Part 4

Her father tanned, her mother span, “But Marjorie shall marry a gentleman,--

Silks and satins, I’ll lay you a crown!”-- So said the people in Banbury town.

Such was Marjorie--and who should come To woo her but this Frodgedobbulum,

A vulgar giant, who wore no gloves, And very pig-headed in his loves!

IV

They rang the alarum, and in the steeple They tolled the church-bells to rouse the people.

But all the people in Banbury town Could not put Frodgedobbulum down.

The tanner thought to stab him dead-- “Somebody pricked me?” the giant said.

The mother wept--“I do not care,” Said F.--“Why should I be wanting a fair?”

He snatched up Marjorie, stroked his boot, And fled; with Banbury in pursuit!

“What ho, my boots! put forth your power! Carry me sixty miles an hour!”

In ditches and dykes, over stocks and stones, The Banbury people fell, with groans.

Frodgedobbulum passed over river and tree, Gallopy-gallop, with Marjorie;--

The people beneath her Marjorie sees Of the size of mites in an Oxford cheese!

V

Castle Frodgedobbulum sulked between Two bleak hills, in a deep ravine.

It was always dark there, and always drear, The same time of day and the same time of year,

The walls of the castle were slimy and black, There were dragons in front, and toads at the back.

Spiders there were, and of vampires lots; Ravens croaked round the chimney-pots.

Seven bull-dogs barked in the hall; Seven wild cats did caterwaul!

The giant said, with a smirk on his face, “My Marjorie, this is a pretty place;

As Mrs. F. you will lead, with me, A happier life than in Banbury!

Pour out my wine, and comb my hair, And put me to sleep in my easy chair;

But, first, my boots I will kick away”-- And Marjorie answered, “_S’il vous plait!_”

Then the giant mused, “It befits my station To marry a lady of education;

But who would have thought this Banbury wench Was so accomplished, and could speak French?”

Did you ever hear Frodgedobbulum snore? He shook the castle from roof to floor!

Fast asleep as a pig was he-- “And very much like one!” thought Marjorie.

VI

Then Marjorie stood on a leathern chair, And opened the window to the air.

The bats flap, the owls hoot-- Marjorie lifted the giant’s boot!

The ravens shriek, the owls hoot-- Marjorie got into the giant’s boot!

And Marjorie said, “I can reach the moon Before you waken, you big buffoon!”

Once, twice, three times, and away,-- “Which is the road to Banbury, pray?”

The Boot made answer, “Hah, hah! hoh, hoh! The road to Banbury town I know.”

VII

The giant awoke in his easy chair, Saying, “Ho, little Marjorie, are you there?

A stoup of wine, to be spiced the same!-- Exquisite Marjorie, _je vous aime_!”

Now where was Marjorie? Safe and sound In the Magic Boot she cleared the ground.

Frodgedobbulum groaned--“I am bereft! The left boot’s gone, and the right is left!--

The window’s open! I’ll bet a crown The chit is off to Banbury town!

But follow, follow, my faithful Boot! One is enough for the pursuit;

And back to my arms the wench shall come As sure as my name’s Frodgedobbulum!”

VIII

Hasty Frodgedobbulum, being a fool, Forgot of the Magic Boots the rule.

They were made on a right and a left boot-tree, But he put the wrong leg in the boot, you see!

It was a terrible mistake For even a giant in love to make--

Terrible in its consequences, Frightful to any man’s seven senses!

Down came a thunderbolt, rumble and glare! Frodgedobbulum Castle blew up in the air!

The giant, deprived of self-control, Was carried away to the very North Pole;

For such was the magic rule. Poor F. Now sits on the peak of the Arctic cliff!

The point is so sharp it makes him shrink; The northern streamers, they make him blink;

One boot on, and one boot off, He shivers and shakes, and thinks, with a cough,

“Safe in Banbury Marjorie dwells; Marjorie will marry some one else!”

IX

And so Frodgedobbulum, the giant, Sits on the North Pole incompliant.

He blinks at the snow with its weary white; He blinks at the spears of the northern light;

Kicks out with one boot; says, “Fi-fo-fum! I am the Giant Frodgedobbulum!”

