C. J. Dennis

“ But Sym, he said to them, "Answer him thus: 'Ease and honour and leave to live-- These are the gifts that a king may give 'Twas over the meadow I saw her first; And my lips grew parched like a man athirst Oh, my treasure was ne'er in the gift of man; For the gods have given me Emily Ann." "Listen," said they, "O you crazy Sym. Roses perish, and eyes grow dim. Lustre fades from the fairest hair. Who weds a woman links arms with care. But women there are in the city of Gosh-- Ay, even the daughters of good King Splosh. ”

“ Some scale a tree that they fear to name, For it bears great blossoms of scarlet shame. But they eat of the fruit of the nameless tree, Because they are Glugs, and their choice is free. But every eve, when the sun goes West, Over the mountain they call The Blest, Whose summit looks down on the city of Gosh, Far from the reach of the great King Splosh, The Glugs gaze up at the heights above, And feel vague promptings to wondrous love. And they whisper a tale of a tinker man, Who lives in the mount with his Emily Ann. ”

“ When the deep shades creep and the wind is high The trees bow low as the gods ride by: Gods of the gloaming, who ride on the breeze, Stooping to heaften the birds and the trees. But each dull Glug sits down by his door, And mutters, " 'Tis windy!" and nothing more, Like the long-dead Glugs in the days of yore. When Sym was born there was much to-do, And his parents thought him a joy to view; But folk not prejudiced saw the Glug, As his nurse remarked, "In the cut of his mug." ”

“ But when they fell on seasons bad, Oh, then the Swanks, the bustled Swanks, The hustled Swanks went mad-- The minute-writing, nation-blighting, Skiting Swanks went mad. The tall trees sway like boys at play, And mock him when he grieves, As one by one, in laughing fun, They pelt him with their leaves. And the gay green trees joke to the breeze, As the Swank struts proudly by; But every Glug, with reverence, Pays homage to his pride immense-- A homage deep to lofty rank-- The Swank! ”

“ There's work ahead. With a King forsaken, and Swanks in dread, To whom may we turn for the salving of man?" And Sym, he answered them, "Emily Ann." Said he: "Whenever I watch her pass, With her skirts so high o'er the dew-wet grass, I envy every blade the bruise It earns in the cause of her twinkling shoes. Oh, the dew-wet grass, where this morn she ran, Was doubly jewelled for Emily Ann." "But haste!" they cried. "By the palace gates A sorrowing king for a tinker waits. And what shall we answer our Lord the King If never a tinker hence we bring, To tinker a kingdom so sore amiss?" ”

“ And Sym sits him down by his little wife's knee, With his feet in the grass and his back to a tree; And he looks on the Valley and dreams of old years, As he strokes his red dog with the funny prick ears. And he says, "Still they climb in their whimsical way, While we stand on earth, yet are higher than they. Oh, who trusts to a tree is a fool of a man! For the wise seek the mountains, my Emily Ann." So lives the queer tinker, nor deems it a wrong, When the spirit so moves him, to burst into song. 'Tis a comical song about kettles and pans, And the graces and charms that are Emily Ann's. ”

“ When you see them squat on the tree-tops high,
Scanning for ever that heedless sky,
⁠Lie flat on your back on the good, green earth
⁠And roar till the great vault echoes your mirth."
As he walked in the city, to Sym there came
⁠Sounds envenomed with fear and hate,
Shouts of anger and words of shame,
⁠As Glug blamed Glug for his woeful state.
"This blame?" said Sym, "Is it mortal's right
⁠To blame his fellow for aught he be?"
But the father said, "Do we blame the night
⁠When darkness gathers and none can see?" ”

“ For the way with a Glug is to tickle his ears.
"O, speak to us, Tinker! Your wisdom we crave!"
They'd cry when they saw him; then Sym would look grave.
⁠And remark, with an air, " 'Tis a very fine day."
⁠"Now ain't he a marvel?" they'd shout. "Hip, Hooray!"
"To live," would Sym answer, "To live is to feel!"
"And ain't he a poet?" a fat Glug would squeal. ”

“ There's a gay little garden, a tidy white gate, And a narrow brown pathway that will not run straight; ⁠For it turns and it twists and it wanders about ⁠To the left and the right, as in humorous doubt. 'Tis a humorous path, and a joke from its birth Till it ends at the door with a wriggle of mirth. ⁠And here in the mount lives the queer tinker man ⁠With his little red dog and his Emily Ann. ”

