|
| HAMELIN TOWN ’s in Brunswick, | |
| By famous Hanover City; | |
| The river Weser, deep and wide, | |
| Washes its wall on the southern side; | |
| A pleasanter spot you never spied; | 5 |
| But when begins my ditty, | |
| Almost five hundred years ago, | |
| To see the townsfolk suffer so | |
| From vermin was a pity. | |
|
| Rats! | 10 |
| 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, | |
| Split open the kegs of salted sprats, | 15 |
| Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats, | |
| And even spoiled the women’s chats, | |
| By drowning their speaking | |
| With shrieking and squeaking | |
| In fifty different sharps and flats. | 20 |
|
| At last the people in a body | |
| To the Town Hall came flocking: | |
| “’T is clear,” cried they, “our Mayor ’s a noddy; | |
| And as for our Corporation,—shocking | |
| To think we buy gowns lined with ermine | 25 |
| For dolts 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? | |
| Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking | 30 |
| To find the remedy we ’re lacking, | |
| Or, sure as fate, we ’ll send you packing!” | |
| At this the Mayor and Corporation | |
| Quaked with a mighty consternation. | |
|
| An hour they sate in counsel,— | 35 |
| At length the Mayor broke silence: | |
| “For a guilder I ’d my ermine gown sell; | |
| I wish I were a mile hence! | |
| It ’s easy to bid one rack one’s brain,— | |
| I ’m sure my poor head aches again, | 40 |
| I ’ve scratched it so, and all in vain. | |
| O for a trap, a trap, a trap!” | |
| Just as he said this, what should hap | |
| At the chamber door but a gentle tap? | |
| “Bless us,” cried the Mayor, “what ’s that?” | 45 |
| (With the Corporation as he sat, | |
| Looking little though wondrous fat; | |
| Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister | |
| Then a too-long-opened oyster, | |
| Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous | 50 |
| 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; | 55 |
| 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; | 60 |
| And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin; | |
| No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, | |
| But lips where smiles went out and in— | |
| There was no guessing his kith and kin! | |
| And nobody could enough admire | 65 |
| The tall man and his quaint attire. | |
| Quoth one: “It ’s as my great-grandsire, | |
| Starting up at the trump of doom’s tone, | |
| Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!” | |
| He advanced to the council-table: | 70 |
| And, “Please your honors,” 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! | 75 |
| And I chiefly use my charm | |
| On creatures that do people harm— | |
| The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper— | |
| And people call me the Pied Piper.” | |
| (And here they noticed round his neck | 80 |
| A scarf of red and yellow stripe, | |
| To match with 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 | 85 |
| Upon this pipe, as low it dangled | |
| Over his vesture so old-fangled.) | |
| “Yet,” said he, “poor piper as I am, | |
| In Tartary I freed the Cham, | |
| Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats; | 90 |
| 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?” | 95 |
| “One? fifty thousand!” was the exclamation | |
| Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. | |
|
| Into the street the piper stept, | |
| Smiling first a little smile, | |
| As if he knew what magic slept | 100 |
| In his quiet pipe the while; | |
| Then, like a musical adept, | |
| To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, | |
| And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, | |
| Like a candle flame were salt is sprinkled; | 105 |
| And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, | |
| You heard as if an army 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. | 110 |
| Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, | |
| Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, | |
| Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, | |
| Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, | |
| Cocking tails and pricking whiskers; | 115 |
| 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 followed dancing, | 120 |
| Until they came to the river Weser, | |
| Wherein all plunged and perished | |
| —Save one who, stout as Julius Cæsar, | |
| Swam across and lived to carry | |
| (As he the manuscript he cherished) | 125 |
| To Rat-land 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-press’s gripe,— | 130 |
| And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, | |
| And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, | |
| And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, | |
| And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; | |
| And it seemed as if a voice | 135 |
| (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery | |
| Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice! | |
| The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! | |
| So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, | |
| Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! | 140 |
| —And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, | |
| Already staved, like a great sun shone | |
| Glorious scarce an inch before me, | |
| Just as methought it said, Come, bore me! | |
| —I found the Weser rolling o’er me.” | 145 |
|
| You should have heard the Hamelin 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, | 150 |
| And leave in our town not even a trace | |
| Of the rats!”—when suddenly, up the face | |
| Of the piper perked in the market-place, | |
| With a “First, if you please, my thousand guilders!” | |
|
| A thousand guilders! the Mayor looked blue! | 155 |
| So did the Corporation too. | |
| For council-dinners made rare havoc | |
| With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; | |
| And half the money would replenish | |
| Their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish. | 160 |
| To pay this sum to a wandering fellow | |
| With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! | |
| “Beside,” quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, | |
| “Our business was done at the river’s brink; | |
| We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, | 165 |
| And what ’s dead can’t come to life, I think. | |
| So, friend, we ’re not the folks to shrink | |
| From the duty of giving you something for drink, | |
| And a matter of money to put in your poke; | |
| But as for the guilders, what we spoke | 170 |
| Of them, as you very well know, was in joke | |
| Beside, our losses have made us thrifty; | |
| A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!” | |
|
| The piper’s face fell, and he cried, | |
| “No trifling! I can’t wait! beside, | 175 |
| I ’ve promised to visit by dinner time | |
| Bagdat, and accept the prime | |
| Of the head cook’s pottage, all he ’s rich in, | |
| For having left, in the Caliph’s kitchen, | |
| Of a nest of scorpions no survivor,— | 180 |
| With him I proved no bargain-driver; | |
| With you, don’t think I ’ll bate a stiver! | |
| And folks who put me in a passion | |
| May find me pipe to another fashion.” | |
|
| “How?” cried the Mayor, “d’ ye think I ’ll brook | 185 |
| 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!” | 190 |
|
| 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 | 195 |
| 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; | 200 |
| 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, | 205 |
| 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 | 210 |
| To the children merrily skipping by,— | |
| And 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, | 215 |
| 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, | 220 |
| 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!” | 225 |
| When, lo, as they reached the mountain’s 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, | 230 |
| 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,— | 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 |
| 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, | 245 |
| 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 assured | |
| My lame foot would be speedily cured, | 250 |
| 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!” | 255 |
|
| 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! | 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 |
| And bring the children behind him. | |
| But when they saw ’t was a lost endeavor, | |
| And piper and dancers were gone for ever, | |
| They made a decree that lawyers never | |
| Should think their records dated duly | 270 |
| 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:” | 275 |
| And the better in memory to fix | |
| The place of the Children’s last retreat | |
| They called it the Pied Piper’s Street— | |
| Where any one playing on pipe or tabor | |
| Was sure for the future to lose his labor. | 280 |
| 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 | 285 |
| 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 | 290 |
| Of alien people that ascribe | |
| The outlandish ways and dress | |
| On which their neighbors lay such stress | |
| To their fathers and mothers having risen | |
| Out of some subterranean prison | 295 |
| 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. | |
|
| So, Willy, let you and me be wipers | 300 |
| 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. |
