Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leaveThat child, when thou hast done with him, for me!Let me sit all the day here, that when eveShall find performed thy special ministry,And time come for departure, thou, suspending5Thy flight, mayst see another child for tending,Another still, to quiet and retrieve.Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more,From where thou standest now, to where I gaze,—And suddenly my head is covered o'er10With those wings, white above the child who praysNow on that tomb—and I shall feel thee guardingMe, out of all the world; for me, discardingYon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door.I would not look up thither past thy head15Because the door opes, like that child, I know,For I should have thy gracious face instead,Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me lowLike him, and lay, like his, my hands together,And lift them up to pray, and gently tether20Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread?If this was ever granted, I would restMy head beneath thine, while thy healing handsClose-covered both my eyes beside thy breast,Pressing the brain, which too much thought expands,25Back to its proper size again, and smoothingDistortion down till every nerve had soothing,And all lay quiet, happy, and suppressed.How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired!I think how I should view the earth and skies30And sea, when once again my brow was baredAfter thy healing, with such different eyes.O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:And knowing this, is love, and love is duty.What further may be sought for or declared?35Guercino drew this angel I saw teach(Alfred, dear friend!)—that little child to pray,Holding the little hands up, each to eachPressed gently—with his own head turned awayOver the earth where so much lay before him40Of work to do, though heaven was opening o'er him,And he was left at Fano by the beach.We were at Fano, and three times we wentTo sit and see him in his chapel there,And drink his beauty to our soul's content45—My angel with me too; and since I careFor dear Guercino's fame (to which in powerAnd glory comes this picture for a dower,Fraught with a pathos so magnificent)—And since he did not work thus earnestly50At all times, and has else endured some wrong—I took one thought his picture struck from me,And spread it out, translating it to song.My love is here. Where are you, dear old friend?How rolls the Wairoa at your world's far end?55This is Ancona, yonder is the sea.
Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leaveThat child, when thou hast done with him, for me!Let me sit all the day here, that when eveShall find performed thy special ministry,And time come for departure, thou, suspending5Thy flight, mayst see another child for tending,Another still, to quiet and retrieve.
Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more,From where thou standest now, to where I gaze,—And suddenly my head is covered o'er10With those wings, white above the child who praysNow on that tomb—and I shall feel thee guardingMe, out of all the world; for me, discardingYon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door.
I would not look up thither past thy head15Because the door opes, like that child, I know,For I should have thy gracious face instead,Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me lowLike him, and lay, like his, my hands together,And lift them up to pray, and gently tether20Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread?
If this was ever granted, I would restMy head beneath thine, while thy healing handsClose-covered both my eyes beside thy breast,Pressing the brain, which too much thought expands,25Back to its proper size again, and smoothingDistortion down till every nerve had soothing,And all lay quiet, happy, and suppressed.
How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired!I think how I should view the earth and skies30And sea, when once again my brow was baredAfter thy healing, with such different eyes.O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:And knowing this, is love, and love is duty.What further may be sought for or declared?35
Guercino drew this angel I saw teach(Alfred, dear friend!)—that little child to pray,Holding the little hands up, each to eachPressed gently—with his own head turned awayOver the earth where so much lay before him40Of work to do, though heaven was opening o'er him,And he was left at Fano by the beach.
We were at Fano, and three times we wentTo sit and see him in his chapel there,And drink his beauty to our soul's content45—My angel with me too; and since I careFor dear Guercino's fame (to which in powerAnd glory comes this picture for a dower,Fraught with a pathos so magnificent)—
And since he did not work thus earnestly50At all times, and has else endured some wrong—I took one thought his picture struck from me,And spread it out, translating it to song.My love is here. Where are you, dear old friend?How rolls the Wairoa at your world's far end?55This is Ancona, yonder is the sea.
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,And did he stop and speak to you,And did you speak to him again?How strange it seems and new!But you were living before that,5And also you are living after;And the memory I started at—My starting moves your laughter!I crossed a moor, with a name of its ownAnd a certain use in the world no doubt,10Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone'Mid the blank miles round about:For there I picked up on the heather,And there I put inside my breastA molted feather, an eagle-feather!15Well, I forget the rest.
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,And did he stop and speak to you,And did you speak to him again?How strange it seems and new!
But you were living before that,5And also you are living after;And the memory I started at—My starting moves your laughter!
