Part 1

Chapter 13,962 wordsPublic domain

The Giant

AND

Other Nonsense Verse

ALBERT W. SMITH

ANDRUS & CHURCH ITHACA, N. Y. 1910

“The Giant,” the “Arctic Ball,” and “Funnyland,” in slightly different form, appeared originally in “The Ladies’ Home Journal,” and thanks are due to the editor for his kind permission to include them in this book.

_To Ruby Alpheus Dorothy and Ruth._

THE GIANT

There is a Giant in the world Whose head is up so high, He has to get down on his knees To look up in the sky.

And when he feels the need of food, He wades out in the sea And fishes out a whale or two Just right to fricassee.

Or if he’s near to Hindustan He gathers up a few Young elephants with jungle brush For oriental stew.

And when he tires of earthly food His diet, as a rule, Consists of planets roasted well And hung outside to cool.

He sends his wife to gather them; She brings them on a tray; For cream to make the planet sauce She skims the Milky Way.

When Mrs. Giant cooks, the steam Floats off across the sky In clouds that drop the rain that keeps The world from getting dry.

And sometimes when the clouds are dark, The Giant gets his gun And shoots it in their very midst-- Because he likes the fun.

But when the sky is clear all day, Without a cloud in sight, The Giant finds his supper cold When he gets home at night.

Whenever Mrs. Giant goes To tidy up the room, She picks a comet ’cause its tail Is handy for a broom.

The Giant drinks, to quench his thirst, A whirling water-spout; He gave up drinking mountain lakes Lest he should have the gout.

He puts a forest in his pipe When he’s inclined to smoke, And lights his match upon the moon; The moon can’t see the joke!

I think, my child, were you a moon, ’Way off in stellar space, You’d feel put out if anyone Scratched matches on your face!

The Giant dresses up sometimes And goes to take a stroll; And picks a little bunch of stars To deck his buttonhole.

He’s mighty careful which he takes; He knows the ones to shun; He burned his fingers badly once By fooling with the Sun.

And once in absent minded mood He picked a nettle star;-- He ran a-yelling all the way From Rome to Zanzibar!

The islands are his stepping-stones, The continents his bed; He slept on Greenland once and caught A snuffle in his head.

He slides around the Arctic Pole; And if he gets a chill He goes and sits a month or two In India or Brazil.

He caught his trousers on Cape Horn And tore an awful slit; He stayed in bed a season while His wife embroidered it; She fixed it with a patch of sky; It didn’t show a bit!

When walking through a mountain land, He sometimes stubs his toe; The shock is called an earthquake by The frightened folks below.

Our weather only comes about Up to the Giant’s knees; The rest of him sticks up above As pleasant as you please.

So, when he wants to dust his shoes, He only has to stand A minute in the middle of Some handy, windy land.

He saw the men who went to dig The Panama Canal. He slapped his knees and laughed until He grew hysterical.

He could have finished that Canal With half a dozen kicks; But he had promised not to get Mixed up in politics!

One night a great astronomer, While gazing into space, By chance looked through his telescope Right in the Giant’s face.

He thought it was the moon until The Giant winked his eye;-- The wise man never dared again To search the starry sky.

We never see the Giant, for On seeing us he flies, Because he feels so ill at ease And conscious of his size.

THE ARCTIC BALL

They gave a ball in the Arctic Zone, And they danced on the frozen sea. The North-wind blew on a big trombone, And he played tunes that would melt a stone, But none in a minor key; For that would melt ice and lower the tone. Imagine a ball in the Arctic Zone On a melting, mushy sea!

An Arctic ball is a long, long thing, For it’s dark for six months there. They dance from Fall till early Spring, The two-step, waltz and the Highland-fling, Utterly free from care. They eat ice-cream that they have to blow To cool it off for it burns them so; And they all drink liquified air.

The whalloping whales came floundering through A hole in the icy floor; And the Seals all came and the Caribou, The old Musk-ox, and the Reindeer too And many many more. They all joined feet and flippers and fins And danced ’round the Pole where the world begins, With bark and bellow and roar.

When Boreas started an Irish reel The Reindeer pricked up his ears; And a thrill ran through him from antler to heel Of longing to dance that he couldn’t conceal, Although the most proper of deers. So they scattered some sand in an open space And gave him a hearty call; And he sidestepped out with a rythmical pace, And danced to the reel with the greatest of grace. ’Twas the finest thing at the ball!

An Iceberg waltzed with the Northern Light; And she flushed and smiled and said: “O, why, dear Berg, so cool tonight? You give me a chill and a frosty fright, Lest I catch a cold in my head.” “I’m as warm as I dare to be, my sweet, With dancing and love of you; If I loved you more or should hurry my feet, My blood would rise to a fever heat, Fahrenheit thirty-two. And then I’d melt and babble away, From a tall iceberg to a big flat bay; Melted for love of you.”