But who cares whether he is or not, Living in such an inclement spot?

Banbury town is the place for me, And a kiss from merry Marjorie,

With the clerk in the vestry to see all fair-- For she wears orange-flowers in her hair!

She can dance like a leaf, she can sing like a thrush, She is bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush;

Her father he tans, her mother she spins; Frodgedobbulum sits on the Pole for his sins;

But here comes Marjorie, white as milk, A rose on her bosom as soft as silk,

On her finger a gay gold ring; The bridegroom holds up his head like a king!

Marjorie has married a gentleman; Who knows when the wedding began?

THE GUINEA-PIG

“Oh, I never would be a guinea-pig, never! They have so little brains!”-- The guinea-pig sprang, and--wasn’t it clever?-- He hid in the raspberry canes.

They scratched their fingers, they taxed their wits, To get the guinea-pig out; They nearly laughed themselves to fits To see him run about.

The old and the young, the patient, the bold, Were in that companie; But the guinea-pig baffled the young and the old, And merrily scampered he.

You thought you had him, but oh, mistake! You grappled a lump of mould-- The guinea-pig stuck to the raspberry brake As hath before been told.

“Oh, make me into a guinea-pig, make, And never mind what I said; For then I can hide in the raspberry brake, When it’s time to go to bed.”

LITTLE BOY BLUE

All in the morning early, The Little Boy in Blue (The grass with rain is pearly) Has thought of something new.

He saddled dear old Dobbin; He had but half-a-crown; And jogging, cantering, bobbing, He came to London town.

The sheep were in the meadows, The cows were in the corn; Beneath the city shadows At last he stood forlorn.

He stood beneath Bow steeple, That is in London town; And tried to count the people As they went up and down.

Oh, there was not a daisy, And not a buttercup; The air was thick and hazy, The Blue Boy gave it up.

The houses, next, in London, He thought that he would count; But still the sum was undone, So great was the amount.

He could not think of robbing, He had but half-a-crown; And so he mounted Dobbin, And rode back from the town.

The sheep were in the meadows, The cows were in the corn; Amid the evening shadows He stood where he was born.

MISS HOOPER

Miss Hooper was a little girl, Whose head was always in a whirl; For she had hoop upon the head-- “My precious, precious hoop!” she said.

Trundling a hoop was her delight From breakfast time to nearly night, She loved it so! and, truth to tell, At last she drove her hoop too well.

That hoop began to go one day As if it never meant to stay; Of course the girl would not give in, But followed it through thick and thin.

The King and Queen came out to see What sort of hoop this hoop might be; My Lady said, “I think, my Lord, That hoop goes of its own accord.”

This vexed the little girl, and so She gave the hoop another blow, And off it went--oh, just like mad-- She ran with all the strength she had.

Her hat-strings slipped, her hat hung back, And soon she felt her waistband crack, Her dear long hair flew out behind her,-- Her parents sent forth scouts to find her.

The King leapt on his swiftest horse, And followed her with all his force; Her father cried, “A thousand pound To get my girl back safe and sound!”

Some people came and made a dash To pull her backward by the sash, But all in vain--she did not stop-- At last she fainted, with a flop.

When she came to she sighed, with pain, “I’ll never touch a hoop again!” Is it not sad, when girls and boys Go to excess like this with toys?

As for the hoop, the people say It kept on going night and day, Turning the corners, quite correct,-- A thing which you would not expect.

And so it lived, a hoop at large, Which no one dared to take in charge; Of course it thinned, but kept its shape, A sort of hoop of wooden tape.

It thinned till people took a glass To see the ghostly circle pass, And only stopped--the facts are so-- When there was nothing left to go.

A SHOOTING SONG

To shoot, to shoot, would be my delight, To shoot the cats that howl in the night; To shoot the lion, the wolf, the bear, To shoot the mad dogs out in the square.

I learnt to shoot with a pop-gun good, Made out of a branch of elder-wood; It was round, and long, full half a yard, The plug was strong, the pellets were hard.