I crossed a moor, with a name of its ownAnd a certain use in the world no doubt,10Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone'Mid the blank miles round about:
For there I picked up on the heather,And there I put inside my breastA molted feather, an eagle-feather!15Well, I forget the rest.
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:A mile or so away,On a little mound, NapoleonStood on our storming-day;With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,5Legs wide, arms locked behind,As if to balance the prone browOppressive with its mind.Just as perhaps he mused, "My plansThat soar, to earth may fall,10Let once my army-leader LannesWaver at yonder wall"—Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flewA rider, bound on boundFull-galloping; nor bridle drew15Until he reached the mound.Then off there flung in smiling joy,And held himself erectBy just his horse's mane, a boy;You hardly could suspect—20(So tight he kept his lips compressed,Scarce any blood came through)You looked twice ere you saw his breastWas all but shot in two."Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace25We've got you Ratisbon!The Marshal's in the market-place,And you'll be there anonTo see your flag-bird flap his vansWhere I, to heart's desire,30Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plansSoared up again like fire.The chief's eye flashed; but presentlySoftened itself, as sheathesA film the mother-eagle's eye35When her bruised eaglet breathes;"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's prideTouched to the quick, he said:"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,Smiling the boy fell dead.40
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:A mile or so away,On a little mound, NapoleonStood on our storming-day;With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,5Legs wide, arms locked behind,As if to balance the prone browOppressive with its mind.
Just as perhaps he mused, "My plansThat soar, to earth may fall,10Let once my army-leader LannesWaver at yonder wall"—Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flewA rider, bound on boundFull-galloping; nor bridle drew15Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,And held himself erectBy just his horse's mane, a boy;You hardly could suspect—20(So tight he kept his lips compressed,Scarce any blood came through)You looked twice ere you saw his breastWas all but shot in two.
"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace25We've got you Ratisbon!The Marshal's in the market-place,And you'll be there anonTo see your flag-bird flap his vansWhere I, to heart's desire,30Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plansSoared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed; but presentlySoftened itself, as sheathesA film the mother-eagle's eye35When her bruised eaglet breathes;"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's prideTouched to the quick, he said:"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,Smiling the boy fell dead.40
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,Looking as if she were alive. I callThat piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's handsWorked busily a day, and there she stands.Will't please you sit and look at her? I said5"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never readStrangers like you that pictured countenance,The depth and passion of its earnest glance,But to myself they turned (since none puts byThe curtain I have drawn for you, but I)10And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,How such a glance came there; so, not the firstAre you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas notHer husband's presence only, called that spotOf joy into the Duchess' cheek; perhaps15Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle lapsOver my lady's wrist too much," or "PaintMust never hope to reproduce the faintHalf-flush that dies along her throat"; such stuffWas courtesy, she thought, and cause enough20For calling up that spot of joy. She hadA heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad,Too easily impressed; she liked whate'erShe looked on, and her looks went everywhere.Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,25The dropping of the daylight in the West,The bough of cherries some officious foolBroke in the orchard for her, the white muleShe rode with round the terrace—all and eachWould draw from her alike the approving speech,30Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thankedSomehow—I know not how—as if she rankedMy gift of a nine-hundred-years-old nameWith anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blameThis sort of trifling? Even had you skill35In speech—(which I have not)—to make your willQuite clear to such an one, and say, "Just thisOr that in you disgusts me; here you miss,Or there exceed the mark"—and if she letHerself be lessoned so, nor plainly set40Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,—E'en then would be some stooping; and I chooseNever to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,Whene'er I passed her; but who passed withoutMuch the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;45Then all smiles stopped together. There she standsAs if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meetThe company below, then. I repeat,The Count your master's known munificenceIs ample warrant that no just pretense50Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowedAt starting, is my object. Nay, we'll goTogether down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,55Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,Looking as if she were alive. I callThat piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's handsWorked busily a day, and there she stands.Will't please you sit and look at her? I said5"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never readStrangers like you that pictured countenance,The depth and passion of its earnest glance,But to myself they turned (since none puts byThe curtain I have drawn for you, but I)10And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,How such a glance came there; so, not the firstAre you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas notHer husband's presence only, called that spotOf joy into the Duchess' cheek; perhaps15Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle lapsOver my lady's wrist too much," or "PaintMust never hope to reproduce the faintHalf-flush that dies along her throat"; such stuffWas courtesy, she thought, and cause enough20For calling up that spot of joy. She hadA heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad,Too easily impressed; she liked whate'erShe looked on, and her looks went everywhere.Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,25The dropping of the daylight in the West,The bough of cherries some officious foolBroke in the orchard for her, the white muleShe rode with round the terrace—all and eachWould draw from her alike the approving speech,30Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thankedSomehow—I know not how—as if she rankedMy gift of a nine-hundred-years-old nameWith anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blameThis sort of trifling? Even had you skill35In speech—(which I have not)—to make your willQuite clear to such an one, and say, "Just thisOr that in you disgusts me; here you miss,Or there exceed the mark"—and if she letHerself be lessoned so, nor plainly set40Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,—E'en then would be some stooping; and I chooseNever to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,Whene'er I passed her; but who passed withoutMuch the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;45Then all smiles stopped together. There she standsAs if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meetThe company below, then. I repeat,The Count your master's known munificenceIs ample warrant that no just pretense50Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowedAt starting, is my object. Nay, we'll goTogether down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,55Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
Morning, evening, noon, and night,"Praise God!" sang Theocrite.Then to his poor trade he turned,Whereby the daily meal was earned.Hard he labored, long and well;5O'er his work the boy's curls fell.But ever, at each period,He stopped and sang, "Praise God!"Then back again his curls he threw,And cheerful turned to work anew.10Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done;I doubt not thou art heard, my son:"As well as if thy voice todayWere praising God, the Pope's great way."This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome15Praises God from Peter's dome."Said Theocrite, "Would God that IMight praise him, that great way, and die!"Night passed, day shone,And Theocrite was gone.20
Morning, evening, noon, and night,"Praise God!" sang Theocrite.
Then to his poor trade he turned,Whereby the daily meal was earned.
Hard he labored, long and well;5O'er his work the boy's curls fell.
But ever, at each period,He stopped and sang, "Praise God!"
Then back again his curls he threw,And cheerful turned to work anew.10
Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done;I doubt not thou art heard, my son:
"As well as if thy voice todayWere praising God, the Pope's great way.
"This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome15Praises God from Peter's dome."
Said Theocrite, "Would God that IMight praise him, that great way, and die!"
Night passed, day shone,And Theocrite was gone.20
With God a day endures alway,A thousand years are but a day.God said in heaven, "Nor day nor nightNow brings the voice of my delight."Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth,25Spread his wings and sank to earth;Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,Lived there, and played the craftsman well;And morning, evening, noon, and night,Praised God in place of Theocrite.30And from a boy, to youth he grew;The man put off the stripling's hue;The man matured and fell awayInto the season of decay;And ever o'er the trade he bent,35And ever lived on earth content.(He did God's will; to him, all oneIf on the earth or in the sun.)God said, "A praise is in mine ear;There is no doubt in it, no fear:40"So sing old worlds, and soNew worlds that from my footstool go.
With God a day endures alway,A thousand years are but a day.
God said in heaven, "Nor day nor nightNow brings the voice of my delight."
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth,25Spread his wings and sank to earth;
Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,Lived there, and played the craftsman well;
And morning, evening, noon, and night,Praised God in place of Theocrite.30
And from a boy, to youth he grew;The man put off the stripling's hue;
The man matured and fell awayInto the season of decay;
And ever o'er the trade he bent,35And ever lived on earth content.
(He did God's will; to him, all oneIf on the earth or in the sun.)
God said, "A praise is in mine ear;There is no doubt in it, no fear:40
"So sing old worlds, and soNew worlds that from my footstool go.
"Clearer loves sound other ways;I miss my little human praise."Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell45The flesh disguise, remained the cell.'Twas Easter Day; he flew to Rome,And paused above Saint Peter's dome.In the tiring-room close byThe great outer gallery,50With his holy vestments dight,Stood the new Pope, Theocrite;And all his past careerCame back upon him clear,Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,55Till on his life the sickness weighed;And in his cell, when death drew near,An angel in a dream brought cheer;And rising from the sickness drearHe grew a priest, and now stood here.60To the East with praise he turned,And on his sight the angel burned.
"Clearer loves sound other ways;I miss my little human praise."
Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell45The flesh disguise, remained the cell.
'Twas Easter Day; he flew to Rome,And paused above Saint Peter's dome.
In the tiring-room close byThe great outer gallery,50
With his holy vestments dight,Stood the new Pope, Theocrite;
And all his past careerCame back upon him clear,
Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,55Till on his life the sickness weighed;
And in his cell, when death drew near,An angel in a dream brought cheer;
And rising from the sickness drearHe grew a priest, and now stood here.60
To the East with praise he turned,And on his sight the angel burned.