“ And the Swanks are all crazed with this trading in stone."
Said the Mayor of Quog: "This has long been foretold
In a prophecy penned by the Seer of old.
⁠We must search, if we'd banish the curse of our time.
⁠For a mender of pots who's a maker of rhyme.
'Tis to him we must look when our luck goes amiss,
But, Oh, where in all Gosh is a Glug such as this?" ”

“ And the haughty Swank says, "Haw!"
His brain is dull, and his mind is dense,
⁠And his lack of saving wit complete;
But most amazingly immense
Is his inane self-confidence
⁠⁠And his innate conceit.
But every Glug, and the great King Splosh
⁠Bowed to Sir Stodge, the fuddled Swank,
⁠⁠The muddled Swank of Gosh—
The engineering, peeping, peering.
⁠⁠Sneering Swank of Gosh.
In Gosh, sad Gosh, where the Lord Swank lives,
⁠He holds high rank, and he has much pelf ”

“ The blue sky spread high overhead Peeps thro' in mild disdain. All nature laughs and jeers and chaffs When the Swank goes out to walk; But every Glug bows low his head, And says in tones surcharged with dread, "Bow low, bow low, Glugs lean, Glugs fat!" ”

“ And, once in a while, when the weather is clear, When the work is all over, and even is near, ⁠They walk in the garden and gaze down below ⁠On the Valley of Gosh, where the young rivers go; Where the houses of Gosh seem so paltry and vain, Like a handful of pebbles strewn over the plain; ⁠Where tiny black forms crawl about in the vale, ⁠And stare at the mountain they fear them to scale. ”

“ And trees, all spreading to the sun, Are slain because they cannot run. The great Sir Stodge, filled full of hate, Has challenged you to hold debate. "On Monday, in the Market Square, He and his Swanks will all be there, Sharp to the tick at half-past two, To knock the stuffing out of you. And if your stuffing so be spread, Then is the Cause of Quog stone dead. "In this debate I'd have you find, With all the cunning of your mind, Sure victory for Quog's great Cause, And swift defeat for Stodge's laws." "But cunning I have none," quoth Sym. ”

“ There were gushing Glug maids, well aware of their charms, And stern, massive matrons with babes in their arms. ⁠There were querulous dames who complained of the "squash," ⁠The pushing and squeezing; for, briefly, all Gosh, With its aunt and its wife, stood agape in the ranks— Excepting Sir Stodge and his satellite Swanks. ”

“ He flirts and he flutters, his wife by his side, With his share of content and forgiveable pride. And he keeps to the earth, 'mid the bushes and shrubs, And he dines very well upon corpulent grubs. But the little blue wren with a grievance in life, He was rude to his neighbours and short with his wife. For, up in the apple-tree over his nest, There dwelt a fat spider who gave him no rest: A spider so fat, so abnormally stout That he seemed hardly fitted to waddle about. But his eyes were so sharp, and his legs were so spry, That he could not be caught; and 'twas folly to try. ”

“ He calls it "Woman." he calls it "Wine." he call it "Devils" and "Dice":
He calls it "Surfing" and "Sunday Golf" and names that are not so nice.
But whatever he calls it—"Morals" or "Mirth"—he is on with the hunt right quick
For his sorrow he'd hug like a gloomy Glug if he hadn't a dog to kick.
So any old night, if the stars are right, you will find him, hot on the trail
Of a feasible dog and a teasable dog, with a can to tie to his tail.
And the song that he roars to the shuddering stars is a worthy and excellent thing. ”

“ Go as he guides you, over the marsh, Treading with care on the slithery stones, Heedless of night winds moaning and harsh That seize you and freeze you and search for your bones. On to the edge of a still, dark pool, Banishing thoughts of your warm wool rug; Gaze in the depths of it, placid and cool, And long in your heart for one glimpse of a Glug. "Krock!" Was he mocking you? "Krock! Kor-r-rock!" Well, you bought a return, and it's past ten o'clock. Choose you a night when the intimate stars Carelessly prattle of cosmic affairs. ”

“ Yet, 'spite the cheerful soul of Sym,
The great Sir Stodge detested him.
The stern Sir Stodge and all his Swanks—
Proud Glugs of divers grades and ranks,
⁠With learning and attainments great—
⁠Had never learned to conquer hate. ”

“ We preach; yet do we deem it worldly-wise To count unbounded brother-love a shame, So, ban the brother-look from out our eyes, Lest sparks of sympathy be fanned to flame. We smile; and yet withhold, in secret fear, The word so hard to speak, so sweet to hear-- The Open Sesame to meanest hearts, The magic word, to which stern eyes grow soft, And crafty faces, that the cruel marts Have seared and scored, turn gentle--Nay, how oft It trembles on the lip to die unppoke, And dawning love is stifled with a joke. ”

“ But the Knight