I should like to shoot with a bow of yew, As the English at Agincourt used to do; The strings of a thousand bows went twang! And a thousand arrows whizzed and sang!

On Hounslow Heath I should like to ride, With a great horse-pistol at my side: It is dark--hark! A robber, I know! Click! crick-crack! and away we go!

I will shoot with a double-barrelled gun, Two bullets are better than only one; I will shoot some rooks to put in a pie; I will shoot an eagle up in the sky.

I once shot a bandit in a dream, In a mountain-pass I heard a scream; I rescued the lady and set her free, “Do not fear, madam, lean on me!”

With a boomerang I could not aim; A poison blow-pipe would be the same; A double-barrelled is my desire, Get out of the way--one, two, three, fire!

A FISHING SONG

There was a boy whose name was Phinn, And he was fond of fishing; His father could not keep him in, Nor all his mother’s wishing.

His life’s ambition was to land A fish of several pound weight; The chief thing he could understand Was hooks, or worms for ground-bait.

The worms crept out, the worms crept in, From every crack and pocket; He had a worm-box made of tin, With proper worms to stock it.

He gave his mind to breeding worms As much as he was able; His sister spoke in angry terms To see them on the table.

You found one walking up the stairs, You found one in a bonnet, Or, in the bed-room, unawares, You set your foot upon it.

Worms, worms, worms for bait! Roach, and dace, and gudgeon! With rod and line to Twickenham Ait To-morrow he is trudging!

O worms and fishes day and night! Such was his sole ambition; I’m glad to think you are not quite So very fond of fishing!

SHOCKHEADED CICELY AND THE TWO BEARS

“O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!” The bellman’s voice is loud and strong; So is his bell: “O yes! ding dong!”

He wears a red coat with golden lace; See how the people of the place Come running to hear what the bellman says!

“O yes! Sir Nicholas Hildebrand Has just returned from the Holy Land, And freely offers his heart and hand--

O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”-- All the women hurry along, Maids and widows, a chattering throng.

“O sir, you are hard to understand! To whom does he offer his heart and hand? Explain your meaning, we do command!”

“O yes! ding dong! you shall understand! O yes! Sir Nicholas Hildebrand Invites the ladies of this land

To feast with him in his castle strong This very day at three. Ding dong! O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”

Then all the women went off to dress, Mary, Margaret, Bridget, Bess, Patty, and more than I can guess.

They powdered their hair with golden dust, And bought new ribbons--they said they must-- But none of them painted, we will trust.

Long before the time arrives, All the women that could be wives Are dressed within an inch of their lives.

Meanwhile, Sir Nicholas Hildebrand Had brought with him from the Holy Land A couple of bears--oh, that was grand!

He tamed the bears, and they loved him true, Whatever he told them they would do-- Hark! ’tis the town clock striking two!

II

Among the maidens of low degree The poorest of all was Cicely-- A shabbier girl could hardly be.

“O I should like to see the feast, But my frock is old, my shoes are pieced, My hair is rough!”--(it never was greased).

The clock struck three! She durst not go! But she heard the band, and to see the show Crept after the people that went in a row.

When Cicely came to the castle gate The porter exclaimed, “Miss Shaggypate, The hall is full, and you come too late!”

Just then the music made a din, Flute, and cymbal, and culverin, And Cicely, with a squeeze, got in!

Oh what a sight! full fifty score Of dames that Cicely knew, and more, Filling the hall from daïs to door!

The dresses were like a garden-bed, Green and gold, and blue and red,-- Poor Cicely thought of her tossy head!

She heard the singing--she heard the clatter-- Clang of flagon, and clink of platter-- But, oh, the feast was no such matter!

For she saw Sir Nicholas himself, Raised on a daïs just like a shelf, And fell in love with him--shabby elf!

Her heart beat quick; aside she stept, Under the tapestry she crept, Touzling her tossy hair, and wept!

Her cheeks were wet, her eyes were red-- “Who makes that noise?” the ladies said; “Turn out that girl with the shaggy head!”

III

Just then there was heard a double roar, That shook the place, both wall and floor: Everybody looked to the door.

