The Book of Humorous Verse Part 124

MY AUNT'S SPECTRE

They tell me (but I really can't Imagine such a rum thing), |It| is the phantom of my Aunt, Who ran away--or something.

|It| is the very worst of bores: (My Aunt was most delightful).

|It| prowls about the corridors, And utters noises frightful.

At midnight through the rooms |It| glides, Behaving very coolly, Our hearts all throb against our sides-- The lights are burning bluely.

The lady, in her living hours, Was the most charming vixen That ever this poor s.e.x of ours Delighted to play tricks on.

Yes, that's her portrait on the wall, In quaint old-fangled bodice: Her eyes are blue--her waist is small-- A ghost! Pooh, pooh,--a G.o.ddess!

A fine patrician shape, to suit My dear old father's sister-- Lips softly curved, a dainty foot: Happy the man that kissed her!

Light hair of crisp irregular curl Over fair shoulders scattered-- Egad, she was a pretty girl, Unless Sir Thomas flattered!

And who the deuce, in these bright days, Could possibly expect her To take to dissipated ways, And plague us as a spectre?

_Mortimer Collins._

CASEY AT THE BAT

It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day, The score stood four to six with but an inning left to play.

And so, when c.o.o.ney died at first, and Burrows did the same, A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest, With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast.

For they thought if only Casey could get a whack at that, They'd put up even money with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake, And the former was a pudding and the latter was a fake; So on that stricken mult.i.tude a death-like silence sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all, And the much despised Blakey tore the cover off the ball, And when the dust had lifted and they saw what had occurred, There was Blakey safe on second, and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from the gladdened mult.i.tude went up a joyous yell, It bounded from the mountain top and rattled in the dell, It struck upon the hillside, and rebounded on the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place, There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face, And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt, 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt, Five thousand tongues applauded as he wiped them on his shirt; And while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip-- Defiance gleamed from Casey's eye--a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there; Close by the st.u.r.dy batsman the ball unheeded sped-- "That hain't my style," said Casey--"Strike one," the Umpire said.

From the bleachers black with people there rose a sullen roar, Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant sh.o.r.e, "Kill him! kill the Umpire!" shouted some one from the stand-- And it's likely they'd have done it had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone, He stilled the rising tumult and he bade the game go on; He signalled to the pitcher and again the spheroid flew, But Casey still ignored it and the Umpire said "Strike two."

"Fraud!" yelled the maddened thousands, and the echo answered "Fraud,"

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed; They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey would not let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clenched with hate, He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has "Struck Out."

_Ernest Lawrence Thayer._

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover City; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity.

Rats!

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation--shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin!

You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease?

Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"

At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sate in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell!

I wish I were a mile hence!

It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-- I'm sure my poor head aches again I've scratched it so, and all in vain.

Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"

Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap?

"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"

(With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister, Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous), "Only a sc.r.a.ping of shoes on the mat?

Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure.

His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red; And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And n.o.body could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire.

Quoth one: "It's as my great grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table; And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw!

And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper."

(And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the selfsame cheque; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats: And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats, Will you give me a thousand guilders?"

"One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the house the rats came tumbling.

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, c.o.c.king tails and p.r.i.c.king whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- Followed the Piper for their lives.

From street to street he piped advancing, And step by step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished --Save one, who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he the ma.n.u.script he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of sc.r.a.ping tripe, And putting apples wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of b.u.t.ter-casks:

And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice!

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

And just as a bulky sugar puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!

--I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.

"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!

Poke out the nests and block up the holes!

Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face Of the piper perked in the market-place, With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too.

For council dinners made rare havock With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest b.u.t.t with Rhenish.

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!