 The Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1, Poems Old and New, Red for LibriVox.org Hamelin Towns in Brunswick, by famous Hanover City, The River Weiser, Deep and Wide, washes its wall on the southern side, a pleasanter spot you never spied, but when begins my ditty almost five hundred years ago, the town's folk sufferers so, from vermin was a pity. Rats, they fought the dogs and killed the cats, and bit the babies in the cradles, and ate the cheeses out of the vats, and licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, spilt open the kegs of salted sprouts and nests inside men's Sunday hats, and even spoiled the women's chats by drowning their speaking with treaking and squeaking in fifty different sharps and flats. Last the people in a body to the town hall came flocking, to his clear cry they are mayors and naughty, and as for our corporation, shocking to think we buy gowns lined with vermin for adults that can't or won't determine what's best to rid us of our vermin. You hope because you're old and obese to find in the furry civic robe ease? Rows upsers, give your brains racking to find the remedy you're lacking, or sure as fate you're packing. At this the mayor and corporation quaked with a mighty consternation. In hour they sat in council, at length the mayor broke silence. For a gilder I'd my ermine gown sell, I wish I were a mile hence. It's easy to bid one rack one's brains, I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap! Just as he said this, what should a trap at the chamber door but a gentle tap? Blessed cried the mayor, what's that? With the corporation as he sat, looking little wondrous fat, nor brighter was his eye, nor moister than a too long opened oyster. Save one 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 in did come the strangest figure. His queer long coat from heel to head was half of yellow and half of red, and he himself was tall and thin, with sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, and light loose hair, yet swarthy skin. No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, but lips were smiles when out and in. There was no guessing his kith and kin, and nobody could enough admire the man in his quaint attire. Quoth one. It's as if my great-grandsire, starting up at the trumpet of Doom's tone, had walked this way from his painted tombstone. He advanced to the council table, and, please, Your Honour, said he, I'm able, by means of a secret charm, to draw all creatures living beneath the sun that creep or swim or fly or run after me, so as you never saw. And I chiefly used my charm on creatures that do people harm, the mole, the toad, the newt, the viper, and people call me the pied piper. In here they noticed, round his neck, a scarf of red and yellow stripe, to match his coat of the self-same check. And at the scarf's end hung a pipe, and his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying as if impatient to be playing upon his pipe, as low it dangled over his vesture so old-fangled. Yet said he, poor piper, as I am, in tartary I freed the charm last June from his huge swarm of gnats. I eased in Asia the nizam of a monstrous brood of vampire bats. And as for what your brain bewilders if I can rid your town of rats, will you give me a thousand guilders? One fifty thousand was the exclamation of the astonish mayor and corporation. In the street the piper stepped, smiling first a little smile, as if he knew what magic slept in his quiet pipe the while. Then like a musical adept, to blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, and blue and green his sharp eyes twinkled, like a candle flame where salt has sprinkled. In air three shrill notes the pipe had uttered, you heard as if an arming muttered, and the muttering grew to a grumbling, and the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling, and out of the houses the rats came tumbling, great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, grave old plotters, gay young friskers, fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, cocky tails and pricking whiskers, families by tens and dozens, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, followed the piper for their lives. From street to street he piped, advancing, and step for step they went dancing, until they came to the river Weezer, wherein all plunged and perished, save one who stood as Julius Caesar, swam across and lived to carry, as he the manuscript he cherished, to Ratland 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 presses gripe, and moving away a pickle tub boards, and a leaving a jar of conserved cupboards, and a drawing the corks of train oil flasks, and a breaking the hoops of buttercasts, it seemed as if a voice, sweeter for them by harp or by sultry, is breathed, cried out a rat's rejoice, the world has grown to one vast dry sultry, so munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon, and just as a bulky sugar puncheon, already stave, like a great sun shone glorious scarce an inch before me, just as me thought had said, come bore me, I found the weasel rolling o'er me. You should have heard the hammelin people ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple, go, cried the mayor, and get long poles, poke out the nests and block up the holes, consult with carpenters and builders, and leave in our town not even a trace of the rats, when suddenly up the face of the diaper perked in the marketplace, with a first, if you please, my thousand guilders. A thousand guilders, the mayor looked blue, so did the corporation, too, for council dinners made rare havoc, with Claret, Moselle, Vindigrav, Hock, and half the money would replenish their cellar's biggest butt with renish, to pay the sum to a wandering fellow with a gypsy coat of red and white. Beside, quote the mayor, with a knowing wink, our business was done at the river's brink. We saw, with our eyes, the vermin sink, and what's dead cannot come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink from the duty of