Whither, 'midst falling dew,While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursueThy solitary way?Vainly the fowler's eyeMight mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,Thy figure floats along.Seek'st thou the plashy brinkOf weedy lake, or marge of river wide,Or where the rocking billows rise and sinkOn the chafed ocean side?There is a Power whose careTeaches thy way along that pathless coast,The desert and illimitable air,—Lone wandering but not lost.All day thy wings have fann'd,At that far height the cold thin atmosphere,Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,Though the dark night is near.And soon that toil shall end;Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and restAnd scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bendSoon o'er thy shelter'd nest.Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heavenHath swallow'd up thy form: yet on my heartDeeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,And shall not soon depart.He, who from zone to zoneGuides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,In the long way that I must tread alone,Will lead my steps aright.
Whither, 'midst falling dew,While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursueThy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eyeMight mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brinkOf weedy lake, or marge of river wide,Or where the rocking billows rise and sinkOn the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power whose careTeaches thy way along that pathless coast,The desert and illimitable air,—Lone wandering but not lost.
All day thy wings have fann'd,At that far height the cold thin atmosphere,Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and restAnd scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bendSoon o'er thy shelter'd nest.
Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heavenHath swallow'd up thy form: yet on my heartDeeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,And shall not soon depart.
He, who from zone to zoneGuides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,In the long way that I must tread alone,Will lead my steps aright.
W. C. Bryant
Some will talk of bold Robin Hood,And some of barons bold;But I'll tell you how he served the bishop of Hereford,When he robbed him of his gold.As it befel in merry Barnsdale,All under the greenwood tree,The bishop of Hereford was to come by,With all his company.'Come kill me a ven'son,' said bold Robin Hood,'Come kill me a good fat deer;The bishop of Hereford is to dine with me to-day,And he shall pay well for his cheer.'We'll kill a fat ven'son,' said bold Robin Hood,'And dress it by the highway side;And we will watch the bishop narrowly,Lest some other way he should ride.'Robin Hood dressed himself in shepherd's attire,With six of his men also;And, when the bishop of Hereford came by,They about the fire did go.'O what is the matter?' then said the bishop,'Or for whom do you make this ado?Or why do you kill the king's ven'son,When your company is so few?''We are shepherds,' said bold Robin Hood,'And we keep sheep all the year,And we are disposed to be merry this day,And to kill of the king's fat deer.''You are brave fellows,' said the bishop,'And the king your doings shall know:Therefore make haste and come along with me,For before the king you shall go.''O pardon, O pardon,' said bold Robin Hood,'O pardon, I thee pray!For it becomes not your lordship's coatTo take so many lives away.''No pardon, no pardon,' said the bishop,'No pardon I thee owe;Therefore make haste and come along with me,For before the king you shall go.'Then Robin set his back against a tree,And his foot against a thorn,And from underneath his shepherd's coatHe pull'd out a bugle horn.He put the little end to his mouth,And a loud blast did he blow,Till three score and ten of bold Robin's menCame running all on a row.All making obeisance to bold Robin Hood,'Twas a comely sight for to see.'What is the matter, master?' said Little John,'That you blow so hastily?''O here is the bishop of Hereford,And no pardon we shall have:''Cut off his head, master,' said Little John,And throw him into his grave.''O pardon, O pardon,' said the bishop,'O pardon, I thee pray!For if I had known it had been you,I'd have gone some other way.''No pardon, no pardon,' said bold Robin Hood,'No pardon I thee owe;Therefore make haste and come along with me,For to merry Barnsdale you shall go.'Then Robin he took the bishop by the hand,And led him to merry Barnsdale;He made him to stay and sup with him that night,And to drink wine, beer, and ale.'Call in a reckoning,' said the bishop,'For methinks it grows wondrous high:''Lend me your purse, master,' said Little John,And I'll tell you bye and bye.'Then Little John took the bishop's cloak,And spread it upon the ground,And out of the bishop's portmantuaHe told three hundred pound.'Here's money enough, master,' said Little John,'And a comely sight 'tis to see;It makes me in charity with the bishop,Though he heartily loveth not me.'Robin Hood took the bishop by the hand,And he caused the music to play;And he made the bishop to dance in his boots,And glad he could so get away.
Some will talk of bold Robin Hood,And some of barons bold;But I'll tell you how he served the bishop of Hereford,When he robbed him of his gold.
As it befel in merry Barnsdale,All under the greenwood tree,The bishop of Hereford was to come by,With all his company.
'Come kill me a ven'son,' said bold Robin Hood,'Come kill me a good fat deer;The bishop of Hereford is to dine with me to-day,And he shall pay well for his cheer.
'We'll kill a fat ven'son,' said bold Robin Hood,'And dress it by the highway side;And we will watch the bishop narrowly,Lest some other way he should ride.'
Robin Hood dressed himself in shepherd's attire,With six of his men also;And, when the bishop of Hereford came by,They about the fire did go.
'O what is the matter?' then said the bishop,'Or for whom do you make this ado?Or why do you kill the king's ven'son,When your company is so few?'
'We are shepherds,' said bold Robin Hood,'And we keep sheep all the year,And we are disposed to be merry this day,And to kill of the king's fat deer.'
'You are brave fellows,' said the bishop,'And the king your doings shall know:Therefore make haste and come along with me,For before the king you shall go.'
'O pardon, O pardon,' said bold Robin Hood,'O pardon, I thee pray!For it becomes not your lordship's coatTo take so many lives away.'
'No pardon, no pardon,' said the bishop,'No pardon I thee owe;Therefore make haste and come along with me,For before the king you shall go.'
Then Robin set his back against a tree,And his foot against a thorn,And from underneath his shepherd's coatHe pull'd out a bugle horn.
He put the little end to his mouth,And a loud blast did he blow,Till three score and ten of bold Robin's menCame running all on a row.
