Part 13 (2/2)

And, sure enough, he did! He was so drowsy, And fogs so veiled the sun, That, whetting up a huge, broad-bladed dagger, He slew them, every one.

Then Hop-o'-my-Thumb, awakening his brothers, Whispered: ”Make haste and fly!”

Without a word they did as they were bidden, In twinkling of an eye,

Out in the drizzly mist of a gray morning, Off through the chill and dew, And none too soon! Within an hour the Ogre His dreadful blunder knew.

”Wife, fetch my seven-league boots at once!” he shouted; ”I'll catch the vipers yet!”

He stamped his feet into the magic leather With many a muttered threat;

And off he started, over hill and valley, Seven leagues at every stride; The children saw him like a giant shadow, But they could only hide.

He scoured the country, rumbling like a tempest; Far, near, they heard his roar, Until at last his seven-league feet grew tired, And he could go no more.

And down he lay to rest him for a minute-- The day had grown so hot-- Close to a rock where lay the seven children, Although he knew it not.

Hop-o'-my-thumb spoke softly to his brothers: ”Run! fast as ever you can, And leave me to take care of Mr. Ogre.”

And hurry-scurry they ran.

And Hop-o'-my-Thumb, creeping from out his crevice, With greatest caution drew The Ogre's boots off (these would shrink or widen Just as you wished them to),

And put them on himself. Then he decided To hasten to the king; And, as he traveled towards the royal palace, Each boot was like a wing.

There was a war. The king had need of service In carrying the news.

He heard his tale, and said, ”I'll use this fellow Who wears the magic shoes.”

So little Hop-o'-my-Thumb made mints of money, And his whole family Lived very easy lives, and from his bounty Grew rich as rich could be.

As for the Ogre, in his sleep he tumbled Down from that ledge of rock, And was so b.u.mped and bruised he never rallied, But perished from the shock.

And Hop-o'-my-Thumb, whose influence in high places Was certain to prevail, Made the kind Ogress, who had hidden and fed them, d.u.c.h.ess of Draggletail.

THE BABES IN THE WOOD.

Come, list to my story, More sorry, by far, To her who must tell it, And you who will hear it, Than all others are!

'Tis the darling of each, who Has spirit so mild As to grieve for the Human-- The sad man or woman, Or desolate child!

Of eyes, my dear children, Yours are not the first, Through whose teary lashes, In soft, pitying splashes, The warm drops have burst

At hearing it. Many, For hundreds of years, Have in the same fas.h.i.+on Their heartfelt compa.s.sion Shown thus--with their tears!

A dying father in his arms Two children did enfold.

The eldest one, a little boy, Was only three years old; Even less than that had served to tint The baby's head with gold.

The mother, too, lay ill to death, No human power might save, And to her darlings, that same hour, Her farewell blessing gave.

Father and mother--one in life-- Were laid in the same grave.

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