Songs from Books
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JUST-SO STORIESWhen the cabin port-holes are dark and green Because of the seas outside;When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between)And the steward falls into the soup-tureen, And the trunks begin to slide;When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,And you aren't waked or washed or dressed,Why, then you will know (if you haven't guessed)You're 'Fifty North and Forty West!'How the Whale got his Throat.The Camel's hump is an ugly lump Which well you may see at the Zoo;But uglier yet is the hump we get From having too little to do.Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,If we haven't enough to do-oo-oo. We get the hump — Cameelious hump —The hump that is black and blue!We climb out of bed with a frouzly head And a snarly-yarly voice.We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl At our bath and our boots and our toys;And there ought to be a corner for me(And I know there is one for you) When we get the hump — Cameelious hump —The hump that is black and blue!The cure for this ill is not to sit still, Or frowst with a book by the fire;But to take a large hoe and a shovel also, And dig till you gently perspire;And then you will find that the sun and the wind,And the Djinn of the Garden too, Have lifted the hump — The horrible hump —The hump that is black and blue!I get it as well as you-oo-oo —If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo! We all get hump — Cameelious hump —Kiddies and grown-ups too!How the Camel got his Hump.I am the Most Wise Baviaan, saying in most wise tones,'Let us melt into the landscape – just us two by our lones.'People have come – in a carriage – calling. But Mummy is there…Yes, I can go if you take me – Nurse says she don't care.Let's go up to the pig-styes and sit on the farmyard rails!Let's say things to the bunnies, and watch 'em skitter their tails!Let's – oh, anything, daddy, so long as it's you and me,And going truly exploring, and not being in till tea!Here's your boots (I've brought 'em), and here's your cap and stick,And here's your pipe and tobacco. Oh, come along out of it – quick!How the Leopard got his Spots.I keep six honest serving-men (They taught me all I knew);Their names are What and Why and When And How and Where and Who.I send them over land and sea, I send them east and west;But after they have worked for me, I give them all a rest.I let them rest from nine till five, For I am busy then,As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea, For they are hungry men.But different folk have different views; I know a person small —She keeps ten million serving-men, Who get no rest at all!She sends 'em abroad on her own affairs, From the second she opens her eyes —One million Hows, two million Wheres, And seven million Whys!The Elephant's Child.This is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a Boomer.Run in a single burst – only event of its kind —Started by Big God Nqong from Warrigaborrigarooma,Old Man Kangaroo first, Yellow-Dog Dingo behind.Kangaroo bounded away, his back-legs working like pistons —Bounded from morning till dark, twenty-five feet at a bound.Yellow-Dog Dingo lay like a yellow cloud in the distance —Much too busy to bark. My! but they covered the ground!Nobody knows where they went, or followed the track that they flew in,For that Continent hadn't been given a name.They ran thirty degrees, from Torres Straits to the Leeuwin(Look at the Atlas, please), then they ran back as they came.S'posing you could trot from Adelaide to the Pacific,For an afternoon's run – half what these gentlemen did —You would feel rather hot, but your legs would develop terrific —Yes, my importunate son, you'd be a Marvellous Kid!The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo.I've never sailed the Amazon, I've never reached Brazil;But the Don and Magdalena, They can go there when they will! Yes, weekly from Southampton, Great steamers, white and gold, Go rolling down to Rio (Roll down – roll down to Rio!). And I'd like to roll to Rio Some day before I'm old!I've never seen a Jaguar, Nor yet an Armadill —O dilloing in his armour, And I s'pose I never will, Unless I go to Rio These wonders to behold — Roll down – roll down to Rio — Roll really down to Rio! Oh, I'd love to roll to Rio Some day before I'm old!The Beginning of the Armadilloes.China-going P. and O.'sPass Pau Amma's playground close,And his Pusat Tasek liesNear the track of most B.I.'s.N.Y.K. and N.D.L.Know Pau Amma's home as wellAs the Fisher of the Sea knows'Bens,' M.M.'s, and Rubattinos.But (and this is rather queer)A.T.L.'s can not come here;O. and O. and D.O.A.Must go round another way.Orient, Anchor, Bibby, Hall,Never go that way at all.U.C.S. would have a fitIf it found itself on it.And if 'Beavers' took their cargoesTo Penang instead of Lagos,Or a fat Shaw-Savill borePassengers to Singapore,Or a White Star were to try aLittle trip to Sourabaya,Or a B.S.A. went onPast Natal to Cheribon,Then great Mr. Lloyds would comeWith a wire and drag them home!