Part 3

The flowers in the dell Once gave a circus show; And as I know them well, They asked if I would go As their especial guest. “Quite charmed!” said I, and so Put on my very best Frock-coat and shiny hat, And my embroidered vest And wonderful cravat; In fact, no end of style, For it is, as you know, But once in a great while The flowers give a show.

They gave me a front seat, The very nicest there-- A bank of violets sweet And moss and maidenhair. ’Twas going to be a treat-- I felt it in the air.

As martial music crashed From a trained trumpet-vine, Into the ring there dashed A beauteous columbine! With airy grace she strode Her wild horse-chestnut steed.

I held my breath, she rode With such terrific speed. They brought a cobweb ring, And lightly she jumped through it. (A very dangerous thing; How _did_ she learn to do it?)

I cried, “Brava! Encore!” Until she’d jumped through nine, Each higher than before. (I tell you, it was fine!)

Then Jack-in-pulpit--who From out his lofty place Announced what each would do-- Cried, “Next there comes a race.”

Two Scarlet Runners flew Three times the ring around, And with a crown of dew The winner’s head was crowned.

A booby race, for fun, Came next (the prize was cheaper). Trailing Arbutus won Over Virginia Creeper.

Then came the world-famed six, The Johnny-jump-up Brothers, Who did amazing tricks, Each funnier than the others.

A Spider, in mid-air (Engaged at great expense), On tight-thread gossamer Danced with a skill immense!

A dashing young Green Blade, Who quickly followed suit, An exhibition made Of how young blades can shoot.

There were Harebell ringers, too, Who played delightful tunes, And trained Dog-violets, who Did antics, like buffoons.

All these and more were there-- Too many for narration; But nothing could compare With the last “Great Sensation.”

I never shall forget, Though I should live an age, The sight of Mignonette Within the Lion’s cage.

Sweet smiling Mignonette Not one bit scared--for why on Earth should she fear her pet, Her dear, tame Dandelion?

THE FATUOUS FLOWER

Once on a time a Bumblebee Addressed a Sunflower. Said he: “Dear Sunflower, tell me is it true What everybody says of you?”

Replied the Sunflower: “Tell me pray, How should _I_ know what people say? Why should I even care? No doubt ’Tis some ill-natured tale without A word of truth; but tell me, Bee, What _is_ it people say of me?” “Oh, no!” the Bee made haste to add; “’Tis really not so very bad. I got it from the Ant. She said She’d _heard_ the Sun had turned your head,

“And that whene’er he walks the skies You follow him with all your eyes From morn till eve--” “Oh, what a shame!” Exclaimed the Sunflower, aflame, “To say such things of me! They _know_ The very opposite is so.

“They know full well that it is _he_-- The _Sun_--who always follows me. _I_ turn away my head until I fear my stalk will break; and still He tags along from morn till night, Starting as soon as it is light, And never takes his eyes off me Until it is too dark to see! They really ought to be ashamed. Soon they’ll be saying I was named For him, when well they know ’twas he Who took the name of Sun from me.”

The Sunflower paused, with anger dumb. The Bee said naught, but murmured, “_H’m!_” ’Twas very evident that he Was much impressed--this Bumblebee. He spread his wings at once and flew To tell some other bees he knew, Who, being also much impressed, Said, “_H’m!_” and flew to tell the rest.

And now if you should chance to see, In field or grove, a Bumblebee, And hear him murmur, “_H’m!_” then you Will know what he’s alluding to.

THE INVENTIVE DRAGON

In a very lonely tower, So the legend goes to tell, Pines a Princess in the power Of a dreadful Dragon’s spell.

There she sits in silent state, Always watching--always dumb, While the Dragon at the gate Eats her suitors as they come--

King and Prince of every nation, Poet, Page, and Troubadour, Of whatever rank or station-- Eats them up and waits for more.

Every Knight that hears the legend Thinks he’ll see what he can do, Gives his sword a lovely edge, and-- Like the rest is eaten too!