All making obeisance to bold Robin Hood,'Twas a comely sight for to see.'What is the matter, master?' said Little John,'That you blow so hastily?'
'O here is the bishop of Hereford,And no pardon we shall have:''Cut off his head, master,' said Little John,And throw him into his grave.'
'O pardon, O pardon,' said the bishop,'O pardon, I thee pray!For if I had known it had been you,I'd have gone some other way.'
'No pardon, no pardon,' said bold Robin Hood,'No pardon I thee owe;Therefore make haste and come along with me,For to merry Barnsdale you shall go.'
Then Robin he took the bishop by the hand,And led him to merry Barnsdale;He made him to stay and sup with him that night,And to drink wine, beer, and ale.
'Call in a reckoning,' said the bishop,'For methinks it grows wondrous high:''Lend me your purse, master,' said Little John,And I'll tell you bye and bye.'
Then Little John took the bishop's cloak,And spread it upon the ground,And out of the bishop's portmantuaHe told three hundred pound.
'Here's money enough, master,' said Little John,'And a comely sight 'tis to see;It makes me in charity with the bishop,Though he heartily loveth not me.'
Robin Hood took the bishop by the hand,And he caused the music to play;And he made the bishop to dance in his boots,And glad he could so get away.
Old Ballad
Sir John got him an ambling nag,To Scotland for to ride-a,With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,To guard him on every side-a.No errant knight ever went to fightWith half so gay a bravado;Had you seen but his look, you'd have sworn on a bookHe'd have conquered a whole armado.The ladies ran all to the windows to seeSo gallant and warlike a sight-a,And as he pass'd by, they began to cry,'Sir John, why will you go fight-a?'But he like a cruel knight spurred on,His heart did not relent-a;For, till he came there, he show'd no fear;Till then, why should he repent-a?The king (Heaven bless him!) had singular hopesOf him and all his troop-a;The Borderers they, as they met him on the way,For joy did holloa and whoop-a.None liked him so well as his own colonel,Who took him for John de Wert-a;But when there were shows of gunning and blows,My gallant was nothing so pert-a.For when the Scots' army came within sight,And all men prepared to fight-a,He ran to his tent; they ask'd what he meant;He swore that his stomach ached quite-a.The colonel sent for him back again,To quarter him in the van-a,But Sir John did swear, he came not thereTo be kill'd the very first man-a.To cure his fear he was sent to the rear,Some ten miles back and more-a;Where he did play at trip and away,And ne'er saw the enemy more-a.But now there is peace, he's return'd to increaseHis money which lately he spent-a;But his lost honour must still lie in the dust;At Berwick away it went-a.
Sir John got him an ambling nag,To Scotland for to ride-a,With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,To guard him on every side-a.
No errant knight ever went to fightWith half so gay a bravado;Had you seen but his look, you'd have sworn on a bookHe'd have conquered a whole armado.
The ladies ran all to the windows to seeSo gallant and warlike a sight-a,And as he pass'd by, they began to cry,'Sir John, why will you go fight-a?'
But he like a cruel knight spurred on,His heart did not relent-a;For, till he came there, he show'd no fear;Till then, why should he repent-a?
The king (Heaven bless him!) had singular hopesOf him and all his troop-a;The Borderers they, as they met him on the way,For joy did holloa and whoop-a.
None liked him so well as his own colonel,Who took him for John de Wert-a;But when there were shows of gunning and blows,My gallant was nothing so pert-a.
For when the Scots' army came within sight,And all men prepared to fight-a,He ran to his tent; they ask'd what he meant;He swore that his stomach ached quite-a.
The colonel sent for him back again,To quarter him in the van-a,But Sir John did swear, he came not thereTo be kill'd the very first man-a.
To cure his fear he was sent to the rear,Some ten miles back and more-a;Where he did play at trip and away,And ne'er saw the enemy more-a.
But now there is peace, he's return'd to increaseHis money which lately he spent-a;But his lost honour must still lie in the dust;At Berwick away it went-a.
Old Ballad
When I remember'd againHow my Philip was slain,I wept and I wailed,The tears down hailed;But nothing it avail'dTo call Philip againWhom Gib our cat hath slain.Heu, heu, me,That I am woe for thee!Levavi oculos meos in montis;Would that I had XenophontisOr Socrates the Wise,To show me their deviceModerately to takeThis sorrow that I makeFor Philip Sparrow's sake!It had a velvet cap,And would sit on my lap,And seek after small worms,And sometimes white bread crumbs;And many times and oftWithin my breast softIt would lie and rest.Sometimes he would gaspWhen he saw a wasp;A fly or a gnat,He would fly at that;And prettily he would pantWhen he saw an ant;Lord, how he would pryAfter the butterfly!Lord, how he would hopAfter the grasshop!And when I said, Phip, Phip,Then he would leap and skip,And take me by the lip.De profundis clamaviWhen I saw my sparrow die.Vengeance I ask and cry,By way of exclamation,On all the whole nationOf cats wild and tame;That cat especiallyThat slew so cruellyMy little pretty sparrowThat I brought up at Carow.O cat of churlish kind,The fiend was in thy mind.I would thou hadst been blind!The leopards savage,The lions in their rage,May they catch thee in their paws,And gnaw thee in their jaws;The dragons with their tonguesMay they poison thy liver and lungs.Of India the greedy gripesMay they tear out all thy tripes;Of Arcady the bearsMay they pluck away thine ears;The wild wolf LycaonBite asunder thy back-bone;Of Ætna the burning hill,That night and day burneth still,Set thy tail in a blaze,That all the world may gazeAnd wonder upon thee,From Ocean, the great sea,Unto the Isles of Orchadye;From Tilbury FerryTo the plain of Salisbury.