The Walrus danced with the Polar Bear, But it wasn’t much for grace; Their joints were rusty and out of repair: But the Bear wore an icicle wreath in her hair, And the Walrus a smiling face. And the Chaperone said, behind her fan: “They’re doing the best they possibly can, And laughter is out of place!”

The North Pole listened and wondered why He felt such a troublesome thrill; Though he stood stock still as they all danced by, It was sorely against his will. But if he should move just the wink of an eye, The world would wabble and things would fly And the oceans would surely spill. So he heaved a sigh and took a brace And held himself in his proper place, And “the old world wags on still.”

A TROPICAL AFTERNOON TEA

One afternoon when a mild monsoon Blew over the tropical sea, On the ocean strand of a sandy land They gave a Tropical Tea.

O, O, who could foresee All the beasts there would be at a Tropical Tea? In a monsoony land, With a Tropical Band. O, who could foresee?

Every lady beast attended the feast With the lady birds so fair; But the Whale and the Eel were sure they would feel Quite out of their element there.

O, O, think of an Eel! With a squirming disgust that she couldn’t conceal! Nothing wet but the tea, Far away from the sea. O, think of the Eel!

A truce for the day kept the beasts of prey From eating a handy guest; So the Tiger was there and the timid Hare,-- Though the Hare wasn’t quite at her best.

O, O, if the Hare wasn’t scared! She would have gone lippetty home if she’d dared. But she gave up the flight And kept well out of sight. O, wasn’t she scared!

The Zebra sneered when the Leopard appeared, And said with a satisfied smile: “In France they would not wear a dress with a spot And stripes are the latest style.”

O, surely the Zebra forgot That the Leopard’s unable to alter a spot; Her critical tone She’d have dropped if she’d known. She surely forgot!

The Ostrich was dressed in her very best With plumy wings outspread; But the Paradise Bird said: “How absurd! She hasn’t a plume for her head!”

O, O, it wasn’t polite! The Ostrich felt sure that she looked like a fright. She covered her head In a handy sand-bed Quite out of their sight.

The Chimpanzee sipped oolong tea And simpered and nibbled a sweet; And the Boa-constrictor would fain have kicked her, But she hadn’t the requisite feet.

O, O, she wasn’t complete! A twenty foot Boa without any feet; If she’d had twenty three What a kicker she’d be! She wasn’t complete!

An Orang-outang came out and sang Unembarrassed by the throng; And they cried encore with a terrible roar To her tropical, topical song.

SONG: In the jungle dim and dusky, A monkey lithe and husky Was hanging by his long prehensile tail; When he heard two men, preparing An iron cage, declaring That they’d learn the monkey lingo without fail.

O, O, wasn’t it fun! He unhooked his tail and he started to run; Every simian friend To the dim jungle’s end He told of the fun!

When at night the men were waiting Safe behind the iron grating, The monkeys came in crowds from every way, And although it was exciting, Yet the men inside were writing All the things they thought they heard the monkeys say.

O, O, this is a lark! Two men writing monkey talk down in the dark; If they only could know What we’re saying, O, O, Then ’twould be a lark!

An Elephant rose with a cold in her nose And she thought she would sing like a bird; But the song went astray on the wearisome way Through her trunk, and it never was heard.

O, O, she felt like a goose; With a song in her soul that she couldn’t turn loose; How she twisted and blew! But it couldn’t get through. O, what was the use!

A Crocodile with an afternoon smile Sang a song that made them quail. Her mouth opened wide and the sight inside Gave point to her musical tale.

SONG: A yacht came sailing up the Nile, Sail away, sail away, And the sight made every crocodile smile; Smile away, smile away, With a bubbly wake, through foam and spray, Through Egypt’s land, it sailed away. Alack-a-day!

The Sphinx was smiling all the while, Smile away, smile away, As the yacht came sailing up the Nile; Sail away, sail away, And she asked them a riddle that none could guess So she swamped the yacht in a wink or less. Alack-a-day!

Not a single person came to land; Alack-a-day! Alack-a-day! But crocodiles on every hand, Smile away, smile away, Said; “O, we wish that every day A yacht would happen along this way!” Alack-a-day!

And everyone stayed till the twilight shade Dimmed the tropical afternoon. And they all went away through the fading day, By the moon through the mild Monsoon.

O, O, it was a lark! They gossipped and stayed till the edge of the dark. And some were afraid And were sorry they’d stayed. O, wasn’t it dark!

THE TIDES

The ocean had, in days of yore, A very dirty, mussy shore From Newfoundland to Singapore.