"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cellAnd set thee here; I did not well."Vainly I left my angel-sphere,65Vain was thy dream of many a year."Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped—Creation's chorus stopped!"Go back and praise againThe early way, while I remain.70"With that weak voice of our disdain,Take up creation's pausing strain."Back to the cell and poor employ;Resume the craftsman and the boy!"Theocrite grew old at home;75A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.One vanished as the other died;They sought God side by side.
"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cellAnd set thee here; I did not well.
"Vainly I left my angel-sphere,65Vain was thy dream of many a year.
"Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped—Creation's chorus stopped!
"Go back and praise againThe early way, while I remain.70
"With that weak voice of our disdain,Take up creation's pausing strain.
"Back to the cell and poor employ;Resume the craftsman and the boy!"
Theocrite grew old at home;75A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.
One vanished as the other died;They sought God side by side.
Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,By famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its wall on the southern side;A pleasanter spot you never spied;5But when begins my ditty,Almost five hundred years ago,To see the townsfolk suffer soFrom vermin was a pity.
Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,By famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its wall on the southern side;A pleasanter spot you never spied;5But when begins my ditty,Almost five hundred years ago,To see the townsfolk suffer soFrom vermin was a pity.
Rats!10They fought the dogs and killed the cats,And bit the babies in the cradles,And ate the cheeses out of the vats,And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,Split open the kegs of salted sprats,15Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,And even spoiled the women's chatsBy drowning their speakingWith shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.20
Rats!10They fought the dogs and killed the cats,And bit the babies in the cradles,And ate the cheeses out of the vats,And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,Split open the kegs of salted sprats,15Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,And even spoiled the women's chatsBy drowning their speakingWith shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.20
At last the people in a bodyTo the Town Hall came flocking:"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;And as for our Corporation—shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermine25For dolts that can't or won't determineWhat's best to rid us of our vermin!You hope, because you're old and obese,To find in the furry civic robe ease?Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking30To find the remedy we're lacking,Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"At this the Mayor and CorporationQuaked with a mighty consternation.
At last the people in a bodyTo the Town Hall came flocking:"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;And as for our Corporation—shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermine25For dolts that can't or won't determineWhat's best to rid us of our vermin!You hope, because you're old and obese,To find in the furry civic robe ease?Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking30To find the remedy we're lacking,Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"At this the Mayor and CorporationQuaked with a mighty consternation.
An hour they sat in council;35At length the Mayor broke silence:"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell,I wish I were a mile hence!It's easy to bid one rack one's brain—I'm sure my poor head aches again,40I've scratched it so, and all in vain.Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"Just as he said this, what should hapAt the chamber door but a gentle tap?"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"45(With the Corporation as he sat,Looking little though wondrous fat;Nor brighter was his eye, nor moisterThan a too-long-opened oyster,Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous50For a plate of turtle green and glutinous)"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?Anything like the sound of a ratMakes my heart go pit-a-pat!"
An hour they sat in council;35At length the Mayor broke silence:"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell,I wish I were a mile hence!It's easy to bid one rack one's brain—I'm sure my poor head aches again,40I've scratched it so, and all in vain.Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"Just as he said this, what should hapAt the chamber door but a gentle tap?"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"45(With the Corporation as he sat,Looking little though wondrous fat;Nor brighter was his eye, nor moisterThan a too-long-opened oyster,Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous50For a plate of turtle green and glutinous)"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?Anything like the sound of a ratMakes my heart go pit-a-pat!"
"Come in!"—the Mayor cried, looking bigger—55And in did come the strangest figure!His queer long coat from heel to headWas half of yellow and half of red,And he himself was tall and thin,With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,60And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,But lips where smiles went out and in;There was no guessing his kith and kin;And nobody could enough admire65The tall man and his quaint attire.Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire,Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"
"Come in!"—the Mayor cried, looking bigger—55And in did come the strangest figure!His queer long coat from heel to headWas half of yellow and half of red,And he himself was tall and thin,With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,60And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,But lips where smiles went out and in;There was no guessing his kith and kin;And nobody could enough admire65The tall man and his quaint attire.Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire,Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"
He advanced to the council-table:70And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,By means of a secret charm, to drawAll creatures living beneath the sun,That creep or swim or fly or run,After me so as you never saw!75And I chiefly use my charmOn creatures that do people harm,The mole and toad and newt and viper;And people call me the Pied Piper."(And here they noticed round his neck80A scarf of red and yellow stripe,To match with his coat of the self-same check;And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;And his fingers, they noticed, were ever strayingAs if impatient to be playing85Upon this pipe, as low it dangledOver his vesture so old-fangled.)"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,In Tartary I freed the Cham,Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;90I eased in Asia the NizamOf a monstrous brood of vampire-bats:And as for what your brain bewilders,If I can rid your town of ratsWill you give me a thousand guilders?"95"One? fifty thousand!"—was the exclamationOf the astonished Mayor and Corporation.
