Part 17 (2/2)

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live; Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

V They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,-- To a land all covered with trees; And they bought an owl and a useful cart, And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart, And a hive of silvery bees; And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws, And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree, And no end of Stilton cheese.

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live; Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

VI

And in twenty years they all came back,-- In twenty years or more; And every one said, ”How tall they've grown!

For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, And the hills of the Chankly Bore.”

And they drank their health, and gave them a feast Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; And every one said, ”If we only live, We, too, will go to sea in a sieve, To the hills of the Chankly Bore.”

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live; Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

_Edward Lear_.

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY

I

Oh! my aged Uncle Arly, Sitting on a heap of barley Through 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 Timskoop-hills afar.

There on golden sunsets glazing Every evening 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-cla.s.s Railway-Ticket; But on stooping down to pick it Off the ground, a pea-green cricket Settled on my uncle's nose.

V

Never, nevermore, 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.)

_Edward Lear_.

LINES TO A YOUNG LADY

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