When I remember'd againHow my Philip was slain,I wept and I wailed,The tears down hailed;But nothing it avail'dTo call Philip againWhom Gib our cat hath slain.Heu, heu, me,That I am woe for thee!Levavi oculos meos in montis;Would that I had XenophontisOr Socrates the Wise,To show me their deviceModerately to takeThis sorrow that I makeFor Philip Sparrow's sake!It had a velvet cap,And would sit on my lap,And seek after small worms,And sometimes white bread crumbs;And many times and oftWithin my breast softIt would lie and rest.Sometimes he would gaspWhen he saw a wasp;A fly or a gnat,He would fly at that;And prettily he would pantWhen he saw an ant;Lord, how he would pryAfter the butterfly!Lord, how he would hopAfter the grasshop!And when I said, Phip, Phip,Then he would leap and skip,And take me by the lip.De profundis clamaviWhen I saw my sparrow die.Vengeance I ask and cry,By way of exclamation,On all the whole nationOf cats wild and tame;That cat especiallyThat slew so cruellyMy little pretty sparrowThat I brought up at Carow.O cat of churlish kind,The fiend was in thy mind.I would thou hadst been blind!The leopards savage,The lions in their rage,May they catch thee in their paws,And gnaw thee in their jaws;The dragons with their tonguesMay they poison thy liver and lungs.Of India the greedy gripesMay they tear out all thy tripes;Of Arcady the bearsMay they pluck away thine ears;The wild wolf LycaonBite asunder thy back-bone;Of Ætna the burning hill,That night and day burneth still,Set thy tail in a blaze,That all the world may gazeAnd wonder upon thee,From Ocean, the great sea,Unto the Isles of Orchadye;From Tilbury FerryTo the plain of Salisbury.
J. Skelton
I've watch'd you now a full half-hour,Self-poised upon that yellow flower;And, little Butterfly! indeedI know not if you sleep or feed.How motionless! not frozen seasMore motionless! and thenWhat joy awaits you, when the breezeHas found you out among the trees,And calls you forth again!This plot of orchard-ground is ours;My trees they are, my sister's flowers;Here rest your wings when they are weary;Here lodge as in a sanctuary!Come often to us, fear no wrong;Sit near us on the bough!We'll talk of sunshine and of song,And summer days when we were young;Sweet childish days that were as longAs twenty days are now.
I've watch'd you now a full half-hour,Self-poised upon that yellow flower;And, little Butterfly! indeedI know not if you sleep or feed.How motionless! not frozen seasMore motionless! and thenWhat joy awaits you, when the breezeHas found you out among the trees,And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;My trees they are, my sister's flowers;Here rest your wings when they are weary;Here lodge as in a sanctuary!Come often to us, fear no wrong;Sit near us on the bough!We'll talk of sunshine and of song,And summer days when we were young;Sweet childish days that were as longAs twenty days are now.
W. Wordsworth
Old stories tell how HerculesA dragon slew at Lerna,With seven heads and fourteen eyes,To see and well discern-a:But he had a club, this dragon to drub,Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye:But More of More-hall, with nothing at all,He slew the dragon of Wantley.This dragon had two furious wings,Each one upon each shoulder;With a sting in his tail as long as a flail,Which made him bolder and bolder.He had long claws, and in his jawsFour and forty teeth of iron;With a hide as tough as any buff,Which did him round environ.Have you not heard how the Trojan horseHeld seventy men in his belly?This dragon was not quite so big,But very near, I'll tell ye;Devour'd he poor children three,That could not with him grapple;And at one sup he ate them up,As one would eat an apple.All sorts of cattle this dragon would eat,Some say he ate up trees,And that the forests sure he wouldDevour up by degrees:For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;He ate all and left none behind,But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,Which on the hills you will find.Hard by a furious knight there dwelt;Men, women, girls, and boys,Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,And made a hideous noise.O save us all, More of More-hall,Thou peerless knight of these woods;Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,We'll give thee all our goods.This being done, he did engageTo hew the dragon down;But first he went new armour toBespeak at Sheffield town;With spikes all about, not within but without,Of steel so sharp and strong,Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er,Some five or six inches long.Had you but seen him in this dress,How fierce he look'd, and how big,You would have thought him for to beSome Egyptian porcupig:He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,Each cow, each horse, and each hog:For fear they did flee, for they took him to beSome strange, outlandish hedge-hog.To see this fight all people thenGot up on trees and houses,On churches some, and chimneys too;But these put on their trousers,Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,To make him strong and mighty,He drank, by the tale, six pots of aleAnd a quart of aqua-vitæ.It is not strength that always wins,For wit doth strength excel;Which made our cunning championCreep down into a well,Where he did think this dragon would drink,And so he did in truth;And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cried, boh!And kick'd him in the mouth.Oh, quoth the dragon with a deep sigh,And turn'd six times together,Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearingOut of his throat of leather:More of More-hall, O thou rascal,Would I had seen thee never;With the thing at thy foot thou hast prick'd my throat,And I'm quite undone for ever.Murder, murder, the dragon cried,Alack, alack, for grief;Had you but miss'd that place, you couldHave done me no mischief.Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,And down he laid and cried;First on one knee, then on back tumbled he;So groan'd, and kick'd, and died.
Old stories tell how HerculesA dragon slew at Lerna,With seven heads and fourteen eyes,To see and well discern-a:But he had a club, this dragon to drub,Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye:But More of More-hall, with nothing at all,He slew the dragon of Wantley.
This dragon had two furious wings,Each one upon each shoulder;With a sting in his tail as long as a flail,Which made him bolder and bolder.He had long claws, and in his jawsFour and forty teeth of iron;With a hide as tough as any buff,Which did him round environ.
Have you not heard how the Trojan horseHeld seventy men in his belly?This dragon was not quite so big,But very near, I'll tell ye;Devour'd he poor children three,That could not with him grapple;And at one sup he ate them up,As one would eat an apple.
