ΧΙ

'How?' cried the Mayor, d'ye think I brook
Being worse treated than a cook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald

With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst! '

XII

Once more he stept into the street
And to his lips again

Laid his long pipe of smooth, straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning

Never gave the enraptured air),

There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering

Out came the children running.

All the little boys and girls,

With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,

And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,

Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after

The wonderful music with shouting and laughter,

XIII

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry

To the children merrily skipping by,

-Could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
But how the Mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However he turned from South to West,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.
'He never can cross that mighty top
He's forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our children stop!
When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,

!

As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;

And the Piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,

The door in the mountain-side shut fast.
Did I say all? No! One was lame,

And could not dance the whole of the way;

And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say,-

'It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can't forget that I'm bereft

Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town, and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new;
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,

t

And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagle's wings:
And just as I became assured

My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped, and I stood still,
And found myself outside the hill,
Left alone against my will,

*

To go now limping as before,

And never hear of that country more!'

XIV

Alas, alas, for Hamelin!

There came into many a burgher's pate
A text which says that Heaven's gate
Opes to the rich at as easy rate

As the needle's eye takes a camel in!
The Mayor sent East, West, North and South,
To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,
Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,
And bring the children behind him.
But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,
And the Piper and dancers were gone for ever,
They made a decree that lawyers never
Should think their records dated duly
If, after the day of the month and year,
These words did not as well appear,
And so long after what happened here
On the twenty-second of July,
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six':
And the better in memory to fix

The place of the children's last retreat,
They called it the Pied Piper's Street—
Where anyone playing on pipe or tabor
Was sure 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 who ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress

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

Long time ago in a mighty band

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

XV

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!

Robert Browning.

THE POPE AND THE NET

WHAT, he on whom our voices unanimously ran, Made Pope at our last conclave? Full low his life began,

His father earned the daily bread as just a fisher

man.

So much the more his boy minds book, gives proof of mother-wit,

Becomes first Deacon, and then Priest, then Bishop: see him sit

No less than Cardinal ere long, while no one cries 'Unfit!'

But some one smirks, some other smiles, jogs elbow and nods head;

Each winks at each: "'I-faith, a rise? Saint Peter's net, instead

Of sword and keys, is come in vogue!' You

think he blushes red?

Not he, of humble holy heart! Unworthy me!' he sighs:

From fisher's drudge to Church's prince-it is indeed a rise :

So, here's my way to keep the fact for ever in my eyes?'

And straightway in his palace-hall, where commonly is set

Some coat-of-arms, some portraiture ancestral, lo,

we met

His mean estate's reminder in his fisher-father's

net!