Volume I Part 21 (1/2)
_Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn, Summon the day of deliverance in: We are weary of bearing the burden of scorn As we yearn for the home that we never shall win; For here there is weeping and sorrow and sin.
And the poor and the weak are a spoil for the strong!
Ah, when shall the song of the ransomed begin?
The world is grown weary with waiting so long._
_Little Boy Blue, you are gallant and brave, There was never a doubt in those clear bright eyes.
Come, challenge the grim dark Gates of the Grave As the skylark sings to those infinite skies!
This world is a dream, say the old and the wise, And its rainbows arise o'er the false and the true; But the mists of the morning are made of our sighs,-- Ah, shatter them, scatter them, Little Boy Blue!_
_Little Boy Blue, if the child-heart knows, Sound but a note as a little one may; And the thorns of the desert shall bloom with the rose, And the Healer shall wipe all tears away; Little Boy Blue, we are all astray, The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn, Ah, set the world right, as a little one may; Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn!_
Yes; and there between the trees Circled with a misty gleam Like the light a mourner sees Round an angel in a dream; Was it he? oh, brave and slim, Straight and clad in aery blue, Lifting to his lips the dim Golden horn? We never knew!
Never; for a witch's hair Flooded all the moonlit sky, And he vanished, then and there, In the twinkling of an eye: Just as either boyish cheek Puffed to set the world aright, Ere the golden horn could speak Round him flowed the purple night.
At last we came to a round black road That tunnelled through the woods and showed, Or so we thought, a good clear way Back to the upper lands of day; Great silken cables overhead In many a mighty mesh were spread Netting the rounded arch, no doubt To keep the weight of leaf.a.ge out.
And, as the tunnel narrowed down, So thick and close the cords had grown No leaf could through their meshes stray, And the faint moonlight died away; Only a strange grey glimmer shone To guide our weary footsteps on, Until, tired out, we stood before The end, a great grey silken door.
Then from out a weird old wicket, overgrown with s.h.a.ggy hair Like a weird and wicked eyebrow round a weird and wicked eye, Two great eyeb.a.l.l.s and a beard For one ghastly moment peered At our faces with a sudden stealthy stare: Then the door was open wide, And a hideous hermit cried With a shy and soothing smile from out his lair, _Won't you walk into my parlour? I can make you cosy there!_
And we couldn't quite remember where we'd heard that phrase before, As the great grey-bearded ogre stood beside his open door; But an echo seemed to answer from a land beyond the sky-- _Won't you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly!_
Then we looked a little closer at the ogre as he stood With his great red eyeb.a.l.l.s glowing like two torches in a wood, And his mighty speckled belly and his dreadful clutching claws And his nose--a h.o.r.n.y parrot's beak, his whiskers and his jaws; Yet he seemed so sympathetic, and we saw two tears descend, As he murmured, ”I'm so ugly, but I've lost my dearest friend!
I tell you most lymphatic'ly, I've yearnings in my soul,”-- And right along his parrot's beak we saw the tear-drops roll; _He's an arrant sentimentalist_, we heard a distant sigh, _Won't you weep upon my bosom? said the spider to the fly._
”If you'd dreamed my dreams of beauty, if you'd seen my works of art, If you'd felt the cruel hunger that is gnawing at my heart, And the grief that never leaves me and the love I can't forget, (For I loved with all the letters in the Chinese alphabet!) Oh, you'd all come in to comfort me: you ought to help the weak; And I'm full of melting moments; and--I--know--the--thing--you--seek!”
And the haunting echo answered, _Well, I'm sure you ought to try; There's a duty to one's neighbour, said the spider to the fly._
So we walked into his parlour Though a gleam was in his eye; And it _was_ the prettiest parlour That ever we did spy!
But we saw by the uncertain Misty light, shot through with gleams Of many a silken curtain Broidered o'er with dreadful dreams, That he locked the door behind us! So we stood with bated breath In a silence deep as death.
There were scarlet gleams and crimson In the curious foggy grey, Like the blood-red light that swims on Old ca.n.a.ls at fall of day, Where the smoke of some great city loops and droops in gorgeous veils Round the heavy purple barges' tawny sails.
Were those creatures gagged and m.u.f.fled, See--there--by that severed head?
Was it but a breeze that ruffled Those dark curtains, splashed with red, Ruffled the dark figures on them, made them moan like things in pain?
How we wished that we were safe at home again.
”Oh, we want to hear of Peterkin; good sir, you say you know; Won't you tell us, won't you put us in the way we want to go?”
So we pleaded, for he seemed so very full of sighs and tears That we couldn't doubt his kindness, and we smothered all our fears; But he said, ”You must be crazy if you come to me for help; Why should I desire to send you to your horrid little whelp?”
And again, the foolish echo made a far-away reply, _Oh, don't come to me for comfort, Pray don't look to me for comfort, Heavens! you mustn't be so selfish, said the spider to the fly._
”Still, when the King of Scotland, so to speak, was in a hole, He was aided by my brother; it's a story to console The convict of the treadmill and the infant with a sum, For it teaches you to try again until your kingdom's come!
The monarch dawdled in that hole for centuries of time Until my own twin-brother rose and showed him how to climb: He showed him how to swing and sway upon a tiny thread Across a mighty precipice, and light upon his head Without a single fracture and without a single pain If he only did it frequently and tried and tried again:”
And once again the whisper like a moral wandered by, _Perseverance is a virtue, said the spider to the fly._