All sorts of cattle this dragon would eat,Some say he ate up trees,And that the forests sure he wouldDevour up by degrees:For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;He ate all and left none behind,But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,Which on the hills you will find.
Hard by a furious knight there dwelt;Men, women, girls, and boys,Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,And made a hideous noise.O save us all, More of More-hall,Thou peerless knight of these woods;Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,We'll give thee all our goods.
This being done, he did engageTo hew the dragon down;But first he went new armour toBespeak at Sheffield town;With spikes all about, not within but without,Of steel so sharp and strong,Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er,Some five or six inches long.
Had you but seen him in this dress,How fierce he look'd, and how big,You would have thought him for to beSome Egyptian porcupig:He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,Each cow, each horse, and each hog:For fear they did flee, for they took him to beSome strange, outlandish hedge-hog.
To see this fight all people thenGot up on trees and houses,On churches some, and chimneys too;But these put on their trousers,Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,To make him strong and mighty,He drank, by the tale, six pots of aleAnd a quart of aqua-vitæ.
It is not strength that always wins,For wit doth strength excel;Which made our cunning championCreep down into a well,Where he did think this dragon would drink,And so he did in truth;And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cried, boh!And kick'd him in the mouth.
Oh, quoth the dragon with a deep sigh,And turn'd six times together,Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearingOut of his throat of leather:More of More-hall, O thou rascal,Would I had seen thee never;With the thing at thy foot thou hast prick'd my throat,And I'm quite undone for ever.
Murder, murder, the dragon cried,Alack, alack, for grief;Had you but miss'd that place, you couldHave done me no mischief.Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,And down he laid and cried;First on one knee, then on back tumbled he;So groan'd, and kick'd, and died.
Old Ballad
At dead of night, when mortals loseTheir various cares in soft repose,I heard a knocking at my door:'Who's that,' said I, 'at this late hourDisturbs my rest?' It sobb'd and cried,And thus in mournful tone replied,'A poor, unhappy child am I,That's come to beg your charity;Pray, let me in. You need not fear;I mean no harm, I vow and swear;But, wet and cold, crave shelter here;Betray'd by night, and led astray,I've lost, alas! I've lost my way.'Moved with this little tale of fate,I took a lamp, and oped the gate!When, see! a naked boy beforeThe threshold; at his back he woreA pair of wings, and by his sideA crooked bow and quiver tied.'My pretty angel! come,' said I,'Come to the fire, and do not cry.'I stroked his neck and shoulders bare,And squeez'd the water from his hair;Then chafed his little hands in mine,And cheer'd him with a draught of wineRecover'd thus, says he, 'I'd know,Whether the rain has spoilt my bow;Let's try'—then shot me with a dart.The venom throbb'd, did ache and smart,As if a bee had stung my heart.'Are these your thanks, ungrateful child,Are these your thanks?' The impostor smiled.'Farewell, my loving host,' says he,All's well; my bow's unhurt, I see;But what a wretch I've made of thee!'
At dead of night, when mortals loseTheir various cares in soft repose,I heard a knocking at my door:'Who's that,' said I, 'at this late hourDisturbs my rest?' It sobb'd and cried,And thus in mournful tone replied,'A poor, unhappy child am I,That's come to beg your charity;Pray, let me in. You need not fear;I mean no harm, I vow and swear;But, wet and cold, crave shelter here;Betray'd by night, and led astray,I've lost, alas! I've lost my way.'Moved with this little tale of fate,I took a lamp, and oped the gate!When, see! a naked boy beforeThe threshold; at his back he woreA pair of wings, and by his sideA crooked bow and quiver tied.'My pretty angel! come,' said I,'Come to the fire, and do not cry.'I stroked his neck and shoulders bare,And squeez'd the water from his hair;Then chafed his little hands in mine,And cheer'd him with a draught of wineRecover'd thus, says he, 'I'd know,Whether the rain has spoilt my bow;Let's try'—then shot me with a dart.The venom throbb'd, did ache and smart,As if a bee had stung my heart.'Are these your thanks, ungrateful child,Are these your thanks?' The impostor smiled.'Farewell, my loving host,' says he,All's well; my bow's unhurt, I see;But what a wretch I've made of thee!'
