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Fit the Eighth (Hunting of the Snark )

Fit the Eighth (Hunting of the Snark )

The Vanishing

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railwayshare;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the Beaver, excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was nearly past.


"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said.
"He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!"


They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
"He was always a desperate wag!"
They beheld himtheir
Bakertheir
hero unnamedOn
the top of a neighbouring crag,


Erect and sublime, for one moment of time,
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.


"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words "It's a Boo"


Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
That sounded like "jum!"
but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.


They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.


In the midst of the word he was trying to say
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished awayFor
the Snark was a Boojum, you see.
👁️ 142

Fame's Penny-Trumpet

Fame's Penny-Trumpet

Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back Goldsucking
leeches, shoals on shoals!


Fill all the air with hungry wails "
Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!"


And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babelclamour
of the sty


Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.


They sought and found undying fame:
They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks!


Who preach of Justice plead
with tears
That Love and Mercy should abound While
marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound:


Who prate of Wisdom nay,
forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!


Go, throng each other's drawingrooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique:
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
And make your pennytrumpets
squeak.


Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time,
And oil each other's little heads
With mutual Flattery's golden slime:


And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in Glory's ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain So
many hundred pounds a year


Then let Fame's banner be unfurled!
Sing Paeans for a victory won!



Ye tapers, that would light the world,
And cast a shadow on the Sun


Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from East to West,
When YE have burned your little time
And feebly flickered into rest!
👁️ 179

Echoes

Echoes


Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.


She took her little porringer:
Of me she shall not win renown:
For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her
down.


"Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
There stands the Inspector at thy door:
Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four."


"Kind words are more than coronets,"
She said, and wondering looked at me:
"It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea."
👁️ 183

Dedication

Dedication


Inscribed to a Dear Child:
In Memory of Golden Summer Hours
And Whispers of a Summer Sea


Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,
Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well
Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask
The tale he loves to tell.
Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,
Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,
Deem if you list, such hours a waste of life,
Empty of all delight!


Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy
Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.
Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,
The heartlove
of a child!
👁️ 192

Bessie's Song To Her Doll

Bessie's Song To Her Doll

Matilda Jane, you never look
At any toy or picturebook.
I show you pretty things in vain
You must be blind, Matilda Jane!


I ask you riddles, tell you tales,
But all our conversation fails.
You never answer me again
I fear you're dumb, Matilda Jane!


Matilda darling, when I call,
You never seem to hear at all.
I shout with all my might and main
But you're so deaf, Matilda Jane!


Matilda Jane, you needn't mind,
For, though you're deaf and dumb and blind,
There's some one loves you, it is plain
And that is me, Matilda Jane!
👁️ 246

Another Acrostic ( In the style of Father William )

Another Acrostic ( In the style of Father William )

"Are you deaf, Father William!" the young man said,
"Did you hear what I told you just now?
"Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head
"Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!
"A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town,
"Is my friend, so I beg to remark:
"Do you think she'd be pleased if a book were sent down
"Entitled 'The Hunt of the Snark?'"


"Pack it up in brown paper!" the old man cried,
"And seal it with oliveanddove.
"I command you to do it!" he added with pride,
"Nor forget, my good fellow to send her beside
"Easter Greetings, and give her my love."
👁️ 412

Alice And The White Knight

Alice And The White Knight

Alice was walking beside the White Knight in Looking Glass Land.

'You are sad.' the Knight said in an anxious tone: 'let me sing you a song to comfort
you.'


'Is it very long?' Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.


'It's long.' said the Knight, 'but it's very, very beautiful. Everybody that hears me sing
it either
it brings tears to their eyes, or else '


'Or else what?' said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden pause.


'Or else it doesn't, you know. The name of the song is called 'Haddocks' Eyes.''


'Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?' Alice said, trying to feel interested.


'No, you don't understand,' the Knight said, looking a little vexed. 'That's what the
name
is called. The name really is 'The Aged, Aged Man.''


'Then I ought to have said 'That's what the song is called'?' Alice corrected herself.


'No you oughtn't: that's another thing. The song is called 'Ways and Means' but that's
only
what it's called, you know!'


'Well, what is the song then?' said Alice, who was by this time completely bewildered.


'I was coming to that,' the Knight said. 'The song really is 'Asitting
On a Gate': and the
tune's my own invention.'


