The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,

By famous Hanover city;

The river Weser deep and wide

Washes its walls on the southern side;

A pleasanter spot you never spied;

But, when begins my ditty,

Almost five hundred years ago,

To see the townsfolk suffer so

From vermin, was a pity.

Rats!

They fought the dogs and killed the cats,

And bit the babies in their cradles,

And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,

Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,

And even spoiled the women's chats,

By drowning their speaking

With shrieking and squeaking

In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body

To the Town-hall came flocking:

" 'T is clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy:

And as for our Corporation—shocking

To think we buy gowns lined with ermine

For dolts that can't or won't determine

What's best to rid us of our vermin!

You hope, because you're old and obese,

To find in the furry civic robe ease!

Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking

To find the remedy we're lacking,

Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"

At this the Mayor and Corporation

Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sat in council,

At length the Mayor broke silence:

"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;

I wish I were a mile hence!

It's easy to bid one rack one's brain—

I'm sure my poor head aches again,

I've scratched it so, and all in vain.

Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!"

Just as he said this, what should hap

At the chamber door, but a gentle tap?

"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?

Anything like the sound of a rat

Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!

"Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger:

And did come the strangest figure!

His queer long coat from heel to head

Was half of yellow, and half of red;

And he himself was tall and thin,

With sharp blue eyes each like a pin,

And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,

No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin,

But lips where smiles went out and in—

There was no guessing his kith and kin!

And nobody could enough admire

The tall man and his quaint attire:

Quoth one, "It's as if my great-grandsire,

Starting up at the trump of Doom's tone,

Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council table:

And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,

By means of a secret charm, to draw

All creatures living beneath the sun,

That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,

After me so as you never saw!

And I chiefly use my charm

On creatures that do people harm,

The mole, the toad, the newt, the viper;

And people call me the Pied Piper.

Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,

In Tartary I freed the Cham,

Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats;

I eased in Asia the Nizam

Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats:

And as for what your brain bewilders,

If I can rid your town of rats

Will you give a thousand guilders?"

"One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation

Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept,

Smiling first a little smile,

As if he knew what magic slept

In his quiet pipe the while;

Then like a musical adept,

To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,

And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,

Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;

And ere three shrill notes the pipe had uttered,

You heard as if an army muttered;

And the muttering grew to a grumbling;

And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;

And out of the houses the rats came tumbling—

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,

Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,

Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,

Cocking tails, and pricking whiskers,

Families by tens and dozens,

Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives—

Followed the Piper for their lives.

From street to street he piped, advancing,

And step for step they followed dancing,

Until they came to the river Weser

Wherein all plunged and perished,

Save one, who stout as Julius Caesar,

Swam across, and lived to carry

(As he the manuscript he cherished)

To Rat-land home his commentary,

Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,

I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,

And putting apples wondrous ripe

Into a cider press's gripe;

And a moving away of pickle-tub boards,

And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards,

And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks,

And a breaking the hoops of butter casks;

And it seemed as if a voice

(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery

Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice!

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,

Breakfast, dinner, supper, luncheon!

And just as a bulky sugar puncheon,

All ready staved, like a great sun shone

Glorious, scarce an inch before me,

Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'

—I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

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 havock

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!

"Besides," 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—

Besides, 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 to another fashion."

"How"? cried the Mayor, "d' ye think I'll 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 jostling 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—

And could only follow with the eye

That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.

And now 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 stop!"

When lo! as they reached the mountain's side,

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 mountain side 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 dull in our town since my playmates left!

I can't forget that I'm bereft

Of all the pleasant sights they see,

Which the Piper also promised me:

For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,

Joining the town and just at hand,

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,

And flowers put forth a fairer hue,

And everything was strange and new;

The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,

And their dogs outran our fallow-deer,

And honey-bees had lost their stings,

And horses were born with eagles' wings;

And just as I became assured

My lame foot would be speedily cured,

The music stopped and I stood still,

And found myself outside the hill,

Left alone against my will,

To go now limping as before,

And never hear of that country more!"

The Mayor sent east, west, north, and south

To offer the Piper by word of mouth,

Wherever it was man's lot to find him,

Silver and gold to his heart's content,

If he 'd only return the way he went,

And bring the children behind him.

But when they saw 't was a lost endeavor,

And Piper and dancers were gone forever,

They made a decree that lawyers never

Should think their records dated duly,

If after the day of the month and year

There words did not as well appear,

"And so long after what happened here

On the twenty-second of July,

Thirteen hundred and seventy-six;"

And the better in memory to fix

The place of the children's last retreat,

They called it the Pied Piper's Street—

Where any one playing on pipe or tabor,

Was sure for the future to lose his labor.

Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern

To shock with mirth a street so solemn;

But opposite the place of the cavern

They wrote the story on a column,

And on the great church window painted

The same, to make the world acquainted

How their children were stolen away;

And there it stands to this very day.

And I must not omit to say

That in Transylvania there's a tribe

Of alien people, that ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress

On which their neighbors lay such stress,

To their fathers and mothers having risen

Out of some subterraneous prison

Into which they were trepanned

Long ago in a mighty band,

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,

But how or why, they don't understand.

So, Willy, let you and me be wipers

Of scores out with all men,—especially pipers,

And whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice

If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

Robert Browning