Kitabı oku: «The Jingle Book», sayfa 6

A Tragic Tale of Tea

 
The Beetle was blind, and the Bat was blinder,
And they went to take tea with the Scissors-grinder.
The Scissors-grinder had gone away
Across the ocean to spend the day;
But he’d tied his bell to the grapevine swing.
The Bat and the Beetle heard it ring,
And neither the Beetle nor Bat could see
Why no one offered them any tea.
So, polite and patient, they’re waiting yet
For the cup of tea they expect to get.
 

The Erratic Rat

 
There was a ridiculous Rat
Who was awfully puffy and fat.
“I’ll carry,” he said,
“This plate on my head,
’Twill answer in place of a hat.”
 

 
And then he remarked with a frown,
“I suppose that I must have a gown;
I’ll make me a kilt
Of this old crazy-quilt,
To wear when I’m going to town.
 
 
“And of course, though the weather is warm,
It may be there’ll come up a storm;
An umbrella I’ll make
Of a caraway cake,
It’ll match with my whole uniform.
 
 
And I’ll carry a bottle of ink
In case I should wish for a drink;
And this flat-iron so sweet
I’ll take with me to eat,
And now I am ready, I think.”
 

The Two Friends

 
A Spider and a Centipede went out to take a walk;
The Centipede said frankly, “I will listen while you talk,
But I may appear distracted, or assume a vacant stare,
Because to keep my feet in step requires my constant care.”
 
 
Said the Spider: “I appreciate your most peculiar case,
And your feet must be quite handy when you want to run a race;
But though you gain in some ways, in some other ways you lose;
And, of course, my friend, you must be quite extravagant in shoes.”
 
 
“Ah! yes. Ah! yes,” a heavy sigh escaped the Centipede;
“And I have other trials, too;—my life is hard indeed!
Why, sometimes when I’m very tired, a long, long time it takes
To ascertain with certainty which foot it is that aches.
 
 
“And when I go to dancing-class on Saturdays at three,
I find the First Position very difficult for me.
Though I put my best foot foremost, and good time I try to keep,
To my chagrin, I often find a foot or two asleep.
 
 
Athletics I attempted, but, alas! I must admit
That every exercise I tried I put my foot in it.
I think I’ll join a foot-ball team,—as many friends suggest,—
Before I’ve one foot in the grave and gout in all the rest.
 
 
But now I’ll say good-morning; for, my friend, I have to stop
To get my boots blacked neatly at this little boot-black’s shop;
And, as you may imagine, it will keep me here some time,
But, what is worse, I’ll have to pay him many a hard-earned dime.”
 
 
The Spider said good-morning, and pursued his way alone,
And as he went he murmured, in a thoughtful undertone:
“I’m a happy little Spider, and I’m very glad indeed,
That I was born an octoped and not a centipede!”
 

The Smiling Shark

 
There was an old Shark with a smile
So broad you could see it a mile.
He said to his friends,
As he sewed up the ends,
“It was really too wide for the style.”
 

The Mercury’s Plaint

 
I don’t know why I’m slandered so,
If I go high,—if I go low,—
There’s always some one who will say,
“Just see that mercury to-day!”
And whether toward the top I crawl
Or down toward zero I may fall,
They always fret, and say that I
Am far too low or far too high.
Although I try with all my might,
I never seem to strike it right.
Now I admit it seems to me
They show great inconsistency.
But they imply I am to blame;
Of course that makes my anger flame,
And in a fiery fit of pique
I stay at ninety for a week.
Or sometimes in a dull despair,
I give them just a frigid stare;
And as upon their taunts I think
My spirits down to zero sink.
Mine is indeed a hopeless case;
To strive to please the human race!
 

The Pirate Poodle

 
Once there was a Pirate Poodle,
And he sailed the briny seas
From the land of Yankee Doodle
Southward to the Caribbees.
 

 
He would boast with tales outlandish,
Of his valor and renown;
And his cutlass he would brandish
With a fearful pirate frown.
 
 
So ferocious was his manner
All his crew looked on, aghast;
And his fearful pirate banner
Floated from his pirate mast.
 
 
He reiterated proudly
Naught had power to make him quail;
Yet when thunder roared too loudly
He would turn a trifle pale.
 
 
And he turned a little paler
When there came a sudden squall;
For this funny little sailor
Was ridiculously small.
 

 
And whene’er a storm portended
He’d betake himself below.
So much fear and courage blended
Did a pirate ever show?
 

An Old Love

 
Priscilla, Auntie’s promised me
A brand-new Paris doll;
And though I love you, yet you see
I cannot keep you all.
 