So saying, he stopped his horse and let the reins fall on its neck: then slowly beating
time
with one hand, and with a faint smile lighting up his gentle, foolish face, he began:


I'll tell thee everything I can;
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged, aged man,
Asitting
on a gate.
'Who are you, aged man?' I said,
' And how is it you live?'
And his answer trickled through my head
like water through a sieve.


He said 'I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men,' he said,
'Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread



A trifle if you please.'


But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
I cried, 'Come tell me how you live!'
And thumped him on the head.


His accents mild took up the tale:
He said, 'I go my ways,
And when I find a mountainrill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar Oil Yet
twopencehalfpenny
is all
They give me for my toil.'


But I was thinking of a way
To feed one's self on batter,
And so go on from day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side
Until his face was blue:
'Come tell me how you live,' I cried,
'And what it is you do!'


He said 'I hunt for haddocks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.


'I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search for grassy knolls
For wheels of hansomcabs.
And that's the way' (he gave a wink)
'By which I get my wealth And
very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's noble health.'


I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai Bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.



I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for the wish that he
Might drink my noble health.


And now if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a righthand
foot
Into a lefthand
shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know Whose
look was mild, whose speech was slow
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo That
summer evening long ago
Asitting
on a gate.


As the Knight sang the last words of the ballad, he gathered up the reins, and turned
his horse's head along the road by which they had come.
👁️ 153

A Valentine

A Valentine

Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see
him when he came, but didn't seem to miss him if he stayed away.


And cannot pleasures, while they last,
Be actual unless, when past,
They leave us shuddering and aghast,
With anguish smarting?
And cannot friends be firm and fast,
And yet bear parting?


And must I then, at Friendship's call,
Calmly resign the little all
(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)
I have of gladness,
And lend my being to the thrall
Of gloom and sadness?


And think you that I should be dumb,
And full DOLORUM OMNIUM,
Excepting when YOU choose to come
And share my dinner?
At other times be sour and glum
And daily thinner?


Must he then only live to weep,
Who'd prove his friendship true and deep
By day a lonely shadow creep,
At nighttime
languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep
The moan of anguish?


The lover, if for certain days
His fair one be denied his gaze,
Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,
But, wiser wooer,
He spends the time in writing lays,
And posts them to her.


And if the verse flow free and fast,
Till even the poet is aghast,
A touching Valentine at last
The post shall carry,
When thirteen days are gone and past
Of February.


Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,
In desert waste or crowded street,
Perhaps before this week shall fleet,
Perhaps tomorrow.
I trust to find YOUR heart the seat
Of wasting sorrow.
👁️ 169

A Sea Dirge

A Sea Dirge

There are certain things as,
a spider, a ghost,
The incometax,
gout, an umbrella for three That
I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
Is a thing they call the Sea.


Pour some salt water over the floor Ugly
I'm sure you'll allow it to be:
Suppose it extended a mile or more,
THAT'S very like the Sea.


Beat a dog till it howls outright Cruel,
but all very well for a spree:
Suppose that he did so day and night,
THAT would be like the Sea.


I had a vision of nurserymaids;
Tens of thousands passed by me All
leading children with wooden spades,
And this was by the Sea.


Who invented those spades of wood?
Who was it cut them out of the tree?
None, I think, but an idiot could Or
one that loved the Sea.


It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float
With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free':
But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,
How do you like the Sea?


There is an insect that people avoid
(Whence is derived the verb 'to flee').
Where have you been by it most annoyed?
In lodgings by the Sea.


If you like your coffee with sand for dregs,
A decided hint of salt in your tea,
And a fishy taste in the very eggs By
all means choose the Sea.


And if, with these dainties to drink and eat,
You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,
And a chronic state of wet in your feet,
Then I
recommend the Sea.


For I have friends who dwell by the coast Pleasant
friends they are to me!
It is when I am with them I wonder most
That anyone likes the Sea.


They take me a walk: though tired and stiff,
To climb the heights I madly agree;



And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,
They kindly suggest the Sea.


I try the rocks, and I think it cool
That they laugh with such an excess of glee,
As I heavily slip into every pool
That skirts the cold cold Sea.
👁️ 173

A Game of Fives

A Game of Fives

Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.


Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
Sitting down to lessons no
more time for tricks.


Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!


Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you MEAN!"


Five dashing girls, the youngest Twentyone:
But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?


Five showy girls but
Thirty is an age
When girls may be ENGAGING, but they somehow don't ENGAGE.


Five dressy girls, of Thirtyone
or more:
So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!


Five PASSE girls Their
age? Well, never mind!
We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows
The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"!
👁️ 182

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