J. Hughes
'Now, woman, why without your veil?And wherefore do you look so pale?And, woman, why do you groan so sadly,And wherefore beat your bosom madly?''Oh, I have lost my darling boy,In whom my soul had all its joy;And I for sorrow have torn my veil,And sorrow hath made my very heart pale.'Oh, I have lost my darling child,And that's the loss that makes me wild;He stoop'd by the river down to drink,And there was a Crocodile by the brink.'He did not venture in to swim,He only stoop'd to drink at the brim;But under the reeds the Crocodile lay,And struck with his tail and swept him away.'Now take me in your boat, I pray,For down the river lies my way,And me to the Reed Island bring,For I will go to the Crocodile King.'He reigns not now in Crocodilople,Proud as the Turk at Constantinople;No ruins of his great city remain;The Island of Reeds is his whole domain.'Like a dervise there he passes his days,Turns up his eyes, and fasts and prays;And being grown pious and meek and mild,He now never eats man, woman, or child.'The King of the Crocodiles never does wrong,He has no tail so stiff and strong,He has no tail to strike and slay,But he has ears to hear what I say.'And to the King I will complainHow my poor child was wickedly slain;The King of the Crocodiles he is good,And I shall have the murderer's blood.'The man replied, 'No, woman, no;To the Island of Reeds I will not go;I would not for any worldly thingSee the face of the Crocodile King.''Then lend me now your little boat,And I will down the river float,I tell thee that no worldly thingShall keep me from the Crocodile King.'The King of the Crocodiles he is good,And therefore will give me blood for blood;Being so mighty and so just,He can revenge me, he will, and he must.'The woman she leapt into the boat,And down the river alone did she float,And fast with the stream the boat proceeds,And now she is come to the Island of Reeds.The King of the Crocodiles there was seen;He sat upon the eggs of the Queen,And all around, a numerous rout,The young Prince Crocodiles crawl'd about.The woman shook every limb with fearAs she to the Crocodile King came near,For never a man without fear and aweThe face of his Crocodile Majesty saw.She fell upon her bended knee,And said, 'O King, have pity on me,For I have lost my darling child,And that's the loss that makes me wild.'A crocodile ate him for his food:Now let me have the murderer's blood;Let me have vengeance for my boy,The only thing that can give me joy.'I know that you, sire, never do wrong,You have no tail so stiff and strong,You have no tail to strike and slay,But you have ears to hear what I say.''You have done well,' the king replies,And fix'd on her his little eyes;'Good woman, yes, you have done right;But you have not described me quite.'I have no tail to strike and slay,And I have ears to hear what you say;I have teeth, moreover, as you may see,And I will make a meal of thee.'Wicked the word, and bootless the boast,As cruel King Crocodile found to his cost,And proper reward of tyrannical might;He show'd his teeth, but he miss'd his bite.'A meal of me!' the woman cried,Taking wit in her anger, and courage beside;She took him his forelegs and hind between,And trundled him off the eggs of the Queen.To revenge herself then she did not fail;He was slow in his motions for want of a tail;But well for the woman was it the whileThat the Queen was gadding abroad in the Nile.Two Crocodile Princes, as they play'd on the sand,She caught, and grasping them one in each hand,Thrust the head of one into the throat of the other,And made each Prince Crocodile choke his brother.And when she had truss'd three couple this way,She carried them off and hasten'd away,And plying her oars with might and main,Cross'd the river and got to the shore again.When the Crocodile Queen came home, she foundThat her eggs were broken and scatter'd around,And that six young princes, darlings all,Were missing; for none of them answered her call.Then many a not very pleasant thingPass'd between her and the Crocodile King;'Is this your care of the nest?' cried she;'It comes of your gadding abroad,' said he.The Queen had the better in this dispute,And the Crocodile King found it best to be mute;While a terrible peal in his ears she rung,For the Queen had a tail as well as a tongue.In woful patience he let her rail,Standing less in fear of her tongue than her tail,And knowing that all the words which were spoken.Could not mend one of the eggs that were broken.The woman, meantime, was very well pleased,She had saved her life, and her heart was eased;The justice she ask'd in vain for her son,She had taken herself, and six for one.'Mash-Allah!' her neighbours exclaim'd in delight,She gave them a funeral supper that night,Where they all agreed that revenge was sweet,And young Prince Crocodiles delicate meat.
'Now, woman, why without your veil?And wherefore do you look so pale?And, woman, why do you groan so sadly,And wherefore beat your bosom madly?'
'Oh, I have lost my darling boy,In whom my soul had all its joy;And I for sorrow have torn my veil,And sorrow hath made my very heart pale.
'Oh, I have lost my darling child,And that's the loss that makes me wild;He stoop'd by the river down to drink,And there was a Crocodile by the brink.
'He did not venture in to swim,He only stoop'd to drink at the brim;But under the reeds the Crocodile lay,And struck with his tail and swept him away.
'Now take me in your boat, I pray,For down the river lies my way,And me to the Reed Island bring,For I will go to the Crocodile King.
'He reigns not now in Crocodilople,Proud as the Turk at Constantinople;No ruins of his great city remain;The Island of Reeds is his whole domain.
'Like a dervise there he passes his days,Turns up his eyes, and fasts and prays;And being grown pious and meek and mild,He now never eats man, woman, or child.
'The King of the Crocodiles never does wrong,He has no tail so stiff and strong,He has no tail to strike and slay,But he has ears to hear what I say.
'And to the King I will complainHow my poor child was wickedly slain;The King of the Crocodiles he is good,And I shall have the murderer's blood.'
The man replied, 'No, woman, no;To the Island of Reeds I will not go;I would not for any worldly thingSee the face of the Crocodile King.'
'Then lend me now your little boat,And I will down the river float,I tell thee that no worldly thingShall keep me from the Crocodile King.
'The King of the Crocodiles he is good,And therefore will give me blood for blood;Being so mighty and so just,He can revenge me, he will, and he must.'
The woman she leapt into the boat,And down the river alone did she float,And fast with the stream the boat proceeds,And now she is come to the Island of Reeds.
The King of the Crocodiles there was seen;He sat upon the eggs of the Queen,And all around, a numerous rout,The young Prince Crocodiles crawl'd about.
The woman shook every limb with fearAs she to the Crocodile King came near,For never a man without fear and aweThe face of his Crocodile Majesty saw.
She fell upon her bended knee,And said, 'O King, have pity on me,For I have lost my darling child,And that's the loss that makes me wild.
'A crocodile ate him for his food:Now let me have the murderer's blood;Let me have vengeance for my boy,The only thing that can give me joy.
'I know that you, sire, never do wrong,You have no tail so stiff and strong,You have no tail to strike and slay,But you have ears to hear what I say.'
'You have done well,' the king replies,And fix'd on her his little eyes;'Good woman, yes, you have done right;But you have not described me quite.
'I have no tail to strike and slay,And I have ears to hear what you say;I have teeth, moreover, as you may see,And I will make a meal of thee.'
Wicked the word, and bootless the boast,As cruel King Crocodile found to his cost,And proper reward of tyrannical might;He show'd his teeth, but he miss'd his bite.
'A meal of me!' the woman cried,Taking wit in her anger, and courage beside;She took him his forelegs and hind between,And trundled him off the eggs of the Queen.
