by Edward Lear
Around her bower, with quivering leaves,
The tall Kamsamahs grew,
And Kitmutgars in wild festoons
Hung down from Tchokis blue.
II.
Below her home the river rolled
With soft meloobious sound,
Where golden-finned Chuprassies swam,
In myriads circling round.
Above, on tallest trees remote
Green Ayahs perched alone,
And all night long the Mussak moan’d
Its melancholy tone.
III.
And where the purple Nullahs threw
Their branches far and wide,
And silvery Goreewallahs flew
In silence, side by side,
The little Bheesties’ twittering cry
Rose on the flagrant air,
And oft the angry Jampan howled
Deep in his hateful lair.
IV.
She sate upon her Dobie,
She heard the Nimmak hum,
When all at once a cry arose,
“The Cummerbund is come!”
In vain she fled: with open jaws
The angry monster followed,
And so (before assistance came)
That Lady Fair was swollowed.
V.
They sought in vain for even a bone
Respectfully to bury;
They said, “Hers was a dreadful fate!”
(And Echo answered, “Very.”)
They nailed her Dobie to the wall,
Where last her form was seen,
And underneath they wrote these words,
In yellow, blue, and green:
“Beware, ye Fair! Ye Fair, beware!
Nor sit out late at night,
Lest horrid Cummerbunds should come,
And swollow you outright.”
NOTE. — First published in Times of India, Bombay, July, 1874.
THE AKOND OF SWAT.
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or chair, or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold, or HOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk, or TROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat, or a COT,
The Akond of Swat?
When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T’s and finish his I’s with a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear or BLOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel, or PLOT,
At the Akond of Swat?
If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, or shot,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people prig in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark, GAROTTE?
O the Akond of Swat!
Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn’t he care for public opinion a JOT,
The Akond of Swat?
To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one’s last new poem, or WHAT,
For the Akond of Swat?
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes, or a LOT,
For the Akond of Swat?
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe, or a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote, SHALLOTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, or a SCOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, or a GROTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug? or a POT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe, or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends, or a KNOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, or NOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake, in a YACHT,
The Akond of Swat?
Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
Is the Akond of Swat!
NOTE. — For the existence of this potentate see Indian newspapers, passim.
The proper way to read the verses is to make an immense emphasis on the
monosyllabic rhymes, which indeed ought to be shouted out by a chorus.
* * * * *
NONSENSE BOTANY.
Armchairia Comfortabilis.
Bassia Palealensis.
Bubblia Blowpipia.
Bluebottlia Buzztilentia.
Crabbia Horrida.
Smalltoothcombia Domestica.
Knutmigrata Simplice.
Tureenia Ladlecum.
Puffia Leatherbellowsa.
Queeriflora Babyöides.
NONSENSE ALPHABETS.
ALPHABET IV. (1877)
A
A was an Area Arch
Where washerwomen sat; They made a lot of lovely starch
To starch Papa’s Cravat.
B
B was a Bottle blue,
Which was not very small; Papa he filled it full of beer, And then he drank it all.
C
C was Papa’s gray Cat,
Who caught a squeaky Mouse; She pulled him by his twirly tail
All about the house.
D
D was Papa’s white Duck,
Who had a curly tail; One day it ate a great fat frog,
Besides a leetle snail.
E
E was a little Egg,
Upon the breakfast table; Papa came in and ate it up
As fast as he was able.
F
F was a little Fish.
Cook in the river took it Papa said, “Cook! Cook! bring a dish!
And, Cook! be quick and cook it!”
G
G was Papa’s new Gun;
He put it in a box; And then he went and bought a bun,
And walked about the Docks.
H
H was Papa’s new Hat;
He wore it on his head; Outside it was completely black,
But inside it was red.
I
I was an Inkstand new,
Papa he likes to use it; He keeps it in his pocket now,
For fear that he should lose it.
J
J was some Apple Jam,
Of which Papa ate part; But all the rest he took away
And stuffed into a tart.
K
K was a great new Kite;
Papa he saw it fly Above a thousand chimney pots,
And all about the sky.
L
L was a fine new Lamp;
But when the wick was lit, Papa he said, “This
Light ain’t good!
I cannot read a bit!”
M
M was a dish of mince;
It looked so good to eat! Papa, he quickly ate it up,
And said, “This is a treat!”
N
N was a Nut that grew
High up upon a tree; Papa, who could not reach it, said,
“That’s much too high for me!”
O
O was an Owl who flew
All in the dark away, Papa said, “What an owl you are!
Why don’t you fly by day?”
P
P was a little Pig,
Went out to take a walk; Papa he said, “If Piggy dead,
He’d all turn into Pork!”
Q
Q was a Quince that hung
Upon a garden tree; Papa he brought it with him home,
And ate it with his tea.
R
R was a Railway Rug
Extremely large and warm; Papa he wrapped it round his head,
In a most dreadful storm.
S
S was Papa’s new Stick,
Papa’s new thumping Stick, To thump extremely wicked boys,
Because it was so thick.
