--well, if it wasn't for _Jimmy-cum-Jim_, + Dadd! + Limb! + I'd go pardners with him! + Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!" + + _James Whitcomb Riley_. + + + + + +THE STORY OF THE WILD HUNTSMAN + + This is the Wild Huntsman that shoots the hares; + With the grass-green coat he always wears; + With game-bag, powder-horn and gun, + He's going out to have some fun. + He finds it hard without a pair + Of spectacles, to shoot the hare. + + He put his spectacles upon his nose, and said, + "Now I will shoot the hares and kill them dead." + The hare sits snug in leaves and grass, + And laughs to see the green man pass. + Now as the sun grew very hot, + And he a heavy gun had got, + He lay down underneath a tree + And went to sleep as you may see. + And, while he slept like any top, + The little hare came, hop, hop, hop,-- + Took gun and spectacles, and then + Softly on tiptoe went off again. + The green man wakes, and sees her place + The spectacles upon her face. + She pointed the gun at the hunter's heart, + Who jumped up at once with a start. + He cries, and screams, and runs away. + "Help me, good people, help! I pray." + At last he stumbled at the well, + Head over ears, and in he fell. + The hare stopped short, took aim, and hark! + Bang went the gun!--she missed her mark! + The poor man's wife was drinking up + Her coffee in her coffee-cup; + The gun shot cup and saucer through; + "Oh dear!" cried she, "what shall I do?" + Hiding close by the cottage there, + Was the hare's own child, the little hare. + When he heard the shot he quickly arose, + And while he stood upon his toes, + The coffee fell and burned his nose; + "Oh dear," he cried, "what burns me so?" + And held up the spoon with his little toe. + + _Dr. Heinrich Hoffman_. + + + + +THE STORY OF PYRAMID THOTHMES + + Thothmes, who loved a pyramid, + And dreamed of wonders that it hid, + Took up again one afternoon, + His longest staff, his sandal shoon, + His evening meal, his pilgrim flask, + And set himself at length the task, + Scorning the smaller and the small, + To climb the highest one of all. + + The sun was very hot indeed, + Yet Thothmes never slacked his speed + Until upon the topmost stone + He lightly sat him down alone + To make himself some pleasant cheer + And turned to take his flask of beer, + For he was weary and athirst. + Forth from the neck the stopper burst + And rudely waked the sleeping dead. + In terror guilty Thothmes fled + As rose majestic, wroth and slow, + The Pharaoh's Ka of long ago. + "Help! help!" he cried, "or I am lost! + Oh! save me from old Pharaoh's ghost!" + + Till, uttering one fearful yell, + He stumbled at the base and fell + Where Anubis was at his side, + And, by the god of death, he died. + + The wife of Thothmes learned his tale + First from the "Memphis Evening Mail," + And called her son, and told their woe; + "Alas!" said she, "I told him so! + Oh, think upon these awful things + And mount not on the graves of kings! + A pyramid is strange to see, + Though only at its base you be." + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE STORY OF CRUEL PSAMTEK + + Here is cruel Psamtek, see. + Such a wicked boy was he! + Chased the ibis round about, + Plucked its longest feathers out, + Stamped upon the sacred scarab + Like an unbelieving Arab, + Put the dog and cat to pain, + Making them to howl again. + Only think what he would do-- + Tease the awful Apis too! + Basking by the sacred Nile + Lay the trusting crocodile; + Cruel Psamtek crept around him, + Laughed to think how he had found him, + With his pincers seized his tail, + Made the holy one to wail; + Till a priest of Isis came, + Called the wicked boy by name, + Shut him in a pyramid, + Where his punishment was hid. + --But the crocodile the while + Bore the pincers up the Nile-- + Here the scribe who taught him letters, + And respect for all his betters, + Gave him many a heavy task, + Horrid medicines from a flask, + While on bread and water, too, + Bitter penance must he do. + + The Crocodile is blythe and gay, + With friends and family at play, + And cries, "O blessed Land of Nile, + Where sacred is the crocodile, + Where no ill deed unpunished goes, + And man himself rewards our foes!" + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE CUMBERBUNCE + + I strolled beside the shining sea, + I was as lonely as could be; + No one to cheer me in my walk + But stones and sand, which cannot talk-- + Sand and stones and bits of shell, + Which never have a thing to tell. + + But as I sauntered by the tide + I saw a something at my side, + A something green, and blue, and pink, + And brown, and purple, too, I think. + I would not say how large it was; + I would not venture that, because + It took me rather by surprise, + And I have not the best of eyes. + + Should you compare it to a cat, + I'd say it was as large as that; + Or should you ask me if the thing + Was smaller than a sparrow's wing, + I should be apt to think you knew, + And simply answer, "Very true!" + + Well, as I looked upon the thing, + It murmured, "Please, sir, can I sing?" + And then I knew its name at once-- + It plainly was a Cumberbunce. + + You are amazed that I could tell + The creature's name so quickly? Well, + I knew it was not a paper-doll, + A pencil or a parasol, + A tennis-racket or a cheese, + And, as it was not one of these, + And I am not a perfect dunce-- + It had to be a Cumberbunce! + + With pleading voice and tearful eye + It seemed as though about to cry. + It looked so pitiful and sad + It made me feel extremely bad. + My heart was softened to the thing + That asked me if it, please, could sing. + Its little hand I longed to shake, + But, oh, it had no hand to take! + I bent and drew the creature near, + And whispered in its pale blue ear, + "What! Sing, my Cumberbunce? You can! + Sing on, sing loudly, little man!" + + The Cumberbunce, without ado, + Gazed sadly on the ocean blue, + And, lifting up its little head, + In tones of awful longing, said: + + "Oh, I would sing of mackerel skies, + And why the sea is wet, + Of jelly-fish and conger-eels, + And things that I forget. + And I would hum a plaintive tune + Of why the waves are hot + As water boiling on a stove, + Excepting that they're not!" + + "And I would sing of hooks and eyes, + And why the sea is slant, + And gayly tips the little ships, + Excepting that I can't! + I never sang a single song, + I never hummed a note. + There is in me no melody, + No music in my throat." + + "So that is why I do not sing + Of sharks, or whales, or anything!" + + I looked in innocent surprise, + My wonder showing in my