The Pied Piper of Hamelin, and Other Poems. Robert Browning

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      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,

      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!”

      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.

      To pay this sum to a wandering fellow

      With a gypsy 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

      Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

      Beside, our losses have made us thrifty.

      A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!”

      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:

      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.”

      “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!”

      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,

      And, like fowls in a farmyard 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.

      The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood

      As if they were changed into blocks of wood,

      Unable to move a step, or cry

      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,

      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 mountainside,

      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,

      The door in the mountainside 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 СКАЧАТЬ