* * * * *You'll know what my riddle meansWhen you've eaten mangosteens.The Crab that Played with the Sea.Pussy can sit by the fire and sing, Pussy can climb a tree,Or play with a silly old cork and string To 'muse herself, not me.But I like Binkie my dog, because He knows how to behave;So, Binkie's the same as the First Friend was, And I am the Man in the Cave!Pussy will play man-Friday till It's time to wet her pawAnd make her walk on the window-sill (For the footprint Crusoe saw);Then she fluffles her tail and mews, And scratches and won't attend.But Binkie will play whatever I choose, And he is my true First Friend!Pussy will rub my knees with her head Pretending she loves me hard;But the very minute I go to my bed Pussy runs out in the yard,And there she stays till the morning-light; So I know it is only pretend;But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night, And he is my Firstest Friend!The Cat that Walked by HimselfThere was never a Queen like Balkis, From here to the wide world's end;But Balkis talked to a butterfly As you would talk to a friend.There was never a King like Solomon, Not since the world began;But Solomon talked to a butterfly As a man would talk to a man.She was Queen of Sabæa — And he was Asia's Lord —But they both of 'em talked to butterflies When they took their walks abroad!The Butterfly that Stamped.THE LOOKING-GLASS
(A Country Dance)Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Stand forward partners all!She danced King Philip down-a down,And left her shoe to show 'twas true – (The very tune I'm playing you)In Norgem at Brickwall!The Queen was in her chamber, and she was middling old,Her petticoat was satin, and her stomacher was gold.Backwards and forwards and sideways did she pass,Making up her mind to face the cruel looking-glass.The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lassAs comely or as kindly or as young as what she was!Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Now hand your partners all!The Queen was in her chamber, a-combing of her hair.There came Queen Mary's spirit and It stood behind her chair.Singing, 'Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,But I will stand behind you till you face the looking-glass.The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lassAs lovely or unlucky or as lonely as I was!'Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. – Now turn your partners all!The Queen was in her chamber, a-weeping very sore.There came Lord Leicester's spirit and It scratched upon the door,Singing, 'Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,But I will walk beside you till you face the looking-glass.The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lassAs hard and unforgiving or as wicked as you was!'Queen Bess was Harry's daughter. Now kiss your partners all!The Queen was in her chamber; her sins were on her head.She looked the spirits up and down and statelily she said: —Backwards and forwards and sideways though I've been,Yet I am Harry's daughter and I am England's Queen!'And she faced the looking-glass (and whatever else there was),And she saw her day was over and she saw her beauty passIn the cruel looking-glass, that can always hurt a lassMore hard than any ghost there is or any man there was!THE QUEEN'S MEN
Valour and InnocenceHave latterly gone henceTo certain death by certain shame attended.Envy – ah! even to tears! —The fortune of their yearsWhich, though so few, yet so divinely ended.Scarce had they lifted upLife's full and fiery cup,Than they had set it down untouched before them.Before their day aroseThey beckoned it to close —Close in confusion and destruction o'er them.They did not stay to askWhat prize should crown their task,Well sure that prize was such as no man strives for;But passed into eclipse,Her kiss upon their lips —Even Belphoebe's, whom they gave their lives for!THE CITY OF SLEEP
Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams.Know ye the road to the Merciful Town That is hard by the Sea of Dreams —Where the poor may lay their wrongs away, And the sick may forget to-weep?But we – pity us! Oh, pity us! We wakeful; ah, pity us! —We must go back with Policeman Day — Back from the City of Sleep!Weary they turn from the scroll and crown, Fetter and prayer and plough —They that go up to the Merciful Town, For her gates are closing now.It is their right in the Baths of Night Body and soul to steep,But we – pity us! ah, pity us! We wakeful; oh, pity us! —We must go back with Policeman Day — Back from the City of Sleep!Over the edge of the purple down, Ere the tender dreams begin,Look – we may look – at the Merciful Towns But we may not enter in!Outcasts all, from her guarded wall Back to our watch we creep:We – pity us! ah, pity us! We wakeful; oh, pity us! —We that go back with Policeman Day — Back from the City of Sleep!THE WIDOWER
