And a matter of money to put in your poke;
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
Beside, our losses have made us thrifty;
A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

X.

The piper's face fell, and he cried,
"No trifling! I can't wait! beside,
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—
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."

XI.

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook 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!”

XII.

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

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—
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,
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,
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'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,

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 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 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!"

Alas, alas for Hamelin !

XIV.

There came into many a burgher's pate
A text which says, that Heaven's gate
Opes to the rich at as easy a 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 'twas a lost endeavor,
And Piper and dancers were gone forever,
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 Street-
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor
Was sure for the future to lose his labor.
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, 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,
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 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 promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

ROBERT BROWNING.

One Word More.

TO E. B. B.

I.

THE

HERE they are, my fifty men and women Naming me the fifty poems finished ! Take them, Love, the book and me together. Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.

II.

Rafael made a century of sonnets,

Made and wrote them in a certain volume
Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil

Else he only used to draw Madonnas:

These, the world might view-but One, the volume. Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you. Did she live and love it all her lifetime?

Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets,

Die, and let it drop beside her pillow
Where it lay in place of Rafael's glory,
Rafael's cheek so duteous and so loving-
Cheek, the world was wont to hail a painter's,
Rafael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's?

III.

You and I would rather read that volume,
(Taken to his beating bosom by it)

Lean and list the bosom-beats of Rafael,
Would we not? than wonder at Madonnas-
Her, San Sisto named, and Her, Foligno,

Her, that visits Florence in a vision,
Her, that's left with lilies in the Louvre-
Seen by us and all the world in circle.