giving you something to drink, and as a matter of money to put in your poke, but as for the guilders, what we spoke of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty, the thousand guilders. Come, take fifty. The piper's face fell, and he cried, No trifling, I can't wait. Beside, I promised to visit by dinnertime, bagged that, and accept the prime of the headcook's potage. All these richen, for having left in the califf's kitchen, of a nest of scorpions, no survivor, with him I proved no bargain driver, with you don't think I'll bait a stiver, and folks who put me in a passion may find me rather fashion. How, cried the mayor, do you think I'd brook being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy rybold with idle pipe and vesture pie-bold. You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, blow your pipe there till you burst. Once more he stepped into the street, and to his lips again laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane, and airy blue three notes, such sweet soft notes as yet as cunning never gave the enraptured air. There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling of merry crowds, justling and pitching and hustling, small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering. And like fowls in a farmyard, when barley is scattering, out came the children running. And all the little boys and girls with rosy cheeks and flocks and curls and sparkly eyes and teeth like pearls, tripping and skipping, ran merrily after the wonderful music with shouting and laughter. 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. And now the mayor was on the rack and the wretched council's bosoms beat as the piper turned from the high street to where the weasley rolled its waters, right in the way of their sons and daughters. However they 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 low as they reached the mountainside, a wondrous portal opened wide, as if a cavern was suddenly hollowed, and the piper advance and the children followed, and when all were in, to the very last, the door in the mountainside 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 land, joining the town in 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 there, and their dogs outran our fallow deer, and honeybees had lost their sting, and horses were born with eagles' wings, and just as I became assured my lame foot would be speedily cured. The music stopped, and I stood outside the hill, left alone against my will to go now limping as before, and never hear of that country more. Alas, alas for Hamelin, there came into many a burger's pate the text which says that Heaven's gate hopes 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 whatever it was man'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. And when they saw it was a lost endeavor, and piper and dancers were gone forever, they made a decree that lawyers never should think their records dated duly, if after the day of the month and the year these words did not as well appear, and so long after what happened here. On the 1376 in the better in memory to fix in place of the children's last retreat, they called it the Pied Piper Street, where anyone playing on Piper Tabor was sure for the future to lose his labor, nor suffered a hostelry or tavern to shock with mirth the streets of Solemn. But opposite the place of the cavern they wrote the story on a column, and on the great church window 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 neighbors lay such stress to their fathers and mothers having risen out of some subterraneous prison, into which they were trepan, long ago in a mighty band, out of Hamilton Town where nations would gland but how or why they don't understand. So will they let you and me be wipers, a scores out of all men, especially pipers, and whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, if we promise them, ought let us keep our promise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Wedding Around by Burgess Johnson from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 1 Poems Old and New, It was awful long ago that I put those seeds around and I guess I ought to know when I stuck them in the ground because I noted down the day in a little diary book it's gotten lost at somewheres and I don't know where to look but I'm certain anyhow they've been planted most a week and it must be time by now for their little sprouts to peak. They've been watered every day with a very small seed and once or twice I've dug them up to see if they was there. I fixed the dirt and humps just the way they said I should and I crumpled all the lumps just as far me as I could. And I found an angle where I'm a-poken up his head and he may be feeds on seeds and such and so I squashed him dead. A seed so very small and dirt all looks the same how can they know it all the way they ought to aim and are ought to do his best for every single seed. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Wishing by William Allingham from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new, read for LibriVox.org Ring Ting. I wish I were a primrose, a bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring the stooping boughs above me the wandering bee to love me the fern and moss to creep across and the elm tree for our king nay, stay, I wish I were an elm tree, a great lofty elm tree with green leaves gay the winds would set them dancing the sun and moonshine glance in the birds would howl some on the boughs and sweetly sing. Oh no I wish I were a robin, a robin or a little run everywhere to go through forest field or garden and ask no leave or pardon till winter comes with icy thumbs to ruffle up our wing well tell where should I fly to where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell before a day was over home comes the rover for mother's kiss sweeter this than any other thing end of poem this recording is in the public domain end of the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new compiled by William Patton