waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, >wers put forth a fairer hue,

erything was strange and new ;

arrows were brighter than peacocks here, eir dogs outran our fallow-deer, ney-bees had lost their stings,

rses were born with eagles' wings; st as I became assured

e foot would be speedily cured, Isic stopped and I stood still, ind myself outside the hill, ›ne against my will,

now limping as before,

ver hear of that country more!'

iyor sent east, west, north, and south
r the Piper by word of mouth,
ever it was man's lot to find him,
nd gold to his heart's content,
only return the way he went,
bring the children behind him.
en they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,
per and dancers were gone for ever,
_ade a decree that lawyers never
d think their records dated duly,
the day of the month and year
words did not as well appear,
so long after what happened here
e twenty-second of July,
n hundred and seventy-six :'
better in memory to fix

ce of the children's last retreat,
lled it, the Pied Piper's Street—
any one playing on pipe or tabor,
e for the future to lose his labour.

Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern

To shock with mirth a street so solemn ; But opposite the place of the cavern

They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great church window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away;
And there it stands to this very day.

And I must not omit to say
That in Transylvania there's a tribe
Of alien people, that ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress

On which their neighbours lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison
Into which they were trepanned

Long ago in a mighty band,

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

So Willy, let you and me be wipers

Of scores out with all men,-especially pipers,
And whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our
promise.

R. Browning ·

An

Co

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TH

Απ

T

A

In

LXXIX

THE TIGER

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forest of the night!

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

what distant deeps or skies urnt the ardour of thine eyes? n what wings dare he aspire— That the hand dare seize the fire?

nd what shoulder, and what art
ould twist the sinews of thy heart?
nd when thy heart began to beat,
hat dread hand form'd thy dread feet?

hat the hammer, what the chain, what furnace was thy brain?

id God smile his work to see?

d He who made the lamb make thee?

W. Blake

LXXX

G JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF
CANTERBURY

ient story I'll tell you anon

>table prince, that was called King John ; ruled England with main and with might, did great wrong and maintain'd little right

I tell you a story, a story so merry,
ning the Abbot of Canterbury;
r his housekeeping and high renown,
ɔde post for him to fair London town.

dred men, the king did hear say,
>bot kept in his house every day;
ty gold chains, without any doubt,
et coats waited the Abbot about.

'How now, father Abbot, I hear it of thee,

Awa

Thou keepest a far better house than me;

And

And for thy housekeeping and high renown,

But

I fear thou work'st treason against my crown.'

That

And I trust your grace will do me no deere

I never spend nothing but what is my own;

'My liege,' quoth the Abbot, 'I would it were known,

Ther

And

'Ho

For spending of my own true gotten geere.

Wha

'Sad

Yes, yes, father Abbot, thy fault it is high,
And now for the same thou needest must die;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

'And first,' quoth the king, 'when I'm in this stead,
With my crown of gold so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birth,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.

'Secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soon I may ride the whole world about;
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.'

'O these are hard questions for my shallow wit,
Nor I cannot answer your Grace as yet;
But if you will give me but three weeks space,
I'll do my endeavour to answer your Grace.'

'Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to me.'

That

For My

'The

Witl

Am

Το 1

'Th

How

And

But

'No

Tha

Len

And

'N

I a

An

Th

rode the Abbot all sad at that word, rode to Cambridge and Oxenford; ver a doctor there was so wise,

ould with his learning an answer devise.

ome rode the Abbot of comfort so cold, met his shepherd a going to fold:

now, my lord Abbot, you are welcome home; ews do you bring us from good King John ?'

ews, sad news, shepherd, I must give,
have but three days more to live;
do not answer him questions three,
d will be smitten from my bodie.

'st is to tell him there in that stead, s crown of gold so fair on his head, all his liege-men so noble of birth, in one penny of what he is worth.

cond, to tell him without any doubt,
on he may ride this whole world about;
the third question I must not shrink,
him there truly what he does think.'

neer up, sir Abbot, did you never hear yet ool he may learn a wise man wit?

e horse, and serving men, and your apparel, ride to London to answer your quarrel.

own not, if it hath been told unto me, e your lordship as ever may be;

ou will but lend me your gown

none shall know us in fair London town.

M

あ