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 plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking 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 advanc-
ing,

And step for step they followed dancing,
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)
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 à cider-press's gripe:

And a moving away
of pickle-tub-boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve-cup-

boards,

And a drawing the corks of train-oil

flasks.

XII

Once more he stepped 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
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,

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,
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and
laughter.

XIII

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.
But how the Mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daugh-
ters !

However, he 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, lo, as they reached the mountainside,

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 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 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 pea-
cocks 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 assured

My 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!"

XIV

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! 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 '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 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 :" And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper's StreetWhere any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor.

THE gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,

As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through its joys
and fears,

Than the two hearts beating each to each! 1845.

PARTING AT MORNING

ROUND the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun looked over the mountain's

rim:

And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me.

1845.

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard
bough
In England-now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the
swallows!

Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge-

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,

All will be gay when noontide wakes

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 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 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 trepanned
Long time ago in a mighty band

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

XV

So, Willy, let me and you 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! 1842.

RUDEL TO THE LADY OF TRIPOLI

I KNOW a Mount, the gracious Sun perceives

First, when he visits, last, too, when he leaves

The world; and, vainly favored, it repays The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze By no change of its large calm front of

snow.

And underneath the Mount, a Flower I know,

He cannot have perceived, that changes

ever

At his approach; and, in the lost endeavor

To live his life, has parted, one by one, With all a flower's true graces, for the grace

Of being but a foolish mimic sun, With ray-like florets round a disk-like face.

Men nobly call by many a name the

Mount

As over many a land of theirs its large Calm front of snow like a triumphal

targe

Is reared, and still with old names, frest names vie,

Each to its proper praise and r

account:

Men call the Flower the Sunflower sportively.

II

Oh, Angel of the East, one, one gold lad Across the waters to this twilight nook -The far sad waters, Angel, to this nook!

III

Dear Pilgrim, art thou for the East in deed?

Go!-saying ever as thou dost proceed. That I. French Rudel, choose for my device

A sunflower outspread like a sacrifice Before its idol. See! These inexpert And hurried fingers could not fail t hurt

The woven picture; 't is a woman's skie Indeed; but nothing baffled me, so, il Or well, the work is finished. Say, met feed

On songs I sing, and therefore hask the bees

On my flower's breast as on a platform broad:

But as the flower's concern is not fot these

But solely for the sun, so men applaud In vain this Rudel, he not looking here But to the East-the East! Go, say this, Pilgrim dear!

1842.

THERE'S A WOMAN LIKE A DEW DROP