He advanced to the council-table:70And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,By means of a secret charm, to drawAll creatures living beneath the sun,That creep or swim or fly or run,After me so as you never saw!75And I chiefly use my charmOn creatures that do people harm,The mole and toad and newt and viper;And people call me the Pied Piper."(And here they noticed round his neck80A scarf of red and yellow stripe,To match with his coat of the self-same check;And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;And his fingers, they noticed, were ever strayingAs if impatient to be playing85Upon this pipe, as low it dangledOver his vesture so old-fangled.)"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,In Tartary I freed the Cham,Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;90I eased in Asia the NizamOf a monstrous brood of vampire-bats:And as for what your brain bewilders,If I can rid your town of ratsWill you give me a thousand guilders?"95"One? fifty thousand!"—was the exclamationOf the astonished Mayor and Corporation.
Into the street the Piper stepped,Smiling first a little smile,As if he knew what magic slept100In his quiet pipe the while;Then, like a musical adept,To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;105And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,You heard as if an army muttered;And the muttering grew to a grumbling;And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.110Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,115Families by tens and dozens,Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives—Followed the Piper for their lives.From street to street he piped advancing,And step for step they followed dancing,120Until they came to the river Weser,Wherein all plunged and perished!—Save one who, stout as Julius Cæsar,Swam across and lived to carry(As he, the manuscript he cherished)125To Rat-land home his commentary:Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,And putting apples, wondrous ripe,Into a cider-press's gripe:130And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:And it seemed as if a voice135(Sweeter far than by harp or by psalteryIs breathed) called out, 'O rats, rejoice!The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!'140And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,All ready staved, like a great sun shoneGlorious scarce an inch before me,Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'—I found the Weser rolling o'er me."145
Into the street the Piper stepped,Smiling first a little smile,As if he knew what magic slept100In his quiet pipe the while;Then, like a musical adept,To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;105And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,You heard as if an army muttered;And the muttering grew to a grumbling;And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.110Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,115Families by tens and dozens,Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives—Followed the Piper for their lives.From street to street he piped advancing,And step for step they followed dancing,120Until they came to the river Weser,Wherein all plunged and perished!—Save one who, stout as Julius Cæsar,Swam across and lived to carry(As he, the manuscript he cherished)125To Rat-land home his commentary:Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,And putting apples, wondrous ripe,Into a cider-press's gripe:130And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:And it seemed as if a voice135(Sweeter far than by harp or by psalteryIs breathed) called out, 'O rats, rejoice!The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!'140And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,All ready staved, like a great sun shoneGlorious scarce an inch before me,Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'—I found the Weser rolling o'er me."145
You should have heard the Hamelin peopleRinging the bells till they rocked the steeple."Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles,Poke out the nests and block up the holes!Consult with carpenters and builders,150And leave in our town not even a traceOf the rats!"—when suddenly, up the faceOf the Piper perked in the market-place,With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"
You should have heard the Hamelin peopleRinging the bells till they rocked the steeple."Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles,Poke out the nests and block up the holes!Consult with carpenters and builders,150And leave in our town not even a traceOf the rats!"—when suddenly, up the faceOf the Piper perked in the market-place,With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"
A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;155So did the Corporation, too.For council dinners made rare havocWith Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;And half the money would replenishTheir cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.160To pay this sum to a wandering fellowWith a gypsy coat of red and yellow!"Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,"Our business was done at the river's brink;We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,165And what's dead can't come to life, I think.So, friend, we're not the folks to shrinkFrom the duty of giving you something for drink,And a matter of money to put in your poke;But as for the guilders, what we spoke170Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.Beside, our losses have made us thrifty.A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"
A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;155So did the Corporation, too.For council dinners made rare havocWith Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;And half the money would replenishTheir cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.160To pay this sum to a wandering fellowWith a gypsy coat of red and yellow!"Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,"Our business was done at the river's brink;We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,165And what's dead can't come to life, I think.So, friend, we're not the folks to shrinkFrom the duty of giving you something for drink,And a matter of money to put in your poke;But as for the guilders, what we spoke170Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.Beside, our losses have made us thrifty.A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"
The Piper's face fell, and he cried,"No trifling! I can't wait, beside!175I've promised to visit by dinner timeBagdat, and accept the primeOf the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,Of a nest of scorpions no survivor;180With him I proved no bargain-driver,With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!And folks who put me in a passionMay find me pipe after another fashion."