For a season there must be pain —For a little, little spaceI shall lose the sight of her face,Take back the old life againWhile She is at rest in her place.For a season this pain must endure —For a little, little whileI shall sigh more often than smile,Till Time shall work me a cure,And the pitiful days beguile.For that season we must be apart,For a little length of years,Till my life's last hour nears,And, above the beat of my heart,I hear Her voice in my ears.But I shall not understand —Being set on some later love,Shall not know her for whom I strove,Till she reach me forth her hand,Saying, 'Who but I have the right?'And out of a troubled nightShall draw me safe to the land.THE PRAYER OF MIRIAM COHEN
From the wheel and the drift of ThingsDeliver us, Good Lord,And we will face the wrath of Kings,The faggot and the sword!Lay not Thy Works before our eyes,Nor vex us with Thy Wars,Lest we should feel the straining skiesO'ertrod by trampling stars.Hold us secure behind the gatesOf saving flesh and bone,Lest we should dream what dream awaitsThe soul escaped alone.Thy Path, Thy Purposes concealFrom our beleaguered realm,Lest any shattering whisper stealUpon us and o'erwhelm.A veil 'twixt us and Thee, Good Lord,A veil 'twixt us and Thee,Lest we should hear too clear, too clear,And unto madness see!THE SONG OF THE LITTLE HUNTER
Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry, Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh — He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade, And the whisper spreads and widens far and near.And the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now — He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!Ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light, When the downward-dipping trails are dank and drear,Comes a breathing hard behind thee —snuffle-snuffle through the night — It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!On thy knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go; In the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear!But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy cheek — It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!When the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered pine-trees fall, When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer,Through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all — It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap — Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf-rib clear —But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter – this is Fear!GOW'S WATCH
ACT II. SCENE 2The pavilion in the Gardens. Enter Ferdinand and the KingFerdinand. Your tiercel's too long at hack. Sir.He's no eyassBut a passage-hawk that footed ere we caught him.Dangerously free o' the air. Faith, were he mine(As mine's the glove he binds to for his tirings)I'd fly him with a make-hawk. He's in yarakPlumed to the very point. So manned, so weathered!Give him the firmament God made him for.And what shall take the air of him?The King. A young wing yet.Bold – overbold on the perch, but, think you,Ferdinand,He can endure the tall skies yonder? CozenAdvantage out of the teeth of the hurricane?Choose his own mate against the lammer-geier?Ride out a night-long tempest, hold his pitchBetween the lightning and the cloud it leaps from,Never too pressed to kill?Ferdinand. I'll answer for him.Bating all parable, I know the Prince.There's a bleak devil in the young, my Lord;God put it there to save 'em from their eldersAnd break their father's heart, but bear them scathelessThrough mire and thorns and blood if need be. ThinkWhat our prime saw! Such glory, such achievementsAs now our children, wondering at, examineThemselves to see if they shall hardly equal.But what cared we while we wrought the wonders? Nothing!The rampant deed contented.The King. Little enough, God knows! But afterwards? After – There comes the reckoning. I would save him that.Ferdinand. Save him dry scars that ache of winter-nights.Worn out self-pity and as much of knowledgeAs makes old men fear judgment? Then loose him – loose him,A' God's name loose him to adventure early!And trust some random pike, or half-backed horse,Besides what's caught in Italy, to save him.The King. I know. I know. And yet … What stirs in the garden?Enter Gow and a Gardener bearing the Prince's bodyFerdinand.