THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. And his fingers, they noticed, were ever And putting apples, wondrous ripe, straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats; Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats; VII. Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Into a cider-press's gripe 145 And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery VIII. You should have heard the Hamelin people IX. A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council dinners made rare havock "Our business was done at the river's brink; Which was: 66 At the first shrill notes of the And a matter of money to put in your poke; pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, 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; X. The piper's face fell, and he cried, XIII. The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood, Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, XI. As the Piper turned from the High Street "How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll He's forced to let the piping drop, brook Being worse treated than a cook? With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, XII. Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) And we shall see our children stop! As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And when all were in, to the very last, 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 There was a rustling that seemed like a bus- Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; tling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, hustling; Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues And every thing was strange and new; Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! To offer the piper by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, And bring the children behind him. Should think their records dated duly 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 So, Willy, let you and me be wipers If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise. ROBERT BROWNING. To the top of the porch, to the top of the He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a wall! whistle, Now, dash away, dash away, dash away And away they all flew like the down of a all!" thistle; As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of fly, sight, night!" When they meet with an obstacle, mount to “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good the sky, So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicho las too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. CLEMENT C. MOORE. SATURDAY AFTERNOON. I LOVE to look on a scene like this, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, I have walked the world for fourscore years, That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death, It is very true-it is very true— I am old, and I "bide my time;" Play on! play on! I am with you there, I can feel the thrill of the daring jump, He was chubby and plump-a right jolly old And my feet slip up on the seedy floor, |