Its master cried with bursting heart,
And voice of agony and pain.
So one, whose ticket's marked “Return,”
When to the lonely roadside station
He flies in fear and perturbation,
Thinks of his home—the hissing urn—
Then runs with flying hat and hair,
And, entering, finds to his despair
He's missed the very latest train.
Too long it were to tell of each conjecture
Of chicken suicide, and poultry victim,
The deadly frown, the stern and dreary lecture,
The timid guess, “perhaps some needle pricked him!”
The din of voice, the words both loud and many,
The sob, the tear, the sigh that none could smother,
Till all agreed “a shilling to a penny
It killed itself, and we acquit the mother!”
Scarce was the verdict spoken,
When that still calm was broken,
A childish form hath burst into the throng;
With tears and looks of sadness,
That bring no news of gladness,
But tell too surely something hath gone wrong!
“The sight that I have come upon
The stoutest heart would sicken,
That nasty hen has been and gone
And killed another chicken!”
I.e. the jam without the jars. Observe the beauty of this rhyme.
At the rate of a stroke and two-thirds in a second.
Unless the hen was a poacher, which is unlikely.
The henhouse.
Beak and claw.
Press out.
Probably one of the two stalwart youths.
The system of return tickets is an excellent one. People are conveyed, on particular days, there and back again for one fare.
An additional vexation would be that his “Return” ticket would be no use the next day.
Perhaps even the “bursting” heart of its master.
LAYS OF SORROW No. 2
Fair stands the ancient Rectory,
The Rectory of Croft,
The sun shines bright upon it,
The breezes whisper soft.
From all the house and garden,
Its inhabitants come forth,
And muster in the road without,
And pace in twos and threes about,
The children of the North.
Some are waiting in the garden,
Some are waiting at the door,
And some are following behind,
And some have gone before.
But wherefore all this mustering?
Wherefore this vast array?
A gallant feat of horsemanship
Will be performed to-day.
To eastward and to westward,
The crowd divides amain,
Two youths are leading on the steed,
Both tugging at the rein;
And sorely do they labour,
For the steed is very strong,
And backward moves its stubborn feet,
And backward ever doth retreat,
And drags its guides along.
And now the knight hath mounted,
Before the admiring band,
Hath got the stirrups on his feet,
The bridle in his hand.
Yet, oh! beware, sir horseman!
And tempt thy fate no more,
For such a steed as thou hast got
Was never rid before!
The rabbits bow before thee,
And cower in the straw;
The chickens are submissive,
And own thy will for law;
Bullfinches and canary
Thy bidding do obey;
And e'en the tortoise in its shell
Doth never say thee nay.
But thy steed will hear no master,
Thy steed will bear no stick,
And woe to those that beat her,
And woe to those that kick!
For though her rider smite her,
As hard as he can hit,
And strive to turn her from the yard,
She stands in silence, pulling hard
Against the pulling bit.
And now the road to Dalton
Hath felt their coming tread,
The crowd are speeding on before,
And all have gone ahead.
Yet often look they backward,
And cheer him on, and bawl,
For slower still, and still more slow,
That horseman and that charger go,
And scarce advance at all.
And now two roads to choose from
Are in that rider's sight:
In front the road to Dalton,
And New Croft upon the right.
“I can't get by!” he bellows,
“I really am not able!
Though I pull my shoulder out of joint,
I cannot get him past this point,
For it leads unto his stable!”
Then out spake Ulfrid Longbow,
A valiant youth was he,
“Lo! I will stand on thy right hand
And guard the pass for thee!”
And out spake fair Flureeza,
His sister eke was she,
“I will abide on thy other side,
And turn thy steed for thee!”
And now commenced a struggle
Between that steed and rider,
For all the strength that he hath left
Doth not suffice to guide her.
Though Ulfrid and his sister
Have kindly stopped the way,
And all the crowd have cried aloud,
“We can't wait here all day!”
Round turned he as not deigning
Their words to understand,
But he slipped the stirrups from his feet
The bridle from his hand,
And grasped the mane full lightly,
And vaulted from his seat,
And gained the road in triumph,
And stood upon his feet.
All firmly till that moment
Had Ulfrid Longbow stood,
And faced the foe right valiantly,
As every warrior should.
But when safe on terra firma
His brother he did spy,
“What did you do that for?” he cried,
Then unconcerned he stepped aside
And let it canter by.