T
T was a tumbler full
Of Punch all hot and good; Papa he drank it up, when in
The middle of a wood.
U
U was a silver urn,
Full of hot scalding water; Papa said, “If that Urn were mine,
I’d give it to my daughter!”
V
V was a Villain; once
He stole a piece of beef. Papa he said, “Oh, dreadful man!
That Villain is a Thief!”
W
W was a Watch of Gold:
It told the time of day, So that Papa knew when to come,
And when to go away.
X
X was King Xerxes, whom
Papa much wished to know; But this he could not do, because
Xerxes died long ago.
Y
Y was a Youth, who kicked
And screamed and cried like mad; Papa he said, “Your conduct is
Abominably bad!”
Z
Z was a Zebra striped
And streaked with lines of black; Papa said once, he thought he’d like
A ride upon his back.
ALPHABET V. (1877)
tumbled down, and hurt his Arm, against a bit of wood,
said. “My Boy, oh, do not cry; it cannot do you good!”
said, “A Cup of Coffee hot can’t do you any harm.”
said, “A Doctor should be fetched, and he would cure the arm.”
said, “An Egg beat up with milk would quickly make him well.”
said, “A Fish, if broiled, might cure, if only by the smell.”
said, “Green Gooseberry fool, the best of cures I hold.”
said, “His Hat should be kept on, to keep him from the cold.”
said, “Some Ice upon his head will make him better soon.”
said, “Some Jam, if spread on bread, or given in a spoon!”
said, “A Kangaroo is here, — this picture let him see.”
said, “A Lamp pray keep alight, to make some barley tea.”
said, “A Mulberry or two might give him satisfaction.”
said, “Some Nuts, if rolled about, might be a slight attraction.”
said, “An Owl might make him laugh, if only it would wink.”
P said, “Some Poetry might be read aloud, to make him think.”
said, “A Quince I recommend, — a Quince, or else a Quail.”
said, “Some Rats might make him move, if fastened by their tail.”
said, “A Song should now be sung, in hopes to make him laugh!”
said, “A Turnip might avail, if sliced or cut in half!”
said, “An Urn, with water hot, place underneath his chin!”
said, “I’ll stand upon a chair, and play a Violin!”
said, “Some Whisky-Whizzgigs fetch, some marbles and a ball!”
said, “Some double XX ale would be the best of all!”
said, “Some Yeast mixed up with salt would make a perfect plaster!”
said, “Here is a box of Zinc! Get in, my little master!
We’ll shut you up! We’ll nail you down! We will, my little master! We think we’ve all heard quite enough of this your sad disaster!”
NONSENSE SONGS AND STORIES
CONTENTS
INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY
ECLOGUE COMPOSED AT CANNES, DECEMBER 9TH, 1867
THE HERALDIC BLAZON OF FOSS THE CAT
THE DUCK AND THE KANGAROO IN THE AUTOGRAPH OF EDWARD LEAR
INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY
I
O! My aged Uncle Arly!
Sitting on a heap of Barley
Thro’ the silent hours of night, —
Close beside a leafy thicket: —
On his nose there was a Cricket, —
In his hat a Railway-Ticket; —
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
II
Long ago, in youth, he squander’d
All his goods away, and wander’d
To the Tiniskoop-hills afar.
There on golden sunsets blazing,
Every morning found him gazing, —
Singing— “Orb! you’re quite amazing!
How I wonder what you are!”
III
Like the ancient Medes and Persians,
Always by his own exertions
He subsisted on those hills; —
Whiles, — by teaching children spelling, —
Or at times by merely yelling, —
Or at intervals by selling
“Propter’s Nicodemus Pills.”
IV
Later, in his morning rambles
He perceived the moving brambles —
Something square and white disclose; —
“Twas a First-class Railway Ticket;
But, on stooping down to pick it
Off the ground, — a pea-green Cricket
settled on my uncle’s Nose.
V
Never — never more, — Oh! never,
Did that Cricket leave him ever, —
Dawn or evening, day or night; —
Clinging as a constant treasure, —
Chirping with a cheerious measure, —
Wholly to my uncle’s pleasure
(Though his shoes were far too tight.)
VI
So for three-and-forty winters,
Till his shoes were worn to splinters,
All those hills he wander’d o’er, —
Sometimes silent; — sometimes yelling; —
Till he came to Borley-Melling,
Near his old ancestral dwelling; —
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
VII
On a little heap of Barley
Died my aged uncle Arly,
And they buried him one night; —
Close beside the leafy thicket; —
There, — his hat and Railway-Ticket; —
There, — his ever-faithful Cricket; —
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
ECLOGUE COMPOSED AT CANNES, DECEMBER 9TH, 1867
(Interlocutors — Mr. Lear and Mr. and Mrs. Symonds.)
Edwardus — What makes you look so black, so glum, so cross?
Is it neuralgia, headache, or remorse?
Johannes — What makes you look as cross, or even more so?
Less like a man than is a broken Torso?
E — What if my life is odious, should I grin?
If you are savage, need I care a pin?
J — And if I suffer, am I then an owl?