When mermaids wished to go to land, To sit and sing upon the strand, They had to flop through slimy sand.

When Neptune saw this, it befell, He took his dolphin team and shell And sped away across the swell.

He went to every sea and bay, And gave his orders all the way From Greenland’s rim to far Cathay;--

And now the tides rise up and roar, And twice a day they wash the shore From Newfoundland to Singapore;

And beaches lie all clean and fair, Where mermaids sing and take the air With tidy tails and streaming hair.

NIGHT AND DAY

Before Time started on his way There was no changing night and day; The sun stood still above Bombay.

And Bombay people had to hear The constant clanging far and near Of bells that called to noonday cheer.

They ate continuously, for when They finished their dessert, why then They started off with soup again.

One eats with pleasure and a jest With time between meals to digest; But constant eating spoils the zest.

* * * * *

About three thousand miles away In all directions from Bombay It was forever early day;

And people worked with might and main Hoping for dinner time and fain For night and rest, but all in vain.

A sandwich snatched, a wedge of pie, A cat-nap stolen on the sly, These were the only reasons why,

Since they could neither rest or play, They didn’t stop in sheer dismay And starve, dry up and blow away.

* * * * *

And further on for many a mile The dawn held sway with rosy smile, And yawning folks dressed all the while.

* * * * *

The rest of earth was brooded o’er By endless night, and one grand snore Swelled loud and long from shore to shore.

And folks would wake with start and sigh And rub their eyes and wonder why Dawn never tinged the eastern sky.[1]

The moon and stars were wan and pale From overwork, the nightingale Could only croak and hoarsely wail.

But ghosts might range abroad at will Fearless of dawn and cock-crow shrill, And waken folks with awful thrill.

* * * * *

Now Phoebus driving in his car With winged steeds from star to star, Passed by the earth and from afar

Beheld the weary human race; He checked his horses for a space And pondered with a serious face;

Then put his horses to the run And when a long swift course was done He hitched his wagon to the sun.

Since then the dusky night alway Around the world has chased the day; And we can work and rest and play.

[1]

Some critic now will surely say:-- “How could they think of dawn when they Had never been where it was day?”

Their shiftless forbears may have pined In dawn-land, and with debts behind Have gone where they were hard to find.

So, gentle critic, be content. This hope of dawn was surely sent By atavistic accident.

FUNNYLAND

There’s an island ’way off in the seas Where the babies all grow upon trees. It’s the jolliest fun To swing in the sun; But they have to look out how they sneeze, O, I tell you they’d better not sneeze! They might break themselves off With a sneeze or a cough And tumble down flop on their knees.

When the clouds darken mountain and dale, When the breeze freshens up to a gale, There is screaming and dropping And laughing and hopping;-- In fact little babies just hail. They all lie on the ground in a pile, And when people come, after a while, They quickly pass by The babies that cry, And they pick up the babies that smile;-- O, they even take twins if they smile!

There’s a tree where the kitty-cats grow. They hang by their tails in a row; If they happen to fall, They don’t mind it at all, For they fall on their feet as you know.

There once was a puppy-dog tree That people came miles just to see. But the bark was so loud That it scattered the crowd And rattled the isles of the sea; It frightened the King, And the troublesome thing Was cut down by a royal decree. Whenever dogs grow now at all, They are puggy and snarly and small; They grow on a vine Like a squash, and they whine Although they can’t possibly fall.

Wherever an elephant grows, He’s always hitched on by his nose; And he just has to wait Till his weight is so great That his nose is stretched out to a hose;-- That accounts for his rubbery nose. And sometimes, when something is wrong, The elephant hitch is so strong That he fails to get free From the elephant tree Till his nose is a hundred feet long. So he buys a hose-cart To trundle a part Of his nose as he lumbers along.

Any sensible person should know How giraffes are hitched on when they grow. Their necks elongate With increase of their weight Till their feet touch the ground and they go.

When first a young donkey appears, He hangs from the limb by his ears; And he hangs till the day When he first tries to bray-- O, the tree shakes him off when it hears! And he runs away wagging his ears.

The birdies swim ’round in the sea, With the wasp and the bungleing bee. If you dangle a worm, With a wiggley squirm, You might catch a chick-a-dee-dee.

The fishes swim ’round in the sky, With pollywogs woggleing by, While frogs hop around On the clouds to the sound Of the song of the lobsters that fly.

A wonderful Funnyland sight Is a mountain of very great height; But you never could guess What happens unless You should be there on Saturday night.

When the sun in the west is aglow The whole mountain rumbles, and lo, It pours out a stream Of assorted ice-cream By the banks where the macaroons grow. Then from city and country and town, The children, of king and of clown, All run with their spoons And they pick macaroons And they eat till they have to lie down.