To revenge herself then she did not fail;He was slow in his motions for want of a tail;But well for the woman was it the whileThat the Queen was gadding abroad in the Nile.
Two Crocodile Princes, as they play'd on the sand,She caught, and grasping them one in each hand,Thrust the head of one into the throat of the other,And made each Prince Crocodile choke his brother.
And when she had truss'd three couple this way,She carried them off and hasten'd away,And plying her oars with might and main,Cross'd the river and got to the shore again.
When the Crocodile Queen came home, she foundThat her eggs were broken and scatter'd around,And that six young princes, darlings all,Were missing; for none of them answered her call.
Then many a not very pleasant thingPass'd between her and the Crocodile King;'Is this your care of the nest?' cried she;'It comes of your gadding abroad,' said he.
The Queen had the better in this dispute,And the Crocodile King found it best to be mute;While a terrible peal in his ears she rung,For the Queen had a tail as well as a tongue.
In woful patience he let her rail,Standing less in fear of her tongue than her tail,And knowing that all the words which were spoken.Could not mend one of the eggs that were broken.
The woman, meantime, was very well pleased,She had saved her life, and her heart was eased;The justice she ask'd in vain for her son,She had taken herself, and six for one.
'Mash-Allah!' her neighbours exclaim'd in delight,She gave them a funeral supper that night,Where they all agreed that revenge was sweet,And young Prince Crocodiles delicate meat.
R. Southey
A lion cub, of sordid mind,Avoided all the lion kind;Fond of applause, he sought the feastsOf vulgar and ignoble beasts;With asses all his time he spent,Their club's perpetual president.He caught their manners, looks, and airs;An ass in everything but ears!If e'er his Highness meant a joke,They grinn'd applause before he spoke;But at each word what shouts of praise;Goodness! how natural he brays!Elate with flattery and conceit,He seeks his royal sire's retreat;Forward and fond to show his parts,His Highness brays; the lion starts.'Puppy! that curs'd vociferationBetrays thy life and conversation:Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,Are trumpets of their own disgrace.'Why so severe?' the cub replies;'Our senate always held me wise!''How weak is pride,' returns the sire:'All fools are vain when fools admire!But know, what stupid asses prize,Lions and noble beasts despise.'
A lion cub, of sordid mind,Avoided all the lion kind;Fond of applause, he sought the feastsOf vulgar and ignoble beasts;With asses all his time he spent,Their club's perpetual president.He caught their manners, looks, and airs;An ass in everything but ears!If e'er his Highness meant a joke,They grinn'd applause before he spoke;But at each word what shouts of praise;Goodness! how natural he brays!Elate with flattery and conceit,He seeks his royal sire's retreat;Forward and fond to show his parts,His Highness brays; the lion starts.'Puppy! that curs'd vociferationBetrays thy life and conversation:Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,Are trumpets of their own disgrace.'Why so severe?' the cub replies;'Our senate always held me wise!''How weak is pride,' returns the sire:'All fools are vain when fools admire!But know, what stupid asses prize,Lions and noble beasts despise.'
J. Gay
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall.As if he grew there house and allTogether.Within that house secure he hides,When danger imminent betidesOf storm, or other harm besidesOf weather.Give but his horns the slightest touch,His self-collecting power is such,He shrinks into his house with muchDispleasure.Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,Except himself has chattels none,Well satisfied to be his ownWhole treasure.Thus hermit-like his life he leads,Nor partner of his banquet needs,And, if he meets one, only feedsThe faster.Who seeks him must be worse than blind,(He and his house are so combined,)If, finding it, he fails to findIts master.
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall.As if he grew there house and allTogether.
Within that house secure he hides,When danger imminent betidesOf storm, or other harm besidesOf weather.
Give but his horns the slightest touch,His self-collecting power is such,He shrinks into his house with muchDispleasure.
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,Except himself has chattels none,Well satisfied to be his ownWhole treasure.
Thus hermit-like his life he leads,Nor partner of his banquet needs,And, if he meets one, only feedsThe faster.
Who seeks him must be worse than blind,(He and his house are so combined,)If, finding it, he fails to findIts master.
V. Bourne
Close by the threshold of a door nail'd fast,Three kittens sat; each kitten look'd aghast.I, passing swift and inattentive by,At the three kittens cast a careless eye;Not much concern'd to know what they did there,Not deeming kittens worth a Poet's care.But presently a loud and furious hissCaused me to stop, and to exclaim, 'What's this?'When lo! upon the threshold met my view,With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,A viper, long as Count de Grasse's queue.Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,Darting it full against a kitten's nose;Who having never seen, in field or house,The like, sat still and silent as a mouse:Only projecting, with attention due,Her whisker'd face, she asked him, 'Who are you?On to the hall went I, with pace not slow,But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe:With which well arm'd I hasten'd to the spot,To find the viper, but I found him not.And, turning up the leaves and shrubs around,Found only, that he was not to be found.But still the kitten, sitting as before,Sat watching close the bottom of the door.'I hope,' said I, 'the villain I would killHas slipp'd between the door and the door-sill;And if I make despatch, and follow hard,No doubt but I shall find him in the yard;'For long ere now it should have been rehearsed,'Twas in the garden that I found him first.Even there I found him—there the full-grown cat,His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat;As curious as the kittens each had beenTo learn what this phenomenon might mean.Fill'd with heroic ardour at the sight,And fearing every moment he would bite,And rob our household of our only catThat was of age to combat with a rat,With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the door,And taught him never to come thither more.
