Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, "I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see; I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont, - and I will swim this here." And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam; Oh, there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again! Out spoke the ancient fisherman: "Oh, what was that, my daughter?" ""T was nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water." "And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?" "It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a-swimming past." Out spoke the ancient fisherman: "Now bring me my harpoon! I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon.' Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound, And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned; But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe, And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below. -Oliver Wendell Holmes DANNY DEEVER "What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade. "To turn you out, to turn you out," the Color-Sergeant said. "What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-onParade. "I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Color-Sergeant said. For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can 'ear the Dead March play, The regiment's in 'ollow square him to-day; they're hangin' They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. "What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Fileson-Parade. "It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Color-Sergeant said. "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" says Fileson-Parade. "A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Color-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round. They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground; An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin', shootin' hound O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'! "'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-Parade. "'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Color-Sergeant said. "I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade. "'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Color-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace, While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. "What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on-Parade. "It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Color-Sergeant said. "What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-onParade. "It's Danny's soul that 's passin' now," the Color-Sergeant said. For they've done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play, The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away; Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day, After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. "FUZZY-WUZZY” (SOUDAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, 1889) We've fought with many men acrost the seas, But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot. 'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim, An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces. So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; man; We gives you your certifikit, an' if you want it signed We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills, Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller. Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid; Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair; the square. 'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own, 'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, So we must certify the skill 'e's shown In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords: Will last a 'ealthy Tommy for a year. So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more, If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore; But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair, For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square! 'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead; 'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead. 'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb! 'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, So'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; man; An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air You big black boundin' beggar for you broke a British square! Rudyard Kipling |