A CHILD'S STORY.

   (Written for, and inscribed to, W. M. the Younger.)

   I

   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;

           But, when begins my ditty,

   Almost five hundred years ago,

   To see the townsfolk suffer so

           From vermin, was a pity.

   II

           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 cooks' own ladles,

   Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

   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

   III

   At last the people in a body

           To the Town Hall came flocking

   "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy,

           And as for our Corporation—shocking

   To think we buy gowns lined with ermine

   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.

   IV

   An hour they sat in council,

           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.

   Oh 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?"

   (With the Corporation as he sat,

   Looking little though wondrous fat;

   Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister

   Than 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!"

   V

   "Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger:

   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

   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!"

   VI

   He advanced to the council-table                               70

   And, "Please your honours," 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!

   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 cheque

           And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;

   And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying

   As if impatient to be playing

   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 swarms of gnats;              90

   I eased in Asia the Nizam

           Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats:

   And as for what your brain bewilders,

           If I can rid your town of rats

   Will you give me a thousand guilders?"

   "One? fifty thousand!"-was the exclamation

   Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

   VII

   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 where salt is sprinkled;

   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, grey 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 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 Caesar,

   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 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

           (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery

   Is breathed) called out, 'Oh 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,

   All ready staved, like a great sun shone

   Glorious scarce an inch before me

   Just as methought it said 'Come, bore me!'

   —I found the Weser roiling o'er me."

   VIII

   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!"

   IX

   A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;

   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

   This sum to a wandering fellow

   With a gipsy 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,

   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!"

   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:                           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 after another fashion."

   XI

   "How? cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I 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!"                         190

   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,          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,

   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                                 210

   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 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!"

   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,                        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,—

   "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,

   And their dogs outran our fallow deer,

   And honeybees 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!"

   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!                         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,

           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 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:"

   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 labour.                   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

   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 who ascribe

   The outlandish ways and dress

   On which their neighbours 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                           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!

   NOTES:

   "The Pied Piper of Hamelin."  This clever versification of

   a well-known tale was written for the little son of the

   actor William Macready.  According to Dr. Furnivall,

   the version used directly by Browning is from "The

   Wonders of the Little World: or A General History of

   Man," by Nathaniel Wanley, published in 1578.  There

   are, however, more incidents in common between the

   poem and the version given by Verstigan in his "Restitution

   of Decayed Intelligence" (1605).  There are many

   other sources for the story, and it is not improbable that

   Browning knew more than one version.  Tales similar to

   it occur also in Persia and China.  For its kinship to

   myths of the wind as a musician, and as a psychopomp or

   leader of souls, see Baring-Gould, "Curious Myths of the

   Middle Ages"; John Fiske, "Myths and Myth-makers";

   Cox, "Myths of the Aryan Races."

   —Hamlin, or Hamelin, is a town in the province of Hanover, Prussia.