The Mayor was dumb, the Council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cryTo the children merrily skipping by- Could only follow with the eyeThat joyous crowd at the Piper"s back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council"s bosoms beatAs the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters However he turned from south to west, And to Koppleberg 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 blameHis sadness, he was used to say,-
"It"s dull in our town since my playmates left! I can"t forget that I"m bereftOf 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, And their dogs outran our fallow deer,And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagles" wings; And just as I became assuredMy 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!"
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 rateAs 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 Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers neverShould 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 hereOn the Twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six !" And the better in memory to fixThe 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 tavernTo shock with mirth a street so solemn. But opposite the place of the cavernThey 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 sayThat in Transylvania there"s a tribe Of alien people who ascribeThe outlandish ways and dress,
On which their neighbours lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prisonInto which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty bandOut of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why they don"t understand.
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.
Author.-Robert Browning (see"An Incident of the French Camp") .
General Notes.-This joyous poem, based on an old German legend, was written for Willie Macready, the little son of one of Browning"s friends. (He is the " Willie" mentioned in the last stanza.) The poem could easily be turned into a verse play. Notice the splendid descriptions-the plague of rats, the Piper, the sound of the Piper"s music as heard by the rats and by the children, and the gathering of the rats and the children in response to the call of the music.
LESSON 19
ANTS AND THEIR SlAVES
Peter Huber, the son of the noted observer of the ways and habits of bees, was walking one day in a field near Geneva, Switzerland, when he saw on the ground an army of reddish- coloured ants on the march. He decided to follow them and to find out, if possible, the object of their journey.
On the sides of the column, as if to keep it in order, a few of the insects sped to and fro. After marching for about a quarter of an hour, the army halted before an ant-hill, the home of a colony of small black ants. These swarmed out to meet the red ones, and, to Huber"s surprise, a combat, short but fierce, took place at the foot of the hill.
A small number of the blacks fought bravely to the last, but the rest soon fled, panic-stricken, through the gates farthest from the battle-field, carrying away some of their young. They seemed to know it was the young ants that the invaders were seeking. The red warriors quickly forced their way into the tiny city and returned, loaded with children of the blacks.
Carrying their living booty, the kidnappers left the pillaged town and started towards their home, whither Huber followedthem. Great was his astonishment when, at the threshold of the red ants" dwelling, he saw numbers of black ants come forward to receive the young captives and to welcome them- children of their own race, doomed to be bond-servants in a strange land.
Here, then, was a miniature city, in which strong red ants lived in peace with small black ones. But what was the province of the latter? Huber soon discovered that, in fact, these did all the work. They alone were able to build the houses in which both races lived; they alone brought up the young red ants and the captives of their own species; they alone gathered the supplies of food, and waited upon and fed their big masters, who were glad to have their little waiters feed them so attentively.