(Gods give me patience!) Gow and a gardener Bearing some load along in the dusk to the dunghill. Nay – a dead branch – But as I said, the Prince —_The King. _They've set it down. Strange that they work so late.Gow (setting down the body). Heark, you unsanctified fool, while I set out our story. We found it, this side the North park wall which it had climbed to pluck nectarines from the alley. Heark again! There was a nectarine in its hand when we found it, and the naughty brick that slipped from the coping beneath its foot and so caused its death, lies now under the wall for the King to see.The King (above). The King to see! Why should he? Who's the man?Gow. That is your tale. Swerve from it by so much as the breadth of my dagger and here's your instant reward. You heard not, saw not, and by the Horns of ninefold-cuckolded Jupiter you thought not nor dreamed not anything more or other!The King. Ninefold-cuckolded Jupiter. That's a rare oath! Shall we look closer?Ferdinand. Not yet, my Lord! (I cannot hear him breathe.)Gardener. The North park wall? It was so. Plucking nectarines. It shall be. But how shall I say if any ask why our Lady the Queen —Gow (stabs him). Thus! Hie after the Prince and tell him y'are the first fruits of his nectarine tree. Bleed there behind the laurels.The King. Why did Gow buffet the clown? What said he? I'll go look.Ferdinand (above). Save yourself! It is the King!Enter the King and Ferdinand to GowGow. God save you! This was the Prince!The King. The Prince! Not a dead branch? (Uncovers the face.) My flesh and blood! My son! my son! my son!Ferdinand (to Gow). I had feared something of this. And that fool yonder?Gow. Dead, or as good. He cannot speak.Ferdinand. Better so.The King. 'Loosed to adventure early!' Tell the tale.Gow. Saddest truth alack! I came upon him not a half hour since, fallen from the North park wall over against the Deerpark side – dead – dead! – a nectarine in his hand that the dear lad must have climbed for, and plucked the very instant, look you, that a brick slipped on the coping. 'Tis there now. So I lifted him, but his neck was as you see – and already cold.The King. Oh, very cold. But why should he have troubled to climb? He was free of all the fruit in my garden, God knows!.. What, Gow?Gow. Surely, God knows!The King. A lad's trick. But I love him the better for it… True, he's past loving… And now we must tell our Queen. What a coil at the day's end! She'll grieve for him. Not as I shall; Ferdinand, but as youth for youth. They were much of the same age. Playmate for playmate. See, he wears her colours. That is the knot she gave him last – last… Oh God! When was yesterday?Ferdinand. Come in! Come in, my Lord. There's a dew falling.The King. He'll take no harm of it. I'll follow presently…He's all his mother's now and none of mine —Her very face on the bride-pillow. Yet I tricked her.But that was later – and she never guessed.I do not think he sinned much – he's too young —Much the same age as my Queen. God must not judge himToo hardly for such slips as youth may fall in.But I'll entreat that Throne.(Prays by the body.)Gow. The Heavens hold up still. Earth opens not and this dew's mere water. What shall a man think of it all? (To Gardener.) Not dead yet, sirrah? I bade you follow the Prince. Despatch!Gardener. Some kind soul pluck out the dagger. Why did you slay me? I'd done no wrong. I'd ha' kept it secret till my dying day. But not now – not now! I'm dying. The Prince fell from the Queen's chamber window. I saw it in the nut alley. He was —Ferdinand. But what made you in the nut alley at that hour?Gardener. No wrong. No more than another man's wife. Jocasta of the still-room. She'd kissed me good-night too; but that's over with the rest… I've stumbled on the Prince's beastly loves, and I pay for all. Let me pass!Gow. Count it your fortune, honest man. You would have revealed it to your woman at the next meeting. You fleshmongers are all one feather. (Plucks out the dagger.) Go in peace and lay your death to Fortune's door. He's sped – thank Fortune!Ferdinand. Who knows not Fortune, glutted oneasy thrones,Stealing from feasts as rare to coney-catchPrivily in the hedgerows for a clown.With that same cruel-lustful hand and eye,Those nails and wedges, that one hammer and lead,And the very gerb of long-stored lightning loosed.Yesterday 'gainst some King.The King. I have pursued with prayers where my heart warns me My soul shall overtake —Enter the QueenThe King. Look not! Wait till I tell you, dearest… Air!.. 'Loosed to adventure early' … I go late. (Dies.)Gow. So! God hath cut off the Prince in his pleasures. Gow, to save the King, hath silenced one poor fool who knew how it befell, and now the King's dead, needs only that the Queen should kill Gow and all's safe for her this side o' the Judgment. …Senor Ferdinand, the wind's easterly. I'm for the road.Ferdinand. My horse is at the gate. God speed you. Whither?Gow. To the Duke, if the Queen does not lay hands on me before. However it goes, I charge you bear witness, Senor Ferdinand, I served the old King faithfully. To the death, Senor Ferdinand – to the death!THE WISHING CAPS
