Collected Poems Volume II Part 81

_Chorus:_ There's a platter of delf on his little book-shelf, And Pliny lived long ago.

Scarce had he spoken when, out of the wood, And buffeting all around, Rooting our sea-boots where we stood, There rumbled a marvellous sound, As a mountain of honey were crumbling asunder, Or a sunset-avalanche hurled Honey-comb boulders of golden thunder To smother the old black world.

_Chorus:_ Honey-comb boulders of musical thunder To mellow this old black world.

And the chaplain he whispered--"This honey, one saith, On my camphired cabin-shelf, None may harvest on pain of death; For the bee would eat it himself!

None walketh those woods but him whose voice In the dingles you then did hear!"

"A VOICE?" growls Bill. "Ay, Bill, r-r-rejoice!

'Twas the great Hyrcanian Bear!"

_Chorus:_ Give thanks! _Re_-joice! 'Twas the glor-r-r-ious Voice Of the great Hyrcanian Bear!

But, marking that Bill looked bitter indeed, For his sweet tooth hungered sore, "Consider," he saith, "that the Sweet hath need Of the Sour, as the Sea of the Sh.o.r.e!

As the night to the day is our grief to our joy, And each for its brother prepares A banquet, Bill, that would otherwise cloy.

Thus is it with honey and bears."

_Chorus:_ Roses and honey and laughter would cloy!

Give us thorns, too, and sorrow and bears!

"Consider," he saith, "how by fretting a string The lutanist maketh sweet moan, And a bird ere it fly must have air for its wing To buffet or fall like a stone: Tho' you blacken like Pluto you make but more white These blooms which not Enna could yield!

Consider, Black Bill, ere the coming of night, The lilies," he saith, "of the field."

_Chorus:_ "Consider, Black Bill, in this beautiful light, The lilies," he saith, "of the field."

"Consider the claws of a Bear," said Bill, "That can rip off the flesh from your bones, While his belly could cabin the skipper and still Accommodate Timothy Jones!

Why, that's where a seaman who cares for his grog Perspires how this world isn't square!

If there's _cause_ for a _cow_, if there's _use_ for a _dog_, By Pope John, there's no _Sense_ in a _Bear!_"

_Chorus:_ Cause for a cow, use for a dog, By'r Lakin, no _Sense_ in a _Bear!_

But our little ship's chaplain--"Sense," quoth he, "Hath the Bear tho' his making have none; For, my little book saith, by the sting of this bee Would Ursus be wholly foredone, But, or ever the hive he adventureth nigh And its crisp gold-crusted dome, He lardeth his nose and he greaseth his eye With a piece of an honey-comb."

_Chorus:_ His velvety nose and his sensitive eye With a piece of an honey-comb.

Black Bill at the word of that golden crust --For his ears had forgotten the roar, And his eyes grew soft with their innocent l.u.s.t-- 'Gan licking his lips once more: "Be it bound like a missal and printed as fair, With capitals blue and red, 'Tis a lie; for what honey could comfort a bear, Till the bear win the honey?" he said.

_Chorus:_ "Ay, _whence_ the first honey wherewith the first bear First larded his nose?" he said.

"Thou first metaphysical bo'sun, Bill,"

Our chaplain quizzingly cried, "Wilt thou riddle me redes of a dumpling still With thy 'how came the apple inside'?"

"Nay," answered Bill, "but I quest for truth, And I find it not on your shelf!

I will face your Hyrcanian bear, forsooth, And look at his nose myself."

_Chorus:_ For truth, for truth, or a little sweet tooth-- I will into the woods myself.

Breast-high thro' that foam-white ocean of bloom With its wonderful spokes of gold, Our sun-burnt crew in the rose-red gloom Like buccaneer galleons rolled: Breast-high, breast-high in the lilies we stood, And before we could say "good-night,"

Out of the valley and into the wood He plunged thro' the last rich light.

_Chorus:_ Out of the lilies and into the wood, Where the Great Bear walks all night!

And our little ship's chaplain he piped thro' the trees As the moon rose, white and still, "Hylas, return to thy Heracles!"

And we helped him with "Come back, Bill!"

Thrice he piped it, thrice we halloo'd, And thrice we were dumb to hark; But never an answer came from the wood, So--we turned to our ship in the dark.

_Chorus:_ Good-bye, Bill! you're a Didymus still; But--you're all alone in the dark.

"This honey now"--as the first canto ceased, The great young Bacon pompously began-- "Which Pliny calleth, as it were, the swette Of heaven, or spettle of the stars, is found In Muscovy. Now ..." "Bring the muscadel,"

Ben Jonson roared--"'Tis a more purple drink, And suits with the next canto!"

At one draught John Davis drained the cup, and with one hand Beating the measure, rapidly trolled again.

CANTO THE SECOND

Now, Rabelais, art thou quite foredone, Dan Chaucer, Drayton, Every One!

Leave we aboard our _Cloud i' the Sun_ This crew of pirates dreaming-- Of Angels, minted in the blue Like golden moons, Rose-n.o.bles, too, As under the silver-sliding dew Our emerald creek lay gleaming!

_Chorus:_ Under the stars lay gleaming!

And mailed with scales of gold and green The high star-lilied banks between, Nosing our old black hulk unseen, Great alligators shimmered: Blood-red jaws i' the blue-black ooze, Where all the long warm day they snooze, Chewing old cuds of pirate-crews, Around us grimly glimmered.

_Chorus:_ Their eyes like rubies glimmered.

Let us now sing of Bill, good sirs!

Follow him, all green foresteres, Fearless of Hyrcanian bears As of these ghostly lilies!

For O, not Drayton there could sing Of wild Pigwiggen and his King So merry a jest, so jolly a thing As this my tale of Bill is.

_Chorus:_ Into the woods where Bill is!

Now starts he as a white owl hoots, And now he stumbles over roots, And now beneath his big sea-boots In yon deep glade he crunches Black cakes of honey-comb that were So elfin-sweet, perchance, last year; But neither Bo'sun, now, nor Bear At that dark banquet munches.

_Chorus:_ Onward still he crunches!

Black cakes of honey-comb he sees Above him in the forks of trees, Filled by stars instead of bees, With br.i.m.m.i.n.g silver glisten: But ah, such food of gnome and fay Could neither Bear nor Bill delay Till where yon ferns and moonbeams play He starts and stands to listen!

_Chorus:_ What melody doth he listen?

Is it the Night-Wind as it comes Through the wood and softly thrums Silvery tabors, purple drums, To speed some wild-wood revel?

Nay, Didymus, what faint sweet din Of viol and flute and violin Makes all the forest round thee spin, The Night-Wind or the Devil?

_Chorus:_ No doubt at all--the Devil!

He stares, with naked knife in hand, This buccaneer in fairyland!

Dancing in a saraband The red ferns reel about him!

Dancing in a morrice-ring The green ferns curtsey, kiss and cling!

Their Marians flirt, their Robins fling Their feathery heels to flout him!

_Chorus:_ The whole wood reels about him.

Dance, ye shadows! O'er the glade, Bill, the Bo'sun, undismayed, Pigeon-toes with glittering blade!