IV And yet peradventure one day V And seeking around thee in vain From hundreds who flattered before, Such a word as, "Oh, not in the mair Do I hold thee less precious, but more !" Thou'lt sigh, very like, on thy part, "Of all I have known or can know. I wish I had only that Heart I trod upon ages ago!" ROBERT BROWNING ROBERT BROWNING, English poet, born near London in 1812; died at Venice, 1889. In 1846 he married Elizabeth Barrett, and went with his wife to Italy. A large number of his poems were written for the stage, and while not successful as plays, have been greatly appreciated by the literary public. Among his best works may be mentioned "The Ring and the Book," "Men and Women" and "Dramatic Idylls." THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN H AMELIN Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, From vermin was a pity. Rats! They fought the dogs, ana kill'd the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And lick'd the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, POL. 11-3 At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: 66 ""Tis clear," cried they, our Mayor's a noddy; Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" An hour they sate in counsel, At length the Mayor broke silence: It's easy to bid one rack one's brain (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too long-open'd oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous) "Only a scraping 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 ir did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, On creatures that do people harm, To match with his coat of the selfsame check; 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 swarm of gnats; Of a monstrous brood of vampire bats; Will you give me a thousand guilders?" One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation Of the astonish'd Mayor and Corporation. Into the street the piper stept, In his quiet pipe the while; To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, Save one who, stout as Julius Cæsar, (As the manuscript he cherish'd) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, |