To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters ! And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 'He never can cross that mighty top; And we shall see our children stop!' When, lo! as they reached the mountain's side, 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, 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, The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 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, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!' The Mayor sent east, west, north, and south Should think their records dated duly, '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 The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbours lay such stress, Long ago in a mighty band, Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, So Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men, - especially pipers, TIG LXXIX THE TIGER IGER, tiger, burning bright In what distant deeps or skies And what shoulder, and what art And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand form'd thy dread feet? What the hammer, what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? Did God smile his work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee? W. Blake LXXX KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF N ancient story I'll tell you anon AN Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with main and with might, For he did great wrong and maintain❜d little right. And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry, An hundred men, the king did hear say, 'How now, father Abbot, I hear it of thee, 'My liege,' quoth the Abbot, "I would it were known Yes, yes, father Abbot, thy fault it is high, 'And first,' quoth the king, 'when I'm in this stead, With my crown of gold so fair on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birth, 'Secondly tell me, without any doubt, How soon I may ride the whole world about; 'O these are hard questions for my shallow wit, 'Now three weeks space to thee will I give, Away rode the Abbot all sad at that word, That could with his learning an answer devise. |