eyes. + "Then why, O, Cumberbunce," I cried, + "Did you come walking at my side + And ask me if you, please, might sing, + When you could not warble anything?" + + "I did not ask permission, sir, + I really did not, I aver. + You, sir, misunderstood me, quite. + I did not ask you if I _might_. + Had you correctly understood, + You'd know I asked you if I _could_. + So, as I cannot sing a song, + Your answer, it is plain, was wrong. + The fact I could not sing I knew, + But wanted your opinion, too." + + A voice came softly o'er the lea. + "Farewell! my mate is calling me!" + + I saw the creature disappear, + Its voice, in parting, smote my ear-- + + "I thought all people understood + The difference 'twixt 'might' and 'could'!" + + _Paul West_. + + + + +THE AHKOND OF SWAT + + Who, or why, or which, or _what_, + Is the Ahkond of Swat? + + Is he tall or short, or dark or fair? + Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair, + or Squat, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Is he wise or foolish, young or old? + Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold, + or Hot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk, + And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk, + or Trot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he wear a turban, a fez or a hat? + Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed or a mat, + or a Cot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + When he writes a copy in round-hand size, + Does he cross his t's and finish his i's + with a Dot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Can he write a letter concisely clear, + Without a speck or a smudge or smear + or Blot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Do his people like him extremely well? + Or do they, whenever they can, rebel, + or Plot, + At the Ahkond of Swat? + + If he catches them then, either old or young, + Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, + or Shot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Do his people prig in the lanes or park? + Or even at times, when days are dark, + Garotte? + Oh, the Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he study the wants of his own dominion? + Or doesn't he care for public opinion + a Jot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + To amuse his mind do his people show him + Pictures, or any one's last new poem, + or What, + For the Ahkond of Swat? + + At night if he suddenly screams and wakes, + Do they bring him only a few small cakes, + or a Lot, + For the Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he live on turnips, tea or tripe, + Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe + or a Dot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he like to lie on his back in a boat + Like the lady who lived in that isle remote, + Shalott. + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Is he quiet, or always making a fuss? + Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, + or a Scot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave? + Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, + or a Grott, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he drink small beer from a silver jug? + Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug? + or a Pot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe, + When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe, + or Rot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his friends, + And tie it neat in a bow with ends, + or a Knot, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies? + When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, + or Not, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake? + Does he sail about on an inland lake, + in a Yacht, + The Ahkond of Swat? + + Some one, or nobody knows I wot + Who or which or why or what + Is the Ahkond of Swat! + + _Edward Lear_. + + + + +A THRENODY + + + What, what, what, + What's the news from Swat? + Sad news, + Bad news, + Comes by the cable led + Through the Indian Ocean's bed, + Through the Persian Gulf, the Red + Sea and the Med- + Iterranean--he's dead; + The Ahkoond is dead! + + For the Ahkoond I mourn, + Who wouldn't? + He strove to disregard the message stern, + But he Ahkoodn't. + Dead, dead, dead; + (Sorrow Swats!) + Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, + Swats whom he hath often led + Onward to a gory bed, + Or to Victory, + As the case might be, + Sorrow Swats! + Tears shed, + Tears shed like water, + Your great Ahkoond is dead! + That Swats the matter! + + Mourn, city of Swat! + Your great Ahkoond is not, + But lain 'mid worms to rot. + His mortal part alone, his soul was caught + (Because he was a good Ahkoond) + Up to the bosom of Mahound. + Though earthly walls his frame surround + (Forever hallowed be the ground!) + And sceptics mock the lowly mound + And say "He's now of no Ahkoond!" + His soul is in the skies-- + The azure skies that bend above his loved + Metropolis of Swat. + He sees with larger, other eyes, + Athwart all earthly mysteries-- + He knows what's Swat. + + Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond + With a noise of mourning and of lamentation! + Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond + With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation! + Fallen is at length + Its tower of strength, + Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned; + Dead lies the great Ahkoond, + The great Ahkoond of Swat + Is not! + + _George Thomas Lanigan_. + + + + +DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL + + _Rival of the Akhoond of Swat_ + + I. + + Alas, unhappy land; ill-fated spot + Kotal--though where or what + On earth Kotal is, the bard has forgot; + Further than this indeed he knoweth not-- + It borders upon Swat! + + + II. + + When sorrows come, they come not single spies, + But in battal- + Ions: the gloom that lay on Swat now lies + Upon Kotal, + On sad Kotal, whose people ululate + For their loved Moolla late. + Put away his little turban, + And his narghileh embrowned, + The lord of Kotal--rural urban-- + 'S gone unto his last Akhoond, + 'S gone to meet his rival Swattan, + 'S gone, indeed, but not forgotten. + + + III. + + His rival, but in what? + Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat + Kotal's lamented Moolla late, + As it were, emulate? + Was it in the tented field + With crash of sword on shield, + While backward meaner champions reeled + And loud the tom-tom pealed? + Did they barter gash for scar + With the Persian scimetar + Or the Afghanistee tulwar, + While loud the tom-tom pealed-- + While