All of which is very pretty, And romantic, too, forsooth; But, somehow, it seems a pity That they shouldn’t know the truth.

If they only knew that really There is no Princess to gain-- That she’s an invention merely Of the crafty Dragon’s brain.

Once it chanced he’d missed his dinner For perhaps a day or two; Felt that he was getting thinner, Wondered what he’d better do.

Then it was that he bethought him How in this romantic age (Reading fairy tales had taught him) Rescuing ladies was the rage.

So a lonely tower he rented, For a trifling sum per year, And this thrilling tale invented, Which was carried far and near;

Far and near throughout the nations, And the Dragon ever since, Has relied for daily rations, On some jolly Knight or Prince.

And while his romantic fiction To a chivalrous age appeals, It’s a very safe prediction: He will never want for meals.

THE LION’S TOUR A FABLE

His Majesty the King of Beasts, Tired of fuss and formal feasts, Once resolved that he would go On a tour incognito. But a suitable disguise Was not easy to devise; Kingly natures do not care Other people’s things to wear.

The very thought filled him with shame. “No, I will simply change my name,” Said he, “and go just as I am, And call myself a Woolly Lamb.”

And so he did, and as you’ll guess, He had a measure of success. Disguised in name alone, he yet Took in ’most every one he met.

The first was Mister Wolf, who said, “Your Majesty--” “Off with his head!” The angry monarch roared. “I am, I’d have you know, a Woolly Lamb.”

Then Mistress Lamb, who, being near, Had heard, addressed him: “Brother dear--” “Odds cats!” the lion roared. “My word! Such insolence I never heard!”

His rage was a terrific sight (It almost spoiled his appetite). And so it went, until one day He met Sir Fox, who stopped to say (Keeping just far enough away, Yet in a casual, off-hand way, As if he didn’t care a fig), “Good-morning to you, Thingumjig.” To-day we think it _infra dig_, To use such words as Thing um jig; But what is now a vulgar word In those days never had been heard. Sir Fox himself invented it This great emergency to fit.

The King of Beasts, quite unprepared For this reception, simply stared. Of course he was not going to show There was a word he did not know. He bowed, and with his haughtiest air Resumed his walk; but everywhere He went his subjects, small and big, Took up the cry of Thingumjig.

It followed him where’er he went; He didn’t dare his rage to vent. Suppose it were a compliment? His anger then would only show Here was a word he did not know! The only course for him, ’twas clear, Was to pretend he did not hear.

And this he did until, at length, Long fasting so impaired his strength He gave his tour up in despair, ’Mid great rejoicing everywhere.

THE MERMAID CLUB

┌──────────────────────────────────────┐ │ _The Mermaid Culture Club request │ │ That you will kindly be │ │ On such and such a day their guest │ │ At something after three._ │ └──────────────────────────────────────┘

I wrote at once that “I should be Most charmed,” and donned my best Dress diving-suit,--a joy to see,-- And at their club-house ’neath the sea Arrived at “something after three” Promptly (unpunctuality Is something I detest). The President, a mermaid fair, Sat by a coral table, And read an essay with an air Intelligent and able Upon--but you will never guess The subject--it was nothing less Than _sunshades_ and _umbrellas_. I really did my very best To keep from laughing--as their guest. That it was hard must be confessed When next the meeting was addressed On _shoes_, and which would wear the best-- _Tan slippers_ or _prunellas_. Then came (it did look like a joke) Essays on _bonnet_, _hat_, and _toque_: Said I, “They must be mocking.” And when at length a mermaid rose, And read a thesis to expose The latest novelty in _hose_, I felt my reason rocking. But when at last the thing was o’er And I was back again on shore, I fell to moralizing. And as remembrance came to me Of other clubs _not_ in the sea, Of essays read by ladies fair Upon the “why” and “whence” and “where,” Said I, “It’s not surprising.”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

Missing punctuation and diacritic marks have been silently added.

Many of the poems have illustrated titles, sometimes illustrated dropcaps. The [Illustration] tags for these have been omitted from this version.