Close by the threshold of a door nail'd fast,Three kittens sat; each kitten look'd aghast.I, passing swift and inattentive by,At the three kittens cast a careless eye;Not much concern'd to know what they did there,Not deeming kittens worth a Poet's care.But presently a loud and furious hissCaused me to stop, and to exclaim, 'What's this?'When lo! upon the threshold met my view,With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,A viper, long as Count de Grasse's queue.Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,Darting it full against a kitten's nose;Who having never seen, in field or house,The like, sat still and silent as a mouse:Only projecting, with attention due,Her whisker'd face, she asked him, 'Who are you?On to the hall went I, with pace not slow,But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe:With which well arm'd I hasten'd to the spot,To find the viper, but I found him not.And, turning up the leaves and shrubs around,Found only, that he was not to be found.But still the kitten, sitting as before,Sat watching close the bottom of the door.'I hope,' said I, 'the villain I would killHas slipp'd between the door and the door-sill;And if I make despatch, and follow hard,No doubt but I shall find him in the yard;'For long ere now it should have been rehearsed,'Twas in the garden that I found him first.Even there I found him—there the full-grown cat,His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat;As curious as the kittens each had beenTo learn what this phenomenon might mean.Fill'd with heroic ardour at the sight,And fearing every moment he would bite,And rob our household of our only catThat was of age to combat with a rat,With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the door,And taught him never to come thither more.
W. Cowper
Did you hear of the curate who mounted his mare,And merrily trotted along to the fair?Of creature more tractable none ever heard,In the height of her speed she would stop at a word;But again with a word, when the curate said, Hey,She put forth her mettle and gallop'd away.As near to the gates of the city he rode,While the sun of September all brilliantly glow'd,The good priest discover'd, with eyes of desire,A mulberry-tree in a hedge of wild briar;On boughs long and lofty, in many a green shoot,Hung large, black, and glossy, the beautiful fruit.The curate was hungry and thirsty to boot;He shrunk from the thorns, though he long'd for the fruit;With a word he arrested his courser's keen speed,And he stood up erect on the back of his steed;On the saddle he stood while the creature stood still,And he gather'd the fruit till he took his good fill.'Sure never,' he thought, 'was a creature so rare,So docile, so true, as my excellent mare;Lo, here now I stand,' and he gazed all around,'As safe and as steady as if on the ground;Yet how had it been, if some traveller this way,Had, dreaming no mischief, but chanced to cry, Hey?'He stood with his head in the mulberry-tree,And he spoke out aloud in his fond reverie;At the sound of the word the good mare made a push,And down went the priest in the wild-briar bush.He remember'd too late, on his thorny green bed,Much that well may be thought cannot wisely be said.
Did you hear of the curate who mounted his mare,And merrily trotted along to the fair?Of creature more tractable none ever heard,In the height of her speed she would stop at a word;But again with a word, when the curate said, Hey,She put forth her mettle and gallop'd away.
As near to the gates of the city he rode,While the sun of September all brilliantly glow'd,The good priest discover'd, with eyes of desire,A mulberry-tree in a hedge of wild briar;On boughs long and lofty, in many a green shoot,Hung large, black, and glossy, the beautiful fruit.
The curate was hungry and thirsty to boot;He shrunk from the thorns, though he long'd for the fruit;With a word he arrested his courser's keen speed,And he stood up erect on the back of his steed;On the saddle he stood while the creature stood still,And he gather'd the fruit till he took his good fill.
'Sure never,' he thought, 'was a creature so rare,So docile, so true, as my excellent mare;Lo, here now I stand,' and he gazed all around,'As safe and as steady as if on the ground;Yet how had it been, if some traveller this way,Had, dreaming no mischief, but chanced to cry, Hey?'
He stood with his head in the mulberry-tree,And he spoke out aloud in his fond reverie;At the sound of the word the good mare made a push,And down went the priest in the wild-briar bush.He remember'd too late, on his thorny green bed,Much that well may be thought cannot wisely be said.
T. L. Peacock
Proud Maisie is in the wood,Walking so early;Sweet Robin sits on the bushSinging so rarely.'Tell me, thou bonny bird,When shall I marry me?''When six braw gentlemenKirkward shall carry ye.'Who makes the bridal bed,Birdie, say truly?''The grey-headed sextonThat delves the grave duly.'The glow-worm o'er grave and stoneShall light thee steady;The owl from the steeple singWelcome, proud lady.'
Proud Maisie is in the wood,Walking so early;Sweet Robin sits on the bushSinging so rarely.
'Tell me, thou bonny bird,When shall I marry me?''When six braw gentlemenKirkward shall carry ye.
'Who makes the bridal bed,Birdie, say truly?''The grey-headed sextonThat delves the grave duly.
'The glow-worm o'er grave and stoneShall light thee steady;The owl from the steeple singWelcome, proud lady.'