loud the tom-tom pealed, + And the jim-jam squealed, + And champions less well heeled + Their war-horses wheeled + And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o' + the field? + Was Kotal's proud citadel-- + Bastioned, and demi-luned, + Beaten down with shot and shell + By the guns of the Akhoond? + Or were wails despairing caught, as + The burghers pale of Swat + Cried in panic, "Moolla ad Portas"? + --Or what? + Or made each in the cabinet his mark + Kotalese Gortschakoff, Swattish Bismarck? + Did they explain and render hazier + The policies of Central Asia? + Did they with speeches from the throne, + Wars dynastic, + Ententes cordiales, + Between Swat and Kotal; + Holy alliances, + And other appliances + Of statesmen with morals and consciences + plastic + Come by much more than their own? + Made they mots, as "There to-day are + No more Himalayehs," + Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are + No more Himalaya"? + Oi, said the Akhoond, "Sah, + L'État de Swat c'est moi"? + Khabu, did there come great fear + On thy Khabuldozed Ameer + Ali Shere? + + Or did the Khan of far + Kashgar + Tremble at the menace hot + Of the Moolla of Kotal, + "I will extirpate thee, pal + Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat"? + Who knows + Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did? + Namely, in life they rivals were, or foes, + And in their deaths not very much divided? + If any one knows it, + Let him disclose it! + + _George Thomas Lanigan_. + + + + +RUSSIAN AND TURK + + There was a Russian came over the sea, + Just when the war was growing hot; + And his name it was Tjalikavakaree- + Karindobrolikanahudarot- + Shibkadirova- + Ivarditztova + Sanilik + Danerik + Varagobhot. + + A Turk was standing upon the shore-- + Right where the terrible Russian crossed, + And he cried: "Bismillah! I'm Ab-El Kor- + Bazarou-Kilgonautosgobross- + Getfinpravadi- + Kligekoladji + Grivino + Blivido- + Jenikodosk!" + + So they stood like brave men long and well; + And they called each other their proper names, + Till the lockjaw seized them, and where they fell + They buried them both by the Irdesholmmes + Kalatalustchuk + Mischtaribusiclup- + Bulgari- + Dulbary- + Sagharimsing. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +LINES TO MISS FLORENCE HUNTINGDON + + Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy, + Shall we seek for communion of souls + Where the deep Mississippi meanders, + Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls? + + Ah no,--for in Maine I will find thee + A sweetly sequestrated nook, + Where the far-winding Skoodoowabskooksis + Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook. + + There wander two beautiful rivers, + With many a winding and crook; + The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis, + The other--the Skoodoowabskook. + + Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned + In geography, atlas, or book, + How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis, + When joining the Skoodoowabskook! + + Our cot shall be close by the waters + Within that sequestrated nook-- + Reflected in Skoodoowabskooksis + And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook. + + You shall sleep to the music of leaflets, + By zephyrs in wantonness shook, + And dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis, + And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook. + + When awaked by the hens and the roosters, + Each morn, you shall joyously look + On the junction of Skoodoowabskooksis + With the soft gliding Skoodoowabskook. + + Your food shall be fish from the waters, + Drawn forth on the point of a hook, + From murmuring Skoodoowabskooksis, + Or wandering Skoodoowabskook! + + You shall quaff the most sparkling of water, + Drawn forth from a silvery brook + Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis, + And then to the Skoodoowabskook! + + And you shall preside at the banquet, + And I will wait on thee as cook; + And we'll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis, + And sing of the Skoodoowabskook! + + Let others sing loudly of Saco, + Of Quoddy, and Tattamagouche, + Of Kennebeccasis, and Quaco, + Of Merigonishe, and Buctouche, + + Of Nashwaak, and Magaguadavique, + Or Memmerimammericook,-- + There's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis, + Excepting the Skoodoowabskook! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +COBBE'S PROPHECIES + + When the day and the night do meete + And the houses are even with the streete: + And the fire and the water agree, + And blinde men have power to see: + When the Wolf and the Lambe lie down togither, + And the blasted trees will not wither: + When the flood and the ebbe run one way, + And the Sunne and the Moone are at a stay; + When Age and Youth are all one, + And the Miller creepes through the Mill-stone: + When the Ram butts the Butcher on the head, + And the living are buried with the dead. + When the Cobler doth worke without his ends, + And the Cutpurse and the Hangman are friends: + Strange things will then be to see, + But I think it will never be! + + --_1614_. + + + + +AN UNSUSPECTED FACT + + If down his throat a man should choose + In fun, to jump or slide, + He'd scrape his shoes against his teeth, + Nor dirt his own inside. + But if his teeth were lost and gone, + And not a stump to scrape upon, + He'd see at once how very pat + His tongue lay there by way of mat, + And he would wipe his feet on _that_! + + _Edward Cannon_. + + + + +THE SORROWS OF WERTHER + + Werther had a love for Charlotte + Such as words could never utter; + Would you know how first he met her? + She was cutting bread and butter. + + Charlotte was a married lady, + And a moral man was Werther, + And for all the wealth of Indies, + Would do nothing for to hurt her. + + So he sigh'd and pined and ogled, + And his passion boil'd and bubbled, + Till he blew his silly brains out, + And no more was by it troubled. + + Charlotte, having seen his body + Borne before her on a shutter, + Like a well-conducted person, + Went on cutting bread and butter. + + _W.M. Thackeray_. + + + + +NONSENSE VERSES + + Lazy-bones, lazy-bones, wake up and peep! + The cat's in the cupboard, your mother's asleep. + There you sit snoring, forgetting her ills; + Who is to give her her Bolus and Pills? + Twenty fine Angels must come into town, + All for to help you to make your new gown: + Dainty aerial Spinsters and Singers; + Aren't you ashamed to employ such white fingers? + Delicate hands, unaccustom'd to reels, + To set 'em working a poor body's wheels? + Why they came down is to me