It was a roar, it was a growl; The ladies set up a little howl, And flapped and clucked like frightened fowl.

Sir Hildebrand for silence begs-- In walk the bears on their hinder legs, Wise as owls, and merry as grigs!

The dark girls tore their hair of sable; The fair girls hid underneath the table; Some fainted; to move they were not able.

But most of them could scream and screech-- Sir Nicholas Hildebrand made a speech-- “Order! ladies, I do beseech!”

The bears looked hard at Cicely Because her hair hung wild and free-- “Related to us, miss, you must be!”

Then Cicely, filling two plates of gold As full of cherries as they could hold, Walked up to the bears, and spoke out bold:--

“Welcome to you! and to _you_, Mr. Bear! Will you take a chair? will _you_ take a chair?” “This is an honour, we do declare!”

Sir Hildebrand strode up to see, Saying, “Who may this maiden be? Ladies, this is the wife for me!”

Almost before they could understand, He took up Cicely by the hand, And danced with her a saraband.

Her hair was as rough as a parlour broom, It swung, it swirled all round the room-- Those ladies were vexed, we may presume.

Sir Nicholas kissed her on the face, And set her beside him on the daïs, And made her the lady of the place.

The nuptials soon they did prepare, With a silver comb for Cicely’s hair: There were bands of music everywhere.

And in that beautiful bridal show Both the bears were seen to go Upon their hind legs to and fro!

Now every year on the wedding-day The boys and girls come out to play, And scramble for cherries as they may,

With a cheer for this and the other bear, And a cheer for Sir Nicholas, free and fair, And a cheer for Cis of the tossy hair--

With one cheer more (if you will wait) For every girl with a curly pate Who keeps her hair in a proper state.

Sing bear’s grease! curling-irons to sell! Sing combs and brushes! sing tortoise-shell! O yes! ding dong! the crier, the bell! --Isn’t this a pretty tale to tell?

MOTHER’S JOY

Baby boy was Mother’s joy, And Mother nursed him sweetly; Baby’s skin was pink and thin, And mother dressed him neatly.

Baby boy was Mother’s joy, But sometimes cried a-plenty; Mother mild said, “Oh, my child!” And gave him kisses twenty.

Baby boy was Mother’s joy, Wide awake or sleeping; Mother said, “God overhead Have thee in His keeping!”

THE BABY

Who can tell what Baby thinks? _I can, I!_ Who knows what she means when she crows or blinks? _I do, I!_

She thinks that a picture is good to eat, _She does, she!_ She thinks she should love to swallow her feet. _Hah, hah, he!_

She thinks when I touch the piano-keys, _La, si, do!_ That _I_ make the noise, as I do when I sneeze. _Hah, hah, hoh!_

When I put her fat hand on the key-board shelf, _Do, re, mi!_ She fancies she makes the noise herself. _She, sir, she!_

She thinks she could swallow the lamp entire. _Flame, flame, flame!_ She thinks she should like to cuddle the fire. (_Same, same, same!_)

I wished her a pair of leather shoes-- _I did, did!_ Nothing like leather--and riper views. _Kid, kid, kid!_

But whether the wit or the leather comes first, (_Post, hoc, hoc!_) One thing I know--she _will_ be nursed. _Rock, rock, rock!_

And Baby’s mamma is a beautiful nurse, _Joy, joy, joy_! She might go farther and fare much worse, _With a boy, boy, boy_!

For though I have studied her wits and ways, _Bye-bye-bye_! I couldn’t take charge of her, nights and days. _Cry, cry, cry_!

WHAT WILL AUNTIE SEND?

Oh, do you know Aunt Mary Ann, The dearest Aunt since time began, Aunt Kate, Aunt Jane, Aunt Edith Ellen, Aunt--oh, but never mind the spelling!

She lives up North, she lives down South, Sweet are the kisses of her mouth; She lives out East, she lives out West, Bona puella Auntie est!

Always about the time of year When Christmas Day is drawing near, Auntie goes in for treats and toys, And things, you know, for girls and boys.