Sir W. Scott
When Arthur first in court began,And was approved king,By force of arms great victories wanAnd conquest home did bring,Then into England straight he cameWith fifty good and ableKnights, that resorted unto him,And were of his round table:And he had jousts and tournaments,Whereto were many prest,Wherein some knights did far excelAnd eke surmount the rest.But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,Who was approved well,He for his deeds and feats of armsAll others did excel.When he had rested him awhile,In play, and game, and sport,He said he would go prove himselfIn some adventurous sort.He armed rode in a forest wide,And met a damsel fairWho told him of adventures great,Whereto he gave great ear.'Such would I find,' quoth Lancelot:'For that cause came I hither.''Thou seem'st,' quoth she, 'a knight full good.And I will bring thee thither,'Whereas a mighty knight doth dwell,That now is of great fame:Therefore tell me what wight thou art,And what may be thy name.''My name is Lancelot du Lake.'Quoth she, 'It likes me than;Here dwells a knight who never wasYet match'd with any man:'Who has in prison three-score knightsAnd four that he did wound;Knights of King Arthur's court they be,And of his table round.'She brought him to a river side,And also to a tree,Whereon a copper basin hung,And many shields to see.He struck so hard the basin broke;And Tarquin soon he spied:Who drove a horse before him fast,Whereon a knight lay tied.'Sir knight,' then said Sir Lancelot,'Bring me that horse-load hither,And lay him down and let him rest;We'll try our force together:'For, as I understand, thou hast,So far as thou art able,Done great despite and shame untoThe knights of the round table.''If thou be of the table round,'Quoth Tarquin speedily,'Both thee and all thy fellowshipI utterly defy.''That's overmuch,' quoth Lancelot, 'tho,Defend thee bye and bye,'They set their spears unto their steeds,And each at other fly.They couch'd their spears, (their horses ranAs though there had been thunder,)And struck them each immidst their shields,Wherewith they broke in sunder.Their horses' backs brake under them,The knights were both astound:To avoid their horses they made hasteTo light upon the ground.They took them to their shields full fast,Their swords they drew out then,With mighty strokes most eagerly,Each at the other ran.They wounded were and bled full sore,They both for breath did stand,And leaning on their swords awhile,Quoth Tarquin, 'Hold thy hand,'And tell to me what I shall ask.''Say on,' quoth Lancelot, 'tho.''Thou art,' quoth Tarquin, 'the best knightThat ever I did know;'And like a knight that I did hate:So that thou be not he,I will deliver all the rest,And eke accord with thee.'That is well said,' quoth Lancelot;But sith it must be so,What knight is that thou hatest thus?I pray thee to me show.''His name is Lancelot du Lake,He slew my brother dear;Him I suspect of all the rest:I would I had him here.''Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknown,I am Lancelot du Lake,Now knight of Arthur's table round;King Haud's son of Schuwake;'And I desire thee do thy worst.''Ho, ho!' quoth Tarquin, 'tho:One of us two shall end our livesBefore that we do go.'If thou be Lancelot du Lake,Then welcome shalt thou be.Wherefore see thou thyself defend,For now defy I thee.'They buckled then together soLike unto wild boars rashing;And with their swords and shields they ran,At one another slashing:The ground besprinkled was with blood:Tarquin began to yield;For he gave back for weariness,And low did bear his shield.This soon Sir Lancelot espied,He leapt upon him then,He pull'd him down upon his knee,And, rushing off his helm,Forthwith he struck his neck in two,And, when he had so done,From prison threescore knights and fourDelivered every one.
When Arthur first in court began,And was approved king,By force of arms great victories wanAnd conquest home did bring,
Then into England straight he cameWith fifty good and ableKnights, that resorted unto him,And were of his round table:
And he had jousts and tournaments,Whereto were many prest,Wherein some knights did far excelAnd eke surmount the rest.
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,Who was approved well,He for his deeds and feats of armsAll others did excel.
When he had rested him awhile,In play, and game, and sport,He said he would go prove himselfIn some adventurous sort.
He armed rode in a forest wide,And met a damsel fairWho told him of adventures great,Whereto he gave great ear.
'Such would I find,' quoth Lancelot:'For that cause came I hither.''Thou seem'st,' quoth she, 'a knight full good.And I will bring thee thither,
'Whereas a mighty knight doth dwell,That now is of great fame:Therefore tell me what wight thou art,And what may be thy name.'
'My name is Lancelot du Lake.'Quoth she, 'It likes me than;Here dwells a knight who never wasYet match'd with any man:
'Who has in prison three-score knightsAnd four that he did wound;Knights of King Arthur's court they be,And of his table round.'
She brought him to a river side,And also to a tree,Whereon a copper basin hung,And many shields to see.
He struck so hard the basin broke;And Tarquin soon he spied:Who drove a horse before him fast,Whereon a knight lay tied.
'Sir knight,' then said Sir Lancelot,'Bring me that horse-load hither,And lay him down and let him rest;We'll try our force together:
'For, as I understand, thou hast,So far as thou art able,Done great despite and shame untoThe knights of the round table.'
'If thou be of the table round,'Quoth Tarquin speedily,'Both thee and all thy fellowshipI utterly defy.'
'That's overmuch,' quoth Lancelot, 'tho,Defend thee bye and bye,'They set their spears unto their steeds,And each at other fly.
They couch'd their spears, (their horses ranAs though there had been thunder,)And struck them each immidst their shields,Wherewith they broke in sunder.
Their horses' backs brake under them,The knights were both astound:To avoid their horses they made hasteTo light upon the ground.
They took them to their shields full fast,Their swords they drew out then,With mighty strokes most eagerly,Each at the other ran.
They wounded were and bled full sore,They both for breath did stand,And leaning on their swords awhile,Quoth Tarquin, 'Hold thy hand,
'And tell to me what I shall ask.''Say on,' quoth Lancelot, 'tho.''Thou art,' quoth Tarquin, 'the best knightThat ever I did know;
'And like a knight that I did hate:So that thou be not he,I will deliver all the rest,And eke accord with thee.
'That is well said,' quoth Lancelot;But sith it must be so,What knight is that thou hatest thus?I pray thee to me show.'
'His name is Lancelot du Lake,He slew my brother dear;Him I suspect of all the rest:I would I had him here.'
'Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknown,I am Lancelot du Lake,Now knight of Arthur's table round;King Haud's son of Schuwake;
'And I desire thee do thy worst.''Ho, ho!' quoth Tarquin, 'tho:One of us two shall end our livesBefore that we do go.
'If thou be Lancelot du Lake,Then welcome shalt thou be.Wherefore see thou thyself defend,For now defy I thee.'
They buckled then together soLike unto wild boars rashing;And with their swords and shields they ran,At one another slashing:
The ground besprinkled was with blood:Tarquin began to yield;For he gave back for weariness,And low did bear his shield.
This soon Sir Lancelot espied,He leapt upon him then,He pull'd him down upon his knee,And, rushing off his helm,
Forthwith he struck his neck in two,And, when he had so done,From prison threescore knights and fourDelivered every one.
Old Ballad