Life's all getting and giving.I've only myself to give.What shall I do for a living?I've only one life to live.End it? I'll not find another.Spend it? But how shall I best?Sure the wise plan is to live like a manAnd Luck may look after the rest!Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!Give or hold at your will.If I've no care for Fortune,Fortune must follow me still.Bad Luck, she is never a lady,But the commonest wench on the street,Shuffling, shabby and shady,Shameless to pass or meet.Walk with her once – it's a weakness!Talk to her twice – it's a crime!Thrust her away when she gives you 'good day,'And the besom won't board you next time.Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!What is Your Ladyship's mood?If I've no care for Fortune,My Fortune is bound to be good!Good Luck, she is never a lady,But the cursedest quean alive!Tricksey, wincing and jady,Kittle to lead or drive.Greet her – she's hailing a stranger!Meet her – she's busking to leave.Let her alone for a shrew to the bone,And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve!Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!I'll neither follow nor flee.If I don't run after Fortune,Fortune must run after me!'BY THE HOOF OF THE WILD GOAT'
By the Hoof of the Wild Goat uptossedFrom the cliff where she lay in the SunFell the StoneTo the Tarn where the daylight is lost,So she fell from the light of the SunAnd alone!Now the fall was ordained from the firstWith the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn,But the StoneKnows only her life is accursedAs she sinks from the light of the SunAnd alone!Oh Thou Who has builded the World,Oh Thou Who has lighted the Sun,Oh Thou Who has darkened the Tarn,Judge ThouThe sin of the Stone that was hurledBy the goat from the light of the Sun,As she sinks in the mire of the Tarn,Even now – even now – even now!SONG OF THE RED WAR-BOAT
(A.D. 683)Shove off from the wharf-edge! Steady!Watch for a smooth! Give way!If she feels the lop alreadyShe'll stand on her head in the bay.It's ebb – it's dusk – it's blowing.The shoals are a mile of white.But (snatch her along!) we're goingTo find our master to-night.For we hold that in all disasterOf shipwreck, storm, or sword,A Man must stand by his MasterWhen once he has pledged his word.Raging seas have we rowed in,But we seldom saw them thus;Our master is angry with Odin —Odin is angry with us!Heavy odds have we taken,But never before such odds.The Gods know they are forsaken,We must risk the wrath of the Gods!Over the crest she flies from,Into its hollow she drops,Cringes and clears her eyes fromThe wind-torn breaker-tops,Ere out on the shrieking shoulderOf a hill-high surge she drives.Meet her! Meet her and hold her!Pull for your scoundrel lives!The thunders bellow and clamourThe harm that they mean to do!There goes Thor's own HammerCracking the dark in two!Close! But the blow has missed her,Here comes the wind of the blow!Row or the squall'll twist herBroadside on to it! —Row!Heark 'ee, Thor of the Thunder!We are not here for a jest —For wager, warfare, or plunder,Or to put your power to test.This work is none of our wishing —We would house at home if we might —But our master is wrecked out fishing.We go to find him to-night.For we hold that in all disaster – As the Gods Themselves have said – A Man must stand by his MasterTill one of the two is dead.That is our way of thinking,Now you can do as you will,While we try to save her from sinkingAnd hold her head to it still.Bale her and keep her moving,Or she'll break her back in the trough…Who said the weather's improving,Or the swells are taking off?Sodden, and chafed and aching,Gone in the loins and knees —No matter – the day is breaking,And there's far less weight to the seas!Up mast, and finish baling —In oars, and out with the mead —The rest will be two-reef sailing…That was a night indeed!But we hold that in all disaster(And faith, we have found it true!)If only you stand by your master,The Gods will stand by you!MORNING SONG IN THE JUNGLE
One moment past our bodies cast No shadow on the plain;Now clear and black they stride our track, And we run home again.In morning hush, each rock and bush Stands hard, and high, and raw:Then give the Call: 'Good rest to all That keep the Jungle Law!'Now horn and pelt our peoples melt In covert to abide;Now, crouched and still, to cave and hill Our Jungle Barons glide.Now, stark and plain, Man's oxen strain, That draw the new-yoked plough;Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red Above the lit talao.Ho! Get to lair! The sun's aflare Behind the breathing grass:And creaking through the young bamboo The warning whispers pass.By day made strange, the woods we range With blinking eyes we scan;While down the skies the wild duck cries: 'The Day – the Day to Man!'The dew is dried that drenched our hide, Or washed about our way;And where we drank, the puddled bank Is crisping into clay.The traitor Dark gives up each mark Of stretched or hooded claw;Then hear the Call: 'Good rest to all That keep the Jungle Law!'