They gave him bread and butter,
That was of public right,
As much as four strong rabbits
Could munch from morn to night,
For he'd done a deed of daring,
And faced that savage steed,
And therefore cups of coffee sweet,
And everything that was a treat,
Were but his right and meed.
And often in the evenings,
When the fire is blazing bright,
When books bestrew the table
And moths obscure the light,
When crying children go to bed,
A struggling, kicking load;
We'll talk of Ulfrid Longbow's deed,
How, in his brother's utmost need,
Back to his aid he flew with speed,
And how he faced the fiery steed,
And kept the New Croft Road.
This Rectory has been supposed to have been built in the time of Edward VI, but recent discoveries clearly assign its origin to a much earlier period. A stone has been found in an island formed by the river Tees on which is inscribed the letter “A,” which is justly conjectured to stand for the name of the great King Alfred, in whose reign this house was probably built.
The poet entreats pardon for having represented a donkey under this dignified name.
A full account of the history and misfortunes of these interesting creatures may be found in the first “Lay of Sorrow.”
It
is a singular fact that a donkey makes a point of returning any kicks offered to it.
This valiant knight, besides having a heart of steel and nerves of iron, has been lately in the habit of carrying a brick in his eye.
She was sister to both.
The reader will probably be at a loss to discover the nature of this triumph, as no object was gained, and the donkey was obviously the victor; on this point, however, we are sorry to say we can offer no good explanation.
Much more acceptable to a true knight than “corn-land” which the Roman people were so foolish as to give to their daring champion, Horatius.
THE TWO BROTHERS
There were two brothers at Twyford school,
And when they had left the place,
It was, “Will ye learn Greek and Latin?
Or will ye run me a race?
Or will ye go up to yonder bridge,
And there we will angle for dace?”
“I'm too stupid for Greek and for Latin,
I'm too lazy by half for a race,
So I'll even go up to yonder bridge,
And there we will angle for dace.”
He has fitted together two joints of his rod,
And to them he has added another,
And then a great hook he took from his book,
And ran it right into his brother.
Oh much is the noise that is made among boys
When playfully pelting a pig,
But a far greater pother was made by his brother
When flung from the top of the brigg.
The fish hurried up by the dozens,
All ready and eager to bite,
For the lad that he flung was so tender and young,
It quite gave them an appetite.
Said he, “Thus shall he wallop about
And the fish take him quite at their ease,
For me to annoy it was ever his joy,
Now I'll teach him the meaning of ‘Tees’!”
The wind to his ear brought a voice,
“My brother, you didn't had ought ter!
And what have I done that you think it such fun
To indulge in the pleasure of slaughter?
“A good nibble or bite is my chiefest delight,
When I'm merely expected to see,
But a bite from a fish is not quite what I wish,
When I get it performed upon me;
And just now here's a swarm of dace at my arm,
And a perch has got hold of my knee.
“For water my thirst was not great at the first,
And of fish I have quite sufficien—”
“Oh fear not!” he cried, “for whatever betide,
We are both in the selfsame condition!
“I am sure that our state's very nearly alike
(Not considering the question of slaughter),
For I have my perch on the top of the bridge,
And you have your perch in the water.
“I stick to my perch and your perch sticks to you,
We are really extremely alike;
I've a turn-pike up here, and I very much fear
You may soon have a turn with a pike.”
“Oh grant but one wish! If I'm took by a fish
(For your bait is your brother, good man!)
Pull him up if you like, but I hope you will strike
As gently as ever you can.”
“If the fish be a trout, I'm afraid there's no doubt
I must strike him like lightning that's greased;
If the fish be a pike, I'll engage not to strike,
Till I've waited ten minutes at least.”
“But in those ten minutes to desolate Fate
Your brother a victim may fall!”
“I'll reduce it to five, so perhaps you'll survive,
But the chance is exceedingly small.”
“Oh hard is your heart for to act such a part;
Is it iron, or granite, or steel?”
“Why, I really can't say—it is many a day
Since my heart was accustomed to feel.
“'Twas my heart-cherished wish for to slay many fish
Each day did my malice grow worse,
For my heart didn't soften with doing it so often,
But rather, I should say, the reverse.”
“Oh would I were back at Twyford school,
Learning lessons in fear of the birch!”
“Nay, brother!” he cried, “for whatever betide,
You are better off here with your perch!
“I am sure you'll allow you are happier now,
With nothing to do but to play;
And this single line here, it is perfectly clear,
Is much better than thirty a day!
