The Giant Book of Poetry (2006)

by William H. Roetzheim

  and he himself was tall and thin,

  with sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,

  and 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 admire

  the 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:

  and, “Please your honors,” said he, “I’m able,

  by means of a secret charm, to draw

  all creatures living beneath the sun,

  that creep or swim or fly or run,

  after me so as you never saw!

  And I chiefly use my charm

  on 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 neck

  a scarf of red and yellow stripe,

  to match with his coat of the selfsame cheque;

  and at the scarf’s end hung a pipe;

  and his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying

  as if impatient to be playing

  upon this pipe, as low it dangled

  over 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;

  I eased in Asia the Nizam

  of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats;

  and, as for what your brain bewilders,

  if I can rid your town of rats

  will you give me a thousand guilders?”

  “One? fifty thousand!” —was the exclamation

  of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

  Into the street the Piper stepped,

  smiling first a little smile,

  as if he knew what magic slept

  in 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;

  and 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.

  Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,

  brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,

  grave old plodders, gay young friskers,

  fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,

  cocking tails and pricking whiskers,

  families 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,

  until they came to the river Weser,

  wherein all plunged and perished!

  —save one who, stout a Julius Caesar,

  swam across and lived to carry

  (as he, the manuscript he cherished)

  to 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:

  and 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 voice

  (sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery

  is breathed) called out ‘Oh, rats, rejoice!

  The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

  So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,

  breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!’

  And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,

  all ready staved, like a great sun shone

  glorious scarce and inch before me,

  just as me thought it said ‘Come, bore me!’

  — found the Weser rolling o’er me.”

  You should have heard the Hamelin people

  ringing 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,

  and leave in our town not even a trace

  of the rats!” —when suddenly, up the face

  of the Piper perked in the market-place,

  with a, “First, if you please, my thousand guilders!”

  A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;

  so did the Corporation too.

  For council dinners made rare havoc

  with Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;

  and half the money would replenish

  their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish.

  To pay this sum to a wandering fellow

  with 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,

  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 for 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

  Bagdat, 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 passion

  may find me pipe to 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 stepped 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 was 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 peacocks here,

  and 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 assured

  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 behind him.

  But when they saw ’twas a lost endeavor,

  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 labor.

  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 neighbors 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, Willy, let you and me 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.

  Edward Lear (1812 – 1888)

  The Owl and the Pussy-Cat1

  The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea

  in a beautiful pea green boat,

  they took some honey, and plenty of money,

  wrapped up in a five pound note.

  The Owl looked up to the stars above,

  and sang to a small guitar,

  ‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,

  what a beautiful Pussy you are,

  you are,

  you are!

  What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

  Pussy said to the Owl, ’You elegant fowl!

  How charmingly sweet you sing!

  O let us be married! too long we have tarried:

  but what shall we do for a ring?’

  They sailed away, for a year and a day,

  to the land where the Bong-tree grows

  and there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood

  with a ring at the end of his nose,

  his nose,

  his nose,

  with a ring at the end of his nose.

  ‘Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

  your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ’I will.’

  So they took it away, and were married next day

  by the Turkey who lives on the hill.

  They dined on mince, and slices of quince,

  which they ate with a runcible spoon;

  and hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

  they danced by the light of the moon,

  the moon,

  the moon,

  they danced by the light of the moon.

  Emily Bronte (1818 – 1848)

  I am the Only Being Whose Doom1

  I am the only being whose doom

  no tongue would ask no eye would mourn

  I never caused a thought of gloom

  a smile of joy since I was born

  In secret pleasure—secret tears

  this changeful life has slipped away

  as friendless after eighteen years

  as lone as on my natal day

  There have been times I cannot hide

  there have been times when this was drear

  when my sad soul forgot its pride

  and longed for one to love me here

  But those were in the early glow

  of feelings since subdued by care

  and they have died so long ago

  I hardly now believe they were

  First melted off the hope of youth

  then Fancy’s rainbow fast withdrew

  and then experience told me truth

  in mortal bosoms never grew

  ‘Twas grief enough to think mankind

  all hollow servile insincere

  but worse to trust to my own mind

  and find the same corruption there

  Charles Kingsley (1819 – 1875)

  Young and Old1

  When all the world is young, lad,

  and all the trees are green;

  and every goose a swan, lad,

  and every lass a queen;

  then hey for boot and horse, lad,

  and round the world away;

  young blood must have its course, lad,

  and every dog his day.

  When all the world is old, lad,
/>   and all the trees are brown;

  and all the sport is stale, lad,

  and all the wheels run down;

  creep home, and take your place there,

  the spent and maimed among:

  God grant you find one face there,

  you loved when all was young.

  Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)

  Darest Thou Now O Soul1

  Darest thou now O soul,

  walk out with me toward the unknown region,

  where neither ground is for the feet

  nor any path to follow?

  No map there, nor guide,

  nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,

  nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips,

  nor eyes, are in that land.

  I know it not O soul,

  nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,

  all waits undreamed of in that region,

  that inaccessible land.

  Till when the ties loosen,

  all but the ties eternal, Time and Space,

  nor darkness, gravitation, sense,

  nor any bounds bounding us.

  Then we burst forth, we float,

  in Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,

  equal, equipped at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!)

  them to fulfill O soul.

  I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing2

  I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

  all alone stood it

  and the moss hung down from the branches,

  without any companion it grew there

  uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

  and its look, rude, unbending, lusty,

  made me think of myself,

  but I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves

  standing alone there

  without its friend near, for I knew I could not,

  and I broke off a twig

  with a certain number of leaves upon it,

  and twined around it a little moss,

  and brought it away,

  and I have placed it in sight in my room,

  it is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

  (for I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

  yet it remains to me a curious token,

  it makes me think of manly love;

  for all that,

  and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana

  solitary in a wide flat space,

  uttering joyous leaves all its life

  without a friend or lover near,

  I know very well I could not.

  My Legacy1

  The business man the acquirer vast,

  after assiduous years surveying results,

  preparing for departure,

  devises houses and lands to his children,

  bequeaths stocks, goods,