all a riddle, + And left Hallelujah broke off in the middle: + Jove's Court, and the Presence angelical, cut-- + To eke out the work of a lazy young slut. + Angel-duck, Angel-duck, winged and silly, + Pouring a watering-pot over a lily, + Gardener gratuitous, careless of pelf, + Leave her to water her lily herself, + Or to neglect it to death if she chuse it: + Remember the loss is her own if she lose it. + + _Charles Lamb_. + + + + +THE NOBLE TUCK-MAN + + Americus, as he did wend + With A. J. Mortimer, his chum, + The two were greeted by a friend, + "And how are you, boys, Hi, Ho, Hum?" + + He spread a note so crisp, so neat + (Ho, and Hi, and tender Hum), + "If you of this a fifth can eat + I'll give you the remainder. Come!" + + To the tuck-shop three repair, + (Ho, and Hum, and pensive Hi), + One looks on to see all's fair, + Two call out for hot mince-pie. + + Thirteen tarts, a few Bath buns + (Hi, and Hum, and gorgeous Ho), + Lobster cakes (the butter'd ones), + All at once they cry, "No go." + + Then doth tuck-man smile. "Them there + (Ho, and Hi, and futile Hum) + Jellies three and sixpence air, + Use of spoons an equal sum." + + Three are rich. Sweet task 'tis o'er, + "Tuckman, you're a brick," they cry, + Wildly then shake hands all four + (Hum and Ho, the end is Hi). + + _Jean Ingelow_. + + + + +THE PESSIMIST + + Nothing to do but work, + Nothing to eat but food, + Nothing to wear but clothes + To keep one from going nude. + + Nothing to breathe but air, + Quick as a flash 'tis gone; + Nowhere to fall but off, + Nowhere to stand but on. + + Nothing to comb but hair, + Nowhere to sleep but in bed, + Nothing to weep but tears, + Nothing to bury but dead. + + Nothing to sing but songs, + Ah, well, alas! alack! + Nowhere to go but out, + Nowhere to come but back. + + Nothing to see but sights, + Nothing to quench but thirst, + Nothing to have but what we've got; + Thus thro' life we are cursed. + + Nothing to strike but a gait; + Everything moves that goes. + Nothing at all but common sense + Can ever withstand these woes. + + _Ben King_. + + + + +THE MODERN HIAWATHA + + He killed the noble Mudjokivis. + Of the skin he made him mittens, + Made them with the fur side inside, + Made them with the skin side outside. + He, to get the warm side inside, + Put the inside skin side outside; + He, to get the cold side outside, + Put the warm side fur side inside. + That's why he put the fur side inside, + Why he put the skin side outside, + Why he turned them inside outside. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +ON THE ROAD + + Said Folly to Wisdom, + "Pray, where are we going?" + Said Wisdom to Folly, + "There's no way of knowing." + + Said Folly to Wisdom, + "Then what shall we do?" + Said Wisdom to Folly, + "I thought to ask you." + + _Tudor Jenks_. + + + + +UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE JIM + + Uncle Simon he + Clum up a tree + To see what he could see + When presentlee + Uncle Jim + Clum up beside of him + And squatted down by he. + + _Artemus Ward_. + + + + +POOR DEAR GRANDPAPA + + What is the matter with Grandpapa? + What can the matter be? + He's broken his leg in trying to spell + Tommy without a T. + + _D' Arcy W. Thompson_. + + + + +THE SEA-SERPENT + + All bones but yours will rattle when I say + I'm the sea-serpent from America. + Mayhap you've heard that I've been round the world; + I guess I'm round it now, Mister, twice curled. + Of all the monsters through the deep that splash, + I'm "number one" to all immortal smash. + When I lie down and would my length unroll, + There ar'n't half room enough 'twixt pole and pole. + In short, I grow so long that I've a notion + I must be measured soon for a new ocean. + + _Planché_. + + + + +MELANCHOLIA + + I am a peevish student, I; + My star is gone from yonder sky. + I think it went so high at first + That it just went and gone and burst. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE MONKEY'S WEDDING + + The monkey married the Baboon's sister, + Smacked his lips and then he kissed her, + He kissed so hard he raised a blister. + She set up a yell. + The bridesmaid stuck on some court plaster, + It stuck so fast it couldn't stick faster, + Surely 't was a sad disaster, + But it soon got well. + + What do you think the bride was dressed in? + White gauze veil and a green glass breast-pin, + Red kid shoes--she was quite interesting, + She was quite a belle. + The bridegroom swell'd with a blue shirt collar, + Black silk stock that cost a dollar, + Large false whiskers the fashion to follow; + He cut a monstrous swell. + + What do you think they had for supper? + Black-eyed peas and bread and butter, + Ducks in the duck-house all in a flutter, + Pickled oysters too. + Chestnuts raw and boil'd and roasted, + Apples sliced and onions toasted, + Music in the corner posted, + Waiting for the cue. + + What do you think was the tune they danced to? + "The drunken Sailor"--sometimes "Jim Crow," + Tails in the way--and some got pinched, too, + 'Cause they were too long. + What do you think they had for a fiddle? + An old Banjo with a hole in the middle, + A Tambourine made out of a riddle, + And that's the end of my song. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP + + Mr. Finney had a turnip + And it grew and it grew, + And it grew behind the barn, + And that turnip did no harm. + + There it grew and it grew + Till it could grow no longer; + Then his daughter Lizzie picked it + And put it in the cellar. + + There it lay and it lay + Till it began to rot; + And his daughter Susie took it + And put it in the pot. + + And they boiled it and boiled it + As long as they were able, + And then his daughters took it + And put it on the table. + + Mr. Finney and his wife + They sat down to sup; + And they ate and they ate + And they ate that turnip up. + + _Anonymous_.. + + + + +THE SUN + + The Sun, yon glorious orb of day, + Ninety-four million miles away, + Will keep revolving in its orbit + Till heat and motion reabsorb it. + + _J. Davis_. + + + + +THE AUTUMN LEAVES + + The Autumn leaves are falling, + Are falling here and there. + They're falling through the atmosphere + And also through the air. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +IN THE NIGHT + + The night was growing old + As she trudged through snow and sleet; + Her nose was long and cold, + And her shoes were full of feet. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +POOR BROTHER + + How very sad it is to think + Our poor benighted brother + Should have his head upon one end, + His feet upon the other. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_THE BOY_ + + Down through the snow-drifts in the street + With blustering joy he steers; + His rubber boots are full of feet + And his tippet full of ears. + + _Eugene Field_. + + + + +_THE SEA_ + + Behold the wonders of the mighty deep, + Where crabs and lobsters learn to creep, + And little fishes learn to swim, + And clumsy sailors tumble in. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +_THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL_ + + There was a little girl, + And she had a little curl + Right in the middle of her forehead. + When she was good + She was very, very good, + And when she was bad she was horrid. + + One day she went upstairs, + When her parents, unawares, + In the kitchen were occupied with meals + And she stood upon her head + In her little trundle-bed, + And then began hooraying with her heels. + + Her mother heard the noise, + And she thought it was the boys + A-playing at a combat in the attic; + But when she climbed the stair, + And found Jemima there, + She took and she did spank her most emphatic. + + _H. W. Longfellow_. + + + + +FIN DE SIÈCLE + + The sorry world is sighing now; + _La Grippe _is at the door; + And many folks are dying now + Who never died before. + + _Newton Mackintosh_. + + + + +MARY JANE + + Mary Jane was a farmer's daughter, + Mary Jane did what she oughter. + She fell in love--but all in vain; + Oh, poor Mary! oh, poor Jane! + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +TENDER-HEARTEDNESS + + Little Willie, in the best of sashes, + Fell in the fire and was burned to ashes. + By and by the room grew chilly, + But no one liked to poke up Willie. + + _Col. D. Streamer_. + + + + +IMPETUOUS SAMUEL + + Sam had spirits naught could check, + And to-day, at breakfast, he + Broke his baby sister's neck, + So he sha'n't have jam for tea! + + _Col. D. Streamer_. + + + + +MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY + + Making toast at the fireside, + Nurse fell in the grate and died; + And, what makes it ten times worse, + All the toast was burned with Nurse. + + _Col. D. Streamer_. + + + + +AUNT ELIZA + + In the drinking-well + (Which the plumber built her) + Aunt Eliza fell,-- + We must buy a filter. + + _Col. D. Streamer_. + + + + +SUSAN + + Susan poisoned her grandmother's tea; + Grandmamma died in agonee. + Susan's papa was greatly vexed, + And he said to Susan, "My dear, what next?" + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +BABY AND MARY + + Baby sat on the window-seat; + Mary pushed Baby into the street; + Baby's brains were dashed out in the "arey"; + And mother held up her forefinger at Mary. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +THE SUNBEAM + + I dined with a friend in the East, one day, + Who had no window-sashes; + A sunbeam through the window came + And burnt his wife to ashes. + "John, sweep your mistress away," said he, + "And bring fresh wine for my friend and me." + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +LITTLE WILLIE + + Little Willie hung his sister, + She was dead before we missed her. + "Willie's always up to tricks! + Ain't he cute? He's only six!" + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +MARY AMES + + Pity now poor Mary Ames, + Blinded by her brother James; + Red-hot nails in her eyes he poked,-- + I never saw Mary more provoked. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +MUDDLED METAPHORS + + _By a Moore-ose Melodist_ + + Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour, + I've seen my fondest hopes recede! + I never loved a tree or flower + That didn't trump its partner's lead. + + I never nursed a dear gazelle, + To glad me with its dappled hide, + But when it came to know me well, + It fell upon the buttered side. + + I never taught a cockatoo + To whistle comic songs profound, + But, just when "Jolly Dogs" it knew, + It failed for ninepence in the pound. + + I never reared a walrus cub + In my aquarium to plunge, + But, when it learned to love its tub, + It placidly threw up the sponge! + + I never strove a metaphor + To every bosom home to bring + But--just as it had reached the door-- + It went and cut a pigeon's wing! + + _Tom Hood, Jr_. + + + + +VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO ALL CROSS COVES + + "_Tout aux tavernes et aux fiells_" + + Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack? + Or fake the broads? or fig a nag? + Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack? + Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag? + Suppose you duff? or nose and lag? + Or get the straight, and land your pot? + How do you melt the multy swag? + Booze and the blowens cop the lot. + + Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack; + Or moskeneer, or flash the drag; + Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack; + Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag; + Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag; + Rattle the tats, or mark the spot; + You cannot bag a single stag; + Booze and the blowens cop the lot. + + Suppose you try a different tack, + And on the square you flash your flag? + At penny-a-lining make your whack, + Or with the mummers mug and gag? + For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag! + At any graft, no matter what, + Your merry goblins soon stravag: + Booze and the blowens cop the lot. + + THE MORAL + + It's up the spout and Charley Wag + With wipes and tickers and what not + Until the squeezer nips your scrag, + Booze and the blowens cop the lot. + + _W. E. Henley_. + + + + +ODE TO THE HUMAN HEART + + Blind Thamyris, and blind M. æonides, + Pursue the triumph and partake the gale! + Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, + To point a moral or adorn a tale. + + Full many a gem of purest ray serene, + Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears, + Like angels' visits, few and far between, + Deck the long vista of departed years. + + Man never is, but always to be bless'd; + The tenth transmitter of a foolish face, + Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest, + And makes a sunshine in the shady place. + + For man the hermit sigh'd, till woman smiled, + To waft a feather or to drown a fly, + (In wit a man, simplicity a child,) + With silent finger pointing to the sky. + + But fools rush in where angels fear to tread, + Far out amid the melancholy main; + As when a vulture on Imaus bred, + Dies of a rose in aromatic pain. + + _Laman Blanchard_. + + + + + +IMERICKS + + There was an old person of Ware + Who rode on the back of a bear; + When they said, "Does it trot?" + He said: "Certainly not, + It's a Moppsikon Floppsikon bear." + + + There was an old person of Wick, + Who said, "Tick-a-Tick, Tick-a-Tick, + Chickabee, Chickabaw," + And he said nothing more, + This laconic old person of Wick. + + + There was an old person of Woking, + Whose mind was perverse and provoking; + He sate on a rail, + With his head in a pail, + That illusive old person of Woking. + + + There was once a man with a beard + Who said, "It is just as I feared!