But the thing that the children adore, Is a mountain that stands by the shore, With a cratery pot Where molasses keeps hot With trickles of taffy galore. Sometimes it rains pop-corn at night; And all of the kernels that light On the mountain-top, pop, And they hop, and they drop, Till the top of the mountain is white; And corn balls roll down To the edge of the town, While the children dance ’round with delight.

There’s a spring hidden deep in a glade, Of most excellent pink lemonade. It falls in a pool All bubbly cool From a babbling and brawling cascade; And the children, each summery day When they’re thirsty with rollicking play, Go there and dip up Lemonade in a cup And drink till their buttons give ’way.

When Funnyland children have chills And fever, or colicky ills, They are not put to bed To be poulticed and fed On gruel and puckery pills. When the Doctor comes in to advise, He says, as he scowls and looks wise: “You’ve been eating brown bread And potatoes instead Of good wholesome candies and pies. I can tell by the look in your eye That you’ve kept your feet constantly dry. For a lassie or lad It is best to be bad, Don’t even be good on the sly.”

The Funnyland clerk of the weather Doesn’t waste his time finding out whether Tomorrow’ll be blowy Or sunny or snowy;-- O, he’s wiser than that altogether. He carefully studies the past And runs up a flag on a mast, So that people can see If there’s going to be A thunder storm week before last.

The hunters go forth to the lair Of the Tiger with crimps in his hair. And peppery snuff Is the terrible stuff That they shoot at the blundering Bear. For lo, when they happen to spy The bears that go wandering by, They shoot off their gun And, although the bears run, They sneeze off their heads and they die.

But they never go hunting this way For the Tiboons that live in the bay; When they sneeze, O, the sound Cracks the air, and the ground Wabbles ’round in a terrible way. So the King’s Grenadiers, With wool in their ears, Stand always in warlike array On the edge of the sand With a fan in each hand To keep tickley dust from the bay; So the Tiboons won’t sneeze Shaking surf from the seas And rattling the islands away.

The King goes forth daily at noon, To parade with the knights of the moon; And he’s grandly arrayed In clothes that are made From the skin of a raging Tiboon; A roaring and ramping Tiboon.

There was only one man in the isles Who was wily enough with his wiles To capture this beast, So that people could feast And the King could keep up with the styles. He stealthily crept to the bay While the little Tiboons were at play, And their parents were drowsing Or quietly browsing. (They can’t rage the whole of the day!)

The man waded quietly near To the biggest Tiboon, from the rear, And he tied a tin pail To the end of his tail; O, the Tiboon went crazy with fear; His raging was awful to hear. But he finally died Of a twisted inside,-- Thus ended his ramping career.

The soldiers are never afraid To march in a long cavalcade To His Majesty’s park To shoot at a mark Or take part in a deadly parade;-- A boom-ta-rah-rahing parade. When the band blows a blare To crack open the air, O, the soldiers are never afraid. For years, through the King’s oversight, They had never been called out to fight; And they thirsted for gore, (Other people’s) and swore That they languished to fight for the right.

One day the King happened to spy A ship sailing by in the sky; And, I grieve to relate, Made a face at the Mate, And the Mate was insulted thereby; In fact “he had blood in his eye.”

So he signalled the Chief Engineer To check the ship’s raging career, And the anchor dropped down And caught on the Town, While the children all trembled with fear,-- A lovely, blood-curdling fear! Then the best parachute was prepared, And the Mate, while the people all stared, Came zigzagging down In the midst of the town; But the King didn’t look a bit scared. (Though I think that he would if he’d dared.)

The face of the furious Mate Was covered with whiskers and hate; “The people,” said he, “Who make faces at me All meet with a horrible fate,-- A midnighty, church-yardy fate.” “Surrender your Funnyland isle! Surrender your treasury pile! Surrender to me!” But the King said, said he, “Excuse me dear Sir, if I smile!” (O, his smile could be seen for a mile!)

When the speaking and smiling were done The army came up at a run. O, the Mate was alarmed, For each soldier was armed With a kind of sky-rocketty gun. They drew up in battle array All loaded and primed for the fray. O, the racket was dire At the order to fire, And the Mate--why he fainted away. (’Twas the one way of getting away.) Then there came a most terrible crash, Such as big things make, going to smash; For the ship struck the ground, And the air all around Was filled up with splinters and trash, Dust, kindling-wood, oakum and hash. (The Captain and crew were the hash.)

The Mate knew his chances were slim, But he never suspected how grim Was his oncoming fate. He was destined to wait On the King who’d made faces at him,-- Disrespectful, wry faces at him!

If you ever should sail in the air As mate of a ship, O, beware! If a King in full view Should make faces at you, Don’t suffer your anger to flare;-- Remember this tragic affair!