 
Nursey declares I really must
Throw one of you away;
And you’re the oldest, so I trust
You will not care to stay.
 
 
You’ve lost an arm, your dress is torn,
Your wig is all awry;
Priscilla, you are so forlorn,
We’ll have to say good-by.
 
 
And yet—oh, don’t! my dolly dear,
Don’t look so sad, I pray!
You precious dolly, come right here,
You shan’t be thrown away!
 
 
You’re ragged, yes, and lame and blind,
You’re really but a wreck;
But, dear Priscilla, never mind,
I do not care a speck.
 
 
Your eyes do nicely when they’re shut,
And I can mend the rest;
Well—p’raps I’ll love the new one—but
I’ll always love you best.
 

Bobby’s Pocket

 
Our Bobby is a little boy, of six years old, or so;
And every kind of rubbish in his pocket he will stow.
 
 
One day he thought he’d empty it (so he again could stock it);
And here’s an alphabet of what was found in Bobby’s pocket.
 
 
A was a rosy Apple, with some bites out, here and there;
B was a bouncing rubber Ball that bounded in the air.
 
 
C was a crispy crusty Cake with citron on the top;
D was a dancing Donkey that could jump around and hop.
 
 
E was a little robin’s Egg, all speckled blue and brown;
F was a fluffy Feather that was white and soft as down.
 
 
G was a lively Grasshopper, whose legs and wings were green;
H was a grimy Handkerchief that once perhaps was clean.
 
 
I was a plaster Image that had lost its plaster head;
J was a jolly Jumping-Jack all painted blue and red.
 
 
K was a keen and shining Knife, ’twould cut the toughest bark;
L was a little wooden Lion, strayed out of Noah’s Ark.
 
 
M was a Marble, large and round, with colors bright and clear;
N was a bent and rusty Nail, of little use, I fear.
 
 
O was a tiny Oil-can, which was always upside down;
P was a Penny Bob had saved to spend some day in town.
 
 
Q was a Quilted ear-tab, which had lost its velvet mate;
R was a Ring with a glassy gem of wondrous size and weight.
 
 
S was a String, a piece of Soap, a Stone, a Sponge, a Stick;
T was a lump of Taffy, exceeding soft and thick.
 
 
U, an Umbrella-handle, of silver-mounted horn;
V was a comic Valentine, a little creased and worn.
 
 
W was some sticky Wax, lovely to pinch and mould;
X was an old Xpress receipt, worn out in every fold.
 
 
Y was a lot of Yellow Yarn, all bunched up like a mop;
Z was a jagged piece of Zinc, found in a plumber’s shop.
 
 
All these are Bob’s possessions; he loves every single thing;
And owning all these treasures he’s as happy as a King!
 

The Instructiphone

 
There was a youthful genius once, a boy of thirteen years,
Named Cyrus Franklin Edison Lavoisier De Squeers.
To study he was not inclined, for fun he had a bent;
But there was just one article he wanted to invent.
 
 
“It’s a sort of a contraption which will work itself,” he said,
“And, without studying, will put my lessons in my head.”
He thought and puzzled o’er his plan, he worked with might and main
To utilize the wondrous schemes within his fertile brain:
 
 
Until at last the thing was done, and to his friends said he:
“It is the wonder of the age! Success I can foresee!
My great invention is complete, and—’tis no idle vaunt—
I’m sure that my Instructiphone will fill a long-felt want.
 
 
“The action is quite simple—I will try to make it clear:
This funnel-shaped receiver I apply to my left ear;
Then in this hopper I will put whate’er I wish to learn—
A page of history or of Greek,—and then this crank I’ll turn.
 
 
“The topic goes into this tube, a sort of phonograph
Which acts directly on my mind,—it does, you needn’t laugh!
I do not have to think at all, for, as I pull this chain,
My wonderful machine transmits the knowledge to my brain.”
 
 
The plan was good, the works were fine, and yet there was a flaw;
When Cyrus turned the crank around, the neighbors watched with awe.
He confidently pulled the chain with motion quick and deft;
The knowledge entered his right ear—and came out at his left.
 
 
He tried again,—a page of Greek; he tried a theme occult,—
A message and an errand,—every time the same result!
Then Cyrus knew that somehow his machine had missed its aim;
For though the works ran smoothly it was always just the same.
 
 
No matter what the book might be, or what it was about,
It would go in at one ear,—at the other ’twould come out!
So in his laboratory, baffled Cyrus sitting lone,
Strives to correct the sad defect in his Instructiphone.
 
 
But it is my opinion, there’s no fault in the machine:
The trouble is that Cyrus is like other boys I’ve seen.