Robert Browning (रॉबर्ट ब्राउनिंग)

Hamelin town's in Brunswick,By famous Hanover city.

The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its walls on either 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 the cradles.

And ate the cheeses out of the vats,And licked the soup from the cooks' 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.

"'Tis 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?",(With the Corporation as he sat.

Looking little, though wondrous fat,Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister.

Than a too-long-opened oyster,Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous.

For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous),"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?.

Anything like the sound of a rat,Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!".

"Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger,And in 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.

With 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 my great grandsire,Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone.

Had walked his 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 and toad and newt and viper.

And people call me the Pied Piper.",(And here they noticed round his neck.

A scarf of red and yellow stripe,To match with his coat of self-same cheque.

And at the scarf's end hung a pipe,And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying.

As if impatient to be playing,Upon this pipe, as low it dangled.

Over his vesture so old-fangled.),"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am.

In Tartary I freed the Cham,Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats.

I eased in Asia the Nizam,Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats.

And as for what your brain bewilders,If I can rid your town of rats.

Will you give me 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 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 Cæsar,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, 'Oh, rats, rejoice!,The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!.

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!'.

And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,Already 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 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 farm-yard, when barley is scattering,Out came the children running.