“And as to the rod hanging over your head,
And apparently ready to fall,
That, you know, was the case, when you lived in that place,
So it need not be reckoned at all.
“Do you see that old trout with a turn-up-nose snout?
(Just to speak on a pleasanter theme,)
Observe, my dear brother, our love for each other—
He's the one I like best in the stream.
“To-morrow I mean to invite him to dine
(We shall all of us think it a treat);
If the day should be fine, I'll just drop him a line,
And we'll settle what time we're to meet.
“He hasn't been into society yet,
And his manners are not of the best,
So I think it quite fair that it should be my care,
To see that he's properly dressed.”
Many words brought the wind of “cruel” and “kind,”
And that “man suffers more than the brute”:
Each several word with patience he heard,
And answered with wisdom to boot.
“What? prettier swimming in the stream,
Than lying all snugly and flat?
Do but look at that dish filled with glittering fish,
Has Nature a picture like that?
“What? a higher delight to be drawn from the sight
Of fish full of life and of glee?
What a noodle you are! 'tis delightfuller far
To kill them than let them go free!
“I know there are people who prate by the hour
Of the beauty of earth, sky, and ocean;
Of the birds as they fly, of the fish darting by,
Rejoicing in Life and in Motion.
“As to any delight to be got from the sight,
It is all very well for a flat,
But I think it all gammon, for hooking a salmon
Is better than twenty of that!
“They say that a man of a right-thinking mind
Will love the dumb creatures he sees—
What's the use of his mind, if he's never inclined
To pull a fish out of the Tees?
“Take my friends and my home—as an outcast I'll roam:
Take the money I have in the Bank;
It is just what I wish, but deprive me of fish,
And my life would indeed be a blank!”
Forth from the house his sister came,
Her brothers for to see,
But when she saw that sight of awe,
The tear stood in her e'e.
“Oh what bait's that upon your hook,
My brother, tell to me?”
“It is but the fantailed pigeon,
He would not sing for me.”
“Whoe'er would expect a pigeon to sing,
A simpleton he must be!
But a pigeon-cote is a different thing
To the coat that there I see!”
“Oh what bait's that upon your hook,
Dear brother, tell to me?”
“It is my younger brother,” he cried,
“Oh woe and dole is me!
“I's mighty wicked, that I is!
Or how c
ould such things be?
Farewell, farewell, sweet sister,
I'm going o'er the sea.”
“And when will you come back again,
My brother, tell to me?”
“When chub is good for human food,
And that will never be!”
She turned herself right round about,
And her heart brake into three,
Said, “One of the two will be wet through and through,
And t'other'll be late for his tea!”
THE LADY OF THE LADLE
The Youth at Eve had drunk his fill,
Where stands the “Royal” on the Hill,
And long his mid-day stroll had made,
On the so-called “Marine Parade”—
(Meant, I presume, for Seamen brave,
Whose “march is on the Mountain wave”;
'Twere just the bathing-place for him
Who stays on land till he can swim—)
And he had strayed into the Town,
And paced each alley up and down,
Where still, so narrow grew the way,
The very houses seemed to say,
Nodding to friends across the Street,
“One struggle more and we shall meet.”
And he had scaled that wondrous stair
That soars from earth to upper air,
Where rich and poor alike must climb,
And walk the treadmill for a time.
That morning he had dressed with care,
And put Pomatum on his hair;
He was, the loungers all agreed,
A very heavy swell indeed:
Men thought him, as he swaggered by,
Some scion of nobility,
And never dreamed, so cold his look,
That he had loved—and loved a Cook.
Upon the beach he stood and sighed
Unheedful of the treacherous tide;
Thus sang he to the listening main,
And soothed his sorrow with the strain!
CORONACH
“She is gone by the Hilda,
She is lost unto Whitby,
And her name is Matilda,
Which my heart it was smit by;
Tho' I take the Goliah,
I learn to my sorrow
That ‘it won't,’ said the crier,
‘Be off till to-morrow.’
“She called me her ‘Neddy,’
(Tho' there mayn't be much in it,)
And I should have been ready,
If she'd waited a minute;
I was following behind her
When, if you recollect, I
Merely ran back to find a
Gold pin for my neck-tie.
“Rich dresser of suet!
Prime hand at a sausage!
I have lost thee, I rue it,
Complete Works of Lewis Carroll Page 82