-- + Two Owls and a Hen, + Four Larks and a Wren + Have all built their nests in my beard." + + + There was an old man of Thermopylae, + Who never did anything properly; + But they said: "If you choose + To boil eggs in your shoes, + You cannot remain in Thermopylae." + + + There was an Old Man who said, "Hush! + I perceive a young bird in this bush!" + When they said, "Is it small?" + He replied, "Not at all; + It is four times as big as the bush!" + + + There was an Old Man who supposed + That the street door was partially closed; + But some very large Rats + Ate his coats and his hats, + While that futile Old Gentleman dozed. + + + There was an Old Man of Leghorn, + The smallest that ever was born; + But quickly snapt up he + Was once by a Puppy, + Who devoured that Old Man of Leghorn. + + + There was an Old Man of Kamschatka + Who possessed a remarkably fat Cur; + His gait and his waddle + Were held as a model + To all the fat dogs in Kamschatka. + + _Edward Lear_. + + [_From books printed for the benefit of the New York + Fair in aid of the Sanitary Commission_, 1864] + + + + There was a gay damsel of Lynn, + Whose waist was so charmingly thin, + The dressmaker needed + A microscope--she did-- + To fit this slim person of Lynn. + + + There was a young lady of Milton, + Who was highly disgusted with Stilton; + When offered a bite, + She said, "Not a mite!" + That suggestive young lady of Milton. + + + There was a dear lady of Eden, + Who on apples was quite fond of feedin'; + She gave one to Adam, + Who said, "Thank you, Madam," + And then both skedaddled from Eden. + + + There was a young lady of Wales, + Who wore her back hair in two tails; + And a hat on her head + That was striped black and red, + And studded with ten-penny nails. + + + There was an old man who said, "Do + Tell me how I'm to add two and two? + I'm not very sure + That it doesn't make four-- + But I fear that is almost too few." + + + There once was a man who said, "How + Shall I manage to carry my cow? + For if I should ask it + To get in my basket, + 'Twould make such a terrible row." + + _Anonymous_. + + + + There once was an old man of Lyme + Who married three wives at a time; + When asked, "Why a third?" + He replied, "One's absurd! + And bigamy, sir, is a crime." + + + There once was a person of Benin, + Who wore clothes not fit to be seen in; + When told that he shouldn't, + He replied, "Gumscrumrudent!" + A word of inscrutable meanin'. + + + There once was a girl of New York + Whose body was lighter than cork; + She had to be fed + For six weeks upon lead, + Before she went out for a walk. + + _Cosmo Monkhouse_. + + + There was a young man who was bitten + By twenty-two cats and a kitten; + Sighed he, "It is clear + My finish is near; + No matter; I'll die like a Briton!" + + + There was a princess of Bengal, + Whose mouth was exceedingly small; + Said she, "It would be + More easy for me + To do without eating at all!" + + + There was an old stupid who wrote + The verses above that we quote; + His want of all sense + Was something immense, + Which made him a person of note. + + _Walter Parke_. + + + + +VERS NONSENSIQUES + + À Potsdam, les totaux absteneurs, + Comme tant d'autres titotalleurs, + Sont gloutons, omnivores, + Nasorubicolores, + Grands manchons, et terribles duffeurs. + + + Un vieux due (le meilleur des époux) + Demandait (en lui tâtant le pouls) + À sa vielle duchesse + (Qu'un vieux catarrhe oppresse):-- + "Et ton thé, t'a-t-il ôté ta toux?" + + + II naquit près de Choisy-le-Roi; + Le Latin lui causait de l'effroi; + Et les Mathématiques + Lui donnaient des coliques, + Et le Grec l'enrhûmait. Ce fut moi. + + + Il etait un gendarme, à Nanteuil, + Qui n'avait qu'une dent et qu'un oeil; + Mais cet oeil solitaire + Etait plein de mystère; + Cette dent, d'importance et d'orgueil. + + + "Cassez-vous, cassez-vous, cassez-vous, + O mer, sur vos froids gris calloux!" + Ainsi traduisit Laure + Au profit d'Isadore + (Bon jeune homme, at son futur epoux.) + + + Un marin naufrage (de Doncastre) + Pour prière, an milieu du désastre + Répétait à genoux + Ces mots simples et doux:-- + "Scintillez, scintillez, petit astre!" + + _George du Maurier_. + + + + * * * * * + + There was a young man of Cohoes, + Wore tar on the end of his nose; + When asked why he done it, + He said for the fun it + Afforded the men of Cohoes. + + _Robert J. Burdette_. + + + * * * * * + + I'd rather have habits than clothes, + For that's where my intellect shows. + And as for my hair, + Do you think I should care + To comb it at night with my toes? + + I'd rather have ears than a nose, + I'd rather have fingers than toes, + But as for my hair: + I'm glad it's all there; + I'll be awfully sad when it goes. + + I wish that my Room had a Floor; + I don't so much care for a Door, + But this walking around + Without touching the ground + Is getting to be quite a bore! + + _Gelett Burgess_. + + + + H was an indigent Hen, + Who picked up a corn now and then; + She had but one leg + On which she could peg, + And behind her left ear was a wen. + + _Bruce Porter_. + + + + + Cleopatra, who thought they maligned her, + Resolved to reform and be kinder; + "If, when pettish," she said, + "I should knock off your head, + Won't you give me some gentle reminder?" + + _Newton Mackintosh_. + + + + When that Seint George hadde sleyne ye draggon, + He sate him down furninst a flaggon; + And, wit ye well, + Within a spell + He had a bien plaisaunt jag on. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + There was a young lady of Niger + Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger; + They came back from the ride + With the lady inside, + And the smile on the face of the Tiger. + + _Anonymous_. + + + + There was a young maid who said, "Why + Can't I look in my ear with my eye? + If I give my mind to it, + I'm sure I can do it, + You never can tell till you try." + + _Anonymous_. + + + + +INDEX OF TITLES + + +ABSTEMIA _Gelett Burgess_ +Abstrosophy _Gelett Burgess_ +Aestivation _O. W. Holmes_ +Ahkond of Swat, The _Edward Lear_ +Alone +As with my Hat upon my Head _Dr. Johnson_ +Auld Wife, The _C. S. Calverley_ +Aunt Eliza _Col. D. Streamer_ +Autumn Leaves, The + +BABY AND MARY +Ballade of the Nurserie _John Twig_ +Ballad of Bedlam +Ballad of High Endeavor, A +Ballad with an Ancient Refrain +Bison, The _Hilaire Relloc_ +Bloated Biggaboon, The _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell_ +Blue Moonshine _Francis G. Stokes_ +Boy, The _Eugene Field_ +Bulbul, The _Owen Seaman_ +Buz, quoth the Blue Fly _Ben Jonson_ + +CENTIPEDE, A +Chimpanzee, The _Oliver Herford_ +Chronicle, A +Classic Ode, A _Charles Battell Loomis_ +Cobbe's Prophecies +Cock and the Bull, The _C. S. Calverley_ +Collusion between a Alegaiter and a Water-Snaik + _J. W. Morris_ +Companions _C. S. Calverley_ +Cossimbazar _Henry S. Leigh_ +Cow, The _Oliver Herford_ +Cruise of the "P. C.", The +Cumberbunce, The _Paul West_ + +DARWINITY _Herman Merivale_ +Dinkey-Bird, The _Eugene Field_ +Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal _George T. Lanigan_ + +ELDERLY GENTLEMAN, THE _George Canning_ +Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog _Oliver Goldsmith_ +Elegy on Madam Blaize _Oliver Goldsmith_ + +FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY _Thomas Hood_ +Famous Ballad of the Jubilee Cup, The + _A. T. Stiller-Couch_ +Father William +Ferdinando and Elvira _W. S. Gilbert_ +Fin de Siecle _Newton Mackintosh_ +Flamingo, The _Lewis Gaylord Clark_ +Forcing a Way +Frangipanni +Frog, The _Hilaire Belloc_ + +GENERAL JOHN _W. S. Gilbert_ +Gentle Alice Brown _W. S. Gilbert_ +Great Man, A _Oliver Goldsmith_ +Guinea Pig, The + +HEN, THE _Oliver Herford_ +Her Dairy _Peter Newell_ +Here is the Tale _Anthony C. Deane_ +Her Polka Dots _Peter Newell_ +Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell, The + _A. C. Swinburne_ +Hippopotamus, The _Oliver Herford_ +Holiday Task, A _Gilbert Abbott a Becket_ +Hunting of the Snark, The _Lewis Carroll_ +Hyder iddle diddle dell +Hymn to the Sunrise + +IF +If Half the Road +If a Man who Turnips Cries _Dr. Johnson_ +I Love to Stand +Imitation of Wordsworth _Catharine M. Fanshawe_ +Impetuous Samuel _Col. D. Streamer_ +Incidents in the Life of my Uncle Arly + _Edward Lear_ +Indifference +In Immemorian _Cuthbert Bede_ +In the Dumps +In the Gloaming _James C. Bayles_ +In the Night +Invisible Bridge, The _Gelett Burgess_ + +JABBERWOCKY _Lewis Carroll_ +John Jones _A. C. Swinburne_ +Jumblies, The _Edward Lear_ + +KEN YE AUGHT O' CAPTAIN GROSE _Robert Burns_ +Kindness to Animals _J. Ashby-Sterry_ +King Arthur + +LAYE OF YE WOODPECKORE, YE _Henry A. Beers_ +Lazy Roof, The _Gelett Burgess_ +Like to the Thundering Tone _Bishop Corbet_ +LIMERICKS: + Cleopatra, who thought they maligned her + _Newton Mackintosh_ + H was an indigent H _Bruce Porter_ + I'd rather have habits than clothes + _Gelett Burgess_ + I wish that my room had a door + _Gelett Burgess_ + There once was a girl of New York + _Cosmo Monkhouse_ + There once was a man who said "How" + There once was an old man of Lyme + _Cosmo Monkhouse_ + There once was a person of Benin + _Cosmo Monkhouse_ + There was a dear lady of Eden + There was a gay damsel of Lynn + There was an old man in a tree + _Edward Lear_ + There was an Old Man of Kamschatka + _Edward Lear_ + There was an Old Man of Leghorn + _Edward Lear_ + There was an old man of St. Bees + _W. S. Gilbert_ + There was an old man of Thermopylae + _Edward Lear_ + There was an old man who said "Do" + There was an Old Man who said "Hush" + _Edward Lear_ + There was an Old Man who supposed + _Edward Lear_ + There was an old person of Ware + _Edward Lear_ + There was an old person of Wick + _Edward Lear_ + There was an old person of Woking + _Edward Lear_ + There was an old stupid who wrote + _Walter Parke_ + There was once a man with a beard + _Edward Lear_ + There was a princess of Bengal + _Walter Parke_ + There was a small boy of Quebec + _Rudyard Kipling_ + There was a young lady of Milton + There was a young lady of Niger + There was a young lady of Wales + There was a young maid who said "Why" + There was a young man at St. Kitts + There was a young man of Cohoes + _Robert J. Burdette_ + There was a young man who was bitten + _Walter Parke_ + Vers Nonsensiques _George du Maurier_ + When that Seint George hadde sleyne ye dragon +Lines by a Fond Lover +Lines by a Medium +Lines by a Person of Quality _Alexander Pope_ +Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon +Lines to a Young Lady _Edward Lear_ +Little Billee _W.M. Thackeray_ +Little Peach, The +Little Willie +Lobster wooed a Lady Crab, A +Lovers and a Reflection _C.S. Calverley_ +Love Song by a Lunatic +Lugubrious Whing-Whang, The _James W. Riley_ +Lunar Stanzas _H.C. Knight_ + +MALUM OPUS _J. Appleton Morgan_ +Man in the Moon, The _James W. Riley_ +Martin Luther at Potsdam _Barry Pain_ +Martin to his Man +Mary Ames +Mary Jane +Master and Man +Mayor of Scuttleton, The _Mary Mapes Dodge_ +Melancholia +Metaphysics _Oliver Herford_ +Minnie and Winnie _Lord Tennyson_ +Misfortunes _Col. D. Streamer_ +Mr. Finney's Turnip +Modern Hiawatha, The +Monkey's Glue, The _Goldwin Goldsmith_ +Monkey's Wedding The +Monsieur McGinté +Moon is up, The +Moorlands of the Not +Mors Iabrochii +Muddled Metaphors _Tom Hood, Jr_. +My Dream +My Feet _Gelett Burgess_ +My Home +My Recollectest Thoughts _Charles E. Carryl_ + +Nephelidia _A. C. Swinburne_ +Noble Tuckman, The _Jean Ingelow_ +Nonsense +Nonsense _Thomas Moore_ +Nonsense Verses _Charles Lamb_ +Not I _R.L. Stevenson_ +Nyum-Nyum, The + +Ocean Wanderer, The +Odd to a Krokis +Ode to the Human Heart _Laman Blanchard_ +Of Baiting the Lion _Owen Seaman_ +Oh, my Geraldine _F.C. Burnand_ +Oh, Weary Mother _Barry Pain_ +On the Oxford Carrier _John Milton_ +On the Road _Tudor Jenks_ +Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The _Edward Lear_ + +PANTHER, THE +Parson Gray _Oliver Goldsmith_ +Parterre, The _E. H. Palmer_ +Personified Sentimental, The _Bret Harte_ +Pessimist, The _Ben King_ +Platypus, The _Oliver Herford_ +Pobble who has no Toes, The _Edward Lear_ +Poor Brother +Poor Dear Grandpapa _D'Arcy W. Thompson_ +Psycholophon _Gelett Burgess_ +Puer ex Jersey +Purple Cow, The _Gelett Burgess_ +Python, The _Hilaire Belloc_ + +QUATRAIN + +RIDDLE, A +Rollicking Mastodon, The _Arthur Macy_ +Russian and Turk + +SAGE COUNSEL _A. T. Quiller-Couch_ +Sailor's Yarn, A _James Jeffrey Roche_ +Sea, The +Sea-Serpent, The _Planché_ +She's All my Fancy Painted Him _Lewis Carroll_ +She Went into the Garden _S. Foote_ +Shipwreck, The _E. H. Palmer_ +Silver Question, The _Oliver Herford_ +Sing for the Garish Eye _W. S. Gilbert _ +Singular Sangfroid of Baby Bunting, The _Guy W. Carryl_ +Some Geese _Oliver Herford_ +Some Verses to Snaix +Song of Impossibilities _William M. Praed_ +Song