"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, And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something to drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of 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!

I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdad, and accept the prime Of 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: With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!

And folks who put me in a pa.s.sion May find me pipe after another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a Cook?

Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald?

You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air), There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farmyard 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, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, And could only follow with the eye

That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.

But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters!

However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And 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!"

When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The 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 blame His sadness, he was used to say,-- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left; I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peac.o.c.ks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings; And horses were born with eagle's wings; And just as I became a.s.sured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The 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!"

Alas, alas, for Hamelin!

There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that Heaven's Gate Opes to the Rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in!

The 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, And bring the children all behind him.

But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"

And the better in memory to fix The place of the Children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street-- Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labour.

Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column.

And on the great Church Window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day.

And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people that ascribe The outlandish ways and dress, On which their neighbours lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison, Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick Land, But how or why, they don't understand.

So, w.i.l.l.y, let me and you be wipers Of 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.

_Robert Browning._

THE GOOSE

I knew an old wife lean and poor, Her rags scarce held together; There strode a stranger to the door, And it was windy weather.

He held a goose upon his arm, He utter'd rhyme and reason, "Here, take the goose, and keep you warm, It is a stormy season."

She caught the white goose by the leg, A goose--'twas no great matter.

The goose let fall a golden egg With cackle and with clatter.

She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf, And ran to tell her neighbours; And bless'd herself, and cursed herself, And rested from her labours.

And feeding high, and living soft, Grew plump and able-bodied; Until the grave churchwarden doff'd, The parson smirk'd and nodded.

So sitting, served by man and maid, She felt her heart grow prouder: But, ah! the more the white goose laid It clack'd and cackled louder.

It clutter'd here, it chuckled there; It stirr'd the old wife's mettle: She shifted in her elbow-chair, And hurl'd the pan and kettle.

"A quinsy choke thy cursed note!"

Then wax'd her anger stronger.

"Go, take the goose, and wring her throat, I will not bear it longer."

Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat; Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer.

The goose flew this way and flew that, And fill'd the house with clamour.

As head and heels upon the floor They flounder'd all together, There strode a stranger to the door, And it was windy weather:

He took the goose upon his arm, He utter'd words of scorning; "So keep you cold, or keep you warm, It is a stormy morning."

The wild wind rang from park and plain, And round the attics rumbled, Till all the tables danced again, And half the chimneys tumbled.

The gla.s.s blew in, the fire blew out, The blast was hard and harder.

Her cap blew off, her gown blew up, And a whirlwind clear'd the larder:

And while on all sides breaking loose Her household fled the danger, Quoth she, "The Devil take the goose, And G.o.d forget the stranger!"

_Lord Tennyson._

THE BALLAD OF CHARITY

It was in a pleasant deepo, sequestered from the rain, That many weary pa.s.sengers were waitin' for the train; Piles of quite expensive baggage, many a gorgeous portmanto, Ivory-handled umberellas made a most touristic show.

Whereunto there came a person, very humble was his mien, Who took an observation of the interestin' scene; Closely scanned the umberellas, watched with joy the mighty trunks, And observed that all the people were securin' Pullman bunks:

Who was followed shortly after by a most unhappy tramp, Upon whose features poverty had jounced her iron stamp; And to make a clear impression as bees sting you while they buzz, She had hit him rather harder than she generally does.

For he was so awful ragged, and in parts so awful bare, That the folks were quite repulsioned to behold him begging there; And instead of drawing currency from out their pocket-books, They drew themselves asunder with aversionary looks.

Sternly gazed the first newcomer on the unindulgent crowd, Then in tones which pierced the deepo he solilicussed aloud:-- "I hev trevelled o'er this cont'nent from Quebec to Bogotaw, But sech a set of scallawags as these I never saw.

"Ye are wealthy, ye are gifted, ye have house and lands and rent, Yet unto a suff'rin' mortal ye will not donate a cent; Ye expend your missionaries to the heathen and the Jew, But there isn't any heathen that is half as small as you.

"Ye are lucky--ye hev cheque-books and deeposits in the bank, And ye squanderate your money on the t.i.tled folks of rank; The onyx and the sardonyx upon your garments shine, An' ye drink at every dinner p'r'aps a dollar's wuth of wine.

"Ye are goin' for the summer to the islands by the sea, Where it costs four dollars daily--setch is not for setch as me; Iv'ry-handled umberellas do not come into my plan, But I kin give a dollar to this sufl'rin' fellow-man.