And when all were in to the very last, Did I say all? No! one was lame, 230 The door in the mountain-side shut fast. And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, 235 '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, 240 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, 245 And honey-bees had lost their stings; And horses were born with eagle's wings; 250 And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!' Alas, alas for Hamelin ! There came into many a burgher's pate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! 260 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, 265 270 And so long after what happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six :' 275 They called it, the Pied Piper's Street— 280 To shock with mirth a street so solemn ; But opposite the place of the cavern 285 Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men-especially pipers: 300 And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice. If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise. Robert Browning. CCLXIII AUTUMN WOODS. Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The mountains, that infold In their wide sweep the coloured landscape round, I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendours glow, On the green fields below. My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet south-west at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown Along the winding way. And far in heaven, the while, The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,- The sweetest of the year. Where now the solemn shade, Verdure and gloom where many branches meet- The valleys sick with heat? 5 10 15 20 Let in through all the trees 25 Come the strange rays: the forest depths are bright; The rivulet, late unseen, Twinkles, like beams of light. Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 30 Shines with the image of its golden screen, And glimmerings of the sun. But 'neath yon crimson tree, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. Oh, Autumn! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad ; Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon, 35 And leave thee wild and sad? Ah! 'twere a lot too blest, For ever in thy coloured shades to stray; Amid the kisses of the soft south-west To rove and dream for aye; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad-the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, 40 45 And waste its little hour. William Cullen Bryant. CCLXIV LAPSE. A heavenly Night!-methinks to me Drops in the wind-flower's scarlet urns, 5 Across the glassy midland sea. This night gives back that double day, It stirred my heart; and through my tongue The entrancement of that time is o'er, I dream not as I dreamed of yore, Thomas Burbidge. 10 15 20 CCLXV THE HUMBLE-BEE. Burly, dozing humble-bee, Insect lover of the sun, 5 10 |