Then, with a smile upon her lips, She sits and thinks of tops and tips, And takes her pen and writes to us, My sister Fan, and me--that’s ’Gus.

She walks Cheapside, she walks the Strand, And Paul’s Churchyard, with purse in hand, She looks at dolls, she looks at drums, And boxes full of bloomy plums.

She goes and finds out picture books, And jewellery hung on hooks; She knows the games we like to play; She buys things, all to give away!

The loveliest things in every part She goes and gets them all by heart, And then sits down, with time to think, And writes to us with pen and ink.

I know her thoughts,--she thinks of us,-- She thinks, “What would be nice for ’Gus?” She dips in Santa Klaus’s pouch: “What shall I send that scaramouch?”

She keeps it dark, but writes to say She will be here for Christmas Day; And when I know that Aunt will come, Quam felix puer ego sum!

LORDS-AND-LADIES

Lords-and-ladies, red and white, By the river growing, Red-and-white is my delight, When the stream is flowing.

I will be a lord to-day (Round the world is going), Will you be a lady gay? (Roses, roses blowing).

“I will be your lady fair, If you will show duty:” I will love beyond compare, You shall be my beauty.

Lords-and-ladies, red and white, By the river growing; Red-and-white is my delight, When the stream is flowing.

THE DOG AND THE PATCH OF MOONSHINE

A harvest moon! Was ever seen A harvest moon so bright? The crowded ivy, darkly green, Was touched with primrose white.

The quiet skies uncovered lay, And, far as you could see, The night was like a ghostly day On road, and field, and tree.

Silence and light! Will nothing speak In the light and silence wide? O lady moon, your other cheek Why do you always hide?

Sweet on the air was the jessamine, As I stood at my gate; Yet I shuddered, and thought, “I will go in,-- The silence is too great!”

I looked to where the hill-tops showed Behind the poplars green, When there came trotting down the road A dog--the dog was lean;

And you could tell, as he came by, He had no friend on earth, Nobody in whose partial eye He was of any worth.

His tail hung down; his matted hair Was like a worn-out thatch; This dog came trotting up to where The moonlight made a patch,

Falling between two poplar-trees; And there the dog turned round, Round, and round, by slow degrees-- Then crouched upon the ground.

And I brought forth some broken food, And cried, “Old dog, get up! That patch of moonlight may be good, But on it you cannot sup.”

He came away--came many a pace, And took what I bestowed; Then, being refreshed, snuffed all the place, And up and down the road.

I showed him where the thick grass grew Against a sheltering wall; I said, “Here is a bed for you, With half-a-house and all.”

But two hours after--I kept watch From my bedroom window-pane-- I saw that on that moony patch He had lain down again!

And in the morning he was gone.-- What charm was it he found In sleeping where the moonlight shone In a patch upon the ground? He might have slept where he had his bone, Where the moon shone all around!

I am a superstitious man, And it is my delight To think there was a magic plan, A meaning, in that night!

That magic dog that lay i’ the moon, He will come back to me, A fairy princess bright and boon, Whom I that night set free!

There was a mystery in the air, And in the primrose light; The silence seemed to say, “Prepare! It shall be done to-night!”

And could that mystery only mean A dog that was not fat? I saw a glint of elfin green In the moonshine where he sat--

I heard the midnight clocks all round, In distant falls and swells-- I heard a little silver sound, The clink of elfin bells-- But will my princess be unbound, If anybody tells?

AUTUMN SONG

The ash-berry clusters are darkly red; The leaves of the limes are almost shed; The passion-flower hangs out her yellow fruit; The sycamore puts on her brownest suit.

After a silence, the wind complains, Like a creature longing to burst its chains; The swallows are gone, I saw them gather, I heard them murmuring of the weather.

The clouds move fast, the south is blowing, The sun is slanting, the year is going; O I love to walk where the leaves lie dead, And hear them rustle beneath my tread!

THE DRUMMER-BOY AND THE SHEPHERDESS

Drummer-boy, drummer-boy, where is your drum? And why do you weep, sitting here on your thumb? The soldiers are out, and the fifes we can hear; But where is the drum of the young grenadier?