of the Screw, The +Song on King William III +Sonnet Found in a Deserted Madhouse +Sorrows of Werther, The _W. M. Thackeray_ +Spirk Troll-Derisive _James W. Riley_ +Story of Cruel Psamtek, The +Story of Prince Agib, The _W. S. Gilbert_ +Story of Pyramid Thothmes +Story of the Wild Huntsman _Heinrich Hoffman_ +Sun, The _J. Davis_ +Sunbeam, The +Superior Nonsense Verses +Susan +Swiss Air _Bret Harte_ +Sylvie and Bruno _Lewis Carroll_ + +Tender-Heartedness _Col. D. Streamer_ +Tender Infant, The _Dr. Johnson_ +There was a Frog +There was a Little Girl _H. W. Longfellow_ +There was a Monkey +Three Acres of Land +Three Children +Three Jovial Huntsmen +Threnody _George T. Lanigan_ +Thy Heart +Timid Hortense _Peter Newell_ +Timon of Archimedes _Charles Battell Loomis_ +'Tis Midnight and the Setting Sun +'Tis Sweet to Roam +To Marie +To Mollidusta _Planché_ +Transcendentalism +Trust in Women +Turvey Top +Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee + +Uffia _Harriet R. White_ +Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim _Artemui Ward_ +Unsuspected Fact, An _Edward Cannon_ +Uprising See the Fitful Lark + +Villon's Straight Tip _W. E. Henley_ + +Walloping Window-Blind, The _Charles E. Carryl_ +Walrus and the Carpenter, The _Lewis Carroll_ +Ways and Means _Lewis Carroll_ +Whango Tree, The +What the Prince of I Dreamt _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell_ +When Moonlike ore the Hazure Seas + _W.M. Thackeray_ +Where Avalanches Wail +Wild Flowers _Peter Newell_ +Wonderful Old Man, The +Wreck of the "Julie Plante" _W.H. Drummond_ + +Yak, The _Hilaire Belloc_ +Yonghy-Bonghy-BO, The _Edward Lear_ + + + + + + + +INDEX OF AUTHORS + + +À BECKET, GILBERT ABBOTT + A Holiday Task +ASHBY-STERRY, J. + Kindness to Animals + +BAYLES, JAMES C. + In the Gloaming +BEDE, CUTHBERT + In Immemoriam +BEERS, HENRY A. + Ye Laye of ye Woodpeckore +BELLOC, HILAIRE + The Bison + The Frog + The Python + The Yak +BLANCHARD, LAMAN + Ode to the Human Heart +BURDETTE, ROBERT J. + Limerick +BURGESS, GELETT + Abstemia + Abstrosophy + The Invisible Bridge + The Lazy Roof + Limericks + My Feet + Psycholophon + The Purple Cow +BURNAND, F. C. + Oh, my Geraldine +BURNS, ROBERT + Ken ye Aught o' Captain Grose? + +CALVERLEY, CHARLES S. + The Auld Wife + The Cock and the Bull + Companions + Lovers and a Reflection +CANNING, GEORGE + The Elderly Gentleman +CANNON, EDWARD + An Unsuspected Fact +CARROLL, LEWIS + The Hunting of the Snark + Jabberwocky + She's All my Fancy Painted Him + Sylvie and Bruno + The Walrus and the Carpenter + Ways and Means +CARRYL, CHARLES E. + My Recollectest Thoughts + The Walloping Window-Blind +CARRYL, GUY WETMORE + The Singular Sangfroid of Baby Bunting +CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL, H. + The Bloated Biggaboon + What the Prince of I Dreamt +CLARK, LEWIS GAYLORD + The Flamingo +CORBET, BISHOP + Like to the Thundering Tone + +DAVIS, J. + The Sun +DEANE, ANTHONY C. + Here is the Tale +DODGE, MARY MAPES + The Mayor of Scuttleton +DRUMMOND, W.H. + Wreck of the "Julie Plante," The +DU MAURIER, GEORGE + Vers Nonsensiques + +FANSHAWE, CATHARINE M. + Imitation of Wordsworth +FIELD, EUGENE + The Boy + The Dinkey Bird +FOOTE, S. + Farrago of Nonsense + +GILBERT, W.S. + Ferdinando and Elvira + General John + Gentle Alice Brown + Sing for the Garish Eye + The Story of Prince Agib + There was an Old Man of St. Bees +GOLDSMITH, GOLDWIN + The Monkey's Glue +GOLDSMITH, OLIVER + Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog + Elegy on Madam Blaize + A Great Man + Parson Gray + +HARTE, BRET + The Personified Sentimental + Swiss Air +HENLEY, W.E. + Villon's Straight Tip +HERFORD, OLIVER. + The Chimpanzee + The Cow + The Hen + The Hippopotamus + Metaphysics + The Platypus + The Silver Question + Some Geese +HOFFMAN, HEINRICH + The Story of the Wild Huntsman +HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL + Æstivation +HOOD, THOMAS + Faithless Nelly Gray +HOOD, THOMAS, JR. + Muddled Metaphors + +INGELOW, JEAN + The Noble Tuckman + +JENKS, TUDOR + On the Road +JOHNSON, SAMUEL + As with my Hat + If a Man who Turnips Cries + The Tender Infant +JONSON, BEN + Buz, quoth the Blue Fly + + +KING, BEN + The Pessimist +KIPLING, RUDYARD + Limerick +KNIGHT, HENRY C. + Lunar Stanzas + + +LAMB, CHARLES + Nonsense Verses +LANIGAN, GEORGE T. + Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal + A Threnody +LEAR, EDWARD + The Ahkond of Swat + Incidents in the Life of my Uncle Arly + The Jumblies + Limericks + Lines to a Young Lady + The Owl and the Pussy-Cat + The Pobble + There was an Old Man in a Tree + The Yonghy-Bonghy-BO +LEIGH, HENRY S. + Cossimbazar +LONGFELLOW, H.W. + There was a Little Girl +LOOMIS, CHARLES BATTELL + A Classic Ode + Timon of Archimedes + + +MACKINTOSH, NEWTON + Fin de Siècle + Limerick +MACY, ARTHUR + The Rollicking Mastodon +MERIVALE, HERMAN + Darwinity +MILTON, JOHN + On the Oxford Carrier +MONKHOUSE, COSMO + Limericks +MOORE, THOMAS + Nonsense +MORGAN, JAMES APPLETON + Malum Opus +MORRIS, J. W. + Collusion between a Alegaiter and a Water-Snaik + +NEWELL, PETER + Her Dairy + Her Polka Dots + Timid Hortense + Wild Flowers + +PAIN, BARRY + Martin Luther at Potsdam + Oh, Weary Mother +PALMER, E. H. + The Parterre + The Shipwreck +PARKE, WALTER + Limericks +PLANCHÉ + The Sea-Serpent + To Mollidusta +POPE, ALEXANDER + Lines by a Person of Quality +PORTER, BRUCE + Limerick +PRAED, W. M. + Song of Impossibilities + +QUILLER-COUCH, A. T. + The Famous Ballad of the Jubilee Cup + Sage Counsel + +RILEY, JAMES W. + The Lugubrious Whing-Whang + The Man in the Moon + Spirk Troll-Derisive +ROCHE, JAMES JEFFREY + A Sailor's Yarn + +SEAMAN, OWEN + The Bulbul + Of Baiting the Lion +STEVENSON, R. L. + Not I +STOKES, FRANCIS G. + Blue Moonshine +STREAMER, COL. D. + Aunt Eliza + Impetuous Samuel +STREAMER, COL. D.--_Continued_ + Misfortunes + Tender-Heartedness +SWINBURNE, A. C. + The Higher Pantheism + John Jones + Nephelidia + +TENNYSON, LORD + Minnie and Winnie +THACKERAY, W.M. + Little Billee + The Sorrows of Werther + When Moonlike ore the Hazure Seas +THOMPSON, D'ARCY W. + Poor Dear Grandpapa +TWIG, JOHN + Ballade of the Nurserie + +WARD, ARTEMUS + Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim +WEST, PAUL + The Cumberbunce +WHITE, HARRIET R. + Uffia + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Nonsense Anthology, by Collected by Carolyn Wells + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A NONSENSE ANTHOLOGY *** + +This file should be named 9380-8.txt or 9380-8.zip + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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