The Piper's face fell, and he cried,"No trifling! I can't wait, beside!175I've promised to visit by dinner timeBagdat, and accept the primeOf the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,Of a nest of scorpions no survivor;180With him I proved no bargain-driver,With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!And folks who put me in a passionMay find me pipe after another fashion."
"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook185Being worse treated than a Cook?Insulted by a lazy ribaldWith idle pipe and vesture piebald?You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,Blow your pipe there till you burst!"190
"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook185Being worse treated than a Cook?Insulted by a lazy ribaldWith idle pipe and vesture piebald?You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,Blow your pipe there till you burst!"190
Once more he stepped into the street,And to his lips againLaid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;And ere he blew three notes (such sweetSoft notes as yet musician's cunning195Never gave the enraptured air)There was a rustling that seemed like a bustlingOf merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling;Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,200And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,Out came the children running.All the little boys and girls,With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,205Tripping and skipping, ran merrily afterThe wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
Once more he stepped into the street,And to his lips againLaid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;And ere he blew three notes (such sweetSoft notes as yet musician's cunning195Never gave the enraptured air)There was a rustling that seemed like a bustlingOf merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling;Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,200And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,Out came the children running.All the little boys and girls,With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,205Tripping and skipping, ran merrily afterThe wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoodAs if they were changed into blocks of wood,Unable to move a step, or cry210To the children merrily skipping by,—Could only follow with the eyeThat joyous crowd at the Piper's back.But how the Mayor was on the rack,And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,215As the Piper turned from the High StreetTo where the Weser rolled its watersRight in the way of their sons and daughters!However he turned from South to West,And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,220And after him the children pressed;Great was the joy in every breast."He never can cross that mighty top!He's forced to let the piping drop,And we shall see our children stop!"225When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side,A wondrous portal opened wide,As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;And the Piper advanced and the children followed,And when all were in to the very last,230The door in the mountain-side shut fast.Did I say, all? No! One was lame,And could not dance the whole of the way;And in after years, if you would blameHis sadness, he was used to say—235"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!I can't forget that I'm bereftOf all the pleasant sights they see,Which the Piper also promised me.For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,240Joining the town and just at hand,Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grewAnd flowers put forth a fairer hue,And everything was strange and new;The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,245And their dogs outran our fallow deer,And honey-bees had lost their stings,And horses were born with eagles' wings:And just as I became assuredMy lame foot would be speedily cured,250The music stopped and I stood still,And found myself outside the hill,Left alone against my will,To go now limping as before,And never hear of that country more!"255
The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoodAs if they were changed into blocks of wood,Unable to move a step, or cry210To the children merrily skipping by,—Could only follow with the eyeThat joyous crowd at the Piper's back.But how the Mayor was on the rack,And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,215As the Piper turned from the High StreetTo where the Weser rolled its watersRight in the way of their sons and daughters!However he turned from South to West,And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,220And after him the children pressed;Great was the joy in every breast."He never can cross that mighty top!He's forced to let the piping drop,And we shall see our children stop!"225When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side,A wondrous portal opened wide,As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;And the Piper advanced and the children followed,And when all were in to the very last,230The door in the mountain-side shut fast.Did I say, all? No! One was lame,And could not dance the whole of the way;And in after years, if you would blameHis sadness, he was used to say—235"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!I can't forget that I'm bereftOf all the pleasant sights they see,Which the Piper also promised me.For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,240Joining the town and just at hand,Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grewAnd flowers put forth a fairer hue,And everything was strange and new;The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,245And their dogs outran our fallow deer,And honey-bees had lost their stings,And horses were born with eagles' wings:And just as I became assuredMy lame foot would be speedily cured,250The music stopped and I stood still,And found myself outside the hill,Left alone against my will,To go now limping as before,And never hear of that country more!"255
Alas, alas for Hamelin!There came into many a burgher's pateA text which says that heaven's gateOpes to the rich at as easy rateAs the needle's eye takes a camel in!260The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,Wherever it was men's lot to find him,Silver and gold to his heart's content,If he'd only return the way he went,265And bring the children behind him.But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor,And Piper and dancers were gone forever,They made a decree that lawyers neverShould think their records dated duly270If, after the day of the month and year,These words did not as well appear,"And so long after what happened hereOn the Twenty-second of July,Thirteen hundred and seventy-six";275And the better in memory to fixThe place of the children's last retreat,They called it the Pied Piper's Street—Where anyone playing on pipe or taborWas sure for the future to lose his labor.280Nor suffered they hostelry or tavernTo shock with mirth a street so solemn;But opposite the place of the cavernThey wrote the story on a column,And on the great church-window painted285The same, to make the world acquaintedHow their children were stolen away,And there it stands to this very day.And I must not omit to sayThat in Transylvania there's a tribe290Of alien people who ascribeThe outlandish ways and dressOn which their neighbors lay such stress,To their fathers and mothers having risenOut of some subterraneous prison295Into which they were trepannedLong time ago in a mighty bandOut of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,But how or why, they don't understand.
Alas, alas for Hamelin!There came into many a burgher's pateA text which says that heaven's gateOpes to the rich at as easy rateAs the needle's eye takes a camel in!260The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,Wherever it was men's lot to find him,Silver and gold to his heart's content,If he'd only return the way he went,265And bring the children behind him.But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor,And Piper and dancers were gone forever,They made a decree that lawyers neverShould think their records dated duly270If, after the day of the month and year,These words did not as well appear,"And so long after what happened hereOn the Twenty-second of July,Thirteen hundred and seventy-six";275And the better in memory to fixThe place of the children's last retreat,They called it the Pied Piper's Street—Where anyone playing on pipe or taborWas sure for the future to lose his labor.280Nor suffered they hostelry or tavernTo shock with mirth a street so solemn;But opposite the place of the cavernThey wrote the story on a column,And on the great church-window painted285The same, to make the world acquaintedHow their children were stolen away,And there it stands to this very day.And I must not omit to sayThat in Transylvania there's a tribe290Of alien people who ascribeThe outlandish ways and dressOn which their neighbors lay such stress,To their fathers and mothers having risenOut of some subterraneous prison295Into which they were trepannedLong time ago in a mighty bandOut of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,But how or why, they don't understand.
So, Willy, let me and you be wipers300Of scores out with all men—especially pipers!And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise!
So, Willy, let me and you be wipers300Of scores out with all men—especially pipers!And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise!
You're my friend:I was the man the Duke spoke to;I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;So here's the tale from beginning to end,My friend!5
You're my friend:I was the man the Duke spoke to;I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;So here's the tale from beginning to end,My friend!5
Ours is a great wild country:If you climb to our castle's top,I don't see where your eye can stop;For when you've passed the cornfield country,Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed,10And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract,And cattle-tract to open-chase,And open-chase to the very baseOf the mountain where, at a funeral pace,Round about, solemn and slow,15One by one, row after row,Up and up the pine-trees go,So, like black priests up, and soDown the other side againTo another greater, wilder country,20That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain,Branched through and through with many a veinWhence iron's dug, and copper's dealt;Look right, look left, look straight before—Beneath they mine, above they smelt,25Copper-ore and iron-ore,And forge and furnace mold and meltAnd so on, more and ever more,Till at the last, for a bounding belt,Comes the salt sand hoar of the great seashore,30—And the whole is our Duke's country.
Ours is a great wild country:If you climb to our castle's top,I don't see where your eye can stop;For when you've passed the cornfield country,Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed,10And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract,And cattle-tract to open-chase,And open-chase to the very baseOf the mountain where, at a funeral pace,Round about, solemn and slow,15One by one, row after row,Up and up the pine-trees go,So, like black priests up, and soDown the other side againTo another greater, wilder country,20That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain,Branched through and through with many a veinWhence iron's dug, and copper's dealt;Look right, look left, look straight before—Beneath they mine, above they smelt,25Copper-ore and iron-ore,And forge and furnace mold and meltAnd so on, more and ever more,Till at the last, for a bounding belt,Comes the salt sand hoar of the great seashore,30—And the whole is our Duke's country.