THE STRANGE HARPER A NEW VERSION IN days of fairy lore and magic wonder Of everything which was not steel or stone. Were gnawed to shreds to get at meal and oats- And all the attic stores went down their throats. Cupboards and safes were eaten through like butter, Could keep a venison-pasty half a day. There came a youth, his eyes with strange fire gleaming, His clothes of homely stuff and antique seeming; When with his voice his harp-strings made sweet ringing, "O, list to me," he cried; "my song has glamour "The pest obscene which now devours this city VOL. V. I ask no lavish guerdon for my ditty; Small care has minstrel true for place or pay. Y "I only ask to live without dishonour, To sing the best I can, a minstrel free; Let others claim the gold of civic honour, My song itself is meed enough for me." Burghers, and burgomaster in his ermine, To council went: "Well, let him try," they cried. "Go, try," they bade him-" free us from this vermin; In honour ever then with us abide." The minstrel seized his harp with eager gladness, And harping, singing, passed throughout the town: Where'er he sang the rats were seized with madness, And ran in wild distraction through the town. They came without in every street and alley, Then to the river in tumultuous sally They rushed, and drowned-not one was left alive. The burghers blessed themselves with self-laudation— Shook hands, rang bells-again to council went, To set on foot some proper celebration, And vote themselves a feast for this event. They feasted, drank-the harper quite forgotten, Said, "With the scullions let the fellow dine!" 'Twas strange, they said, indeed, how the thing ended; The rats, no doubt, had a contagious fit. The harper's song helped nothing; some pretended "His songs," they said, "will only plague and bore us; An after-dinner song were well enough; Such as the town-fool sings, while we keep chorus. Come, town-fool, give us of your good old stuff." The town-fool sang, the burghers roared with laughter, Or wineful, at his maudlin and sublime, Wept maudlinly, and swore that ever after His songs should live as fresh as in their prime. After the feast they took to trade and barter And business throve: but when that boy they met, All looked askance, with visage ever tarter; And wondered why the deuce he stayed there yet. An idle loon, they said, that vagrant harper ; Threatened at last to lay him in the stocks. Old cross-grained wives would daily scold and flout him, The winter came, and in a wind-swept attic So sat he in unheeded desolation, Till spring should rouse again his fancies gay, The primrose rath beneath the beech was glowing, As he the harper felt his old fire flowing And went and wandered up and down the street. He played a song so weirdly sweet, entrancing, The children far and near at his first singing. He led, they went, through gates and suburb places, O'er hill, down dale, through woodland haunts, deep, deep Into the heart of forests, where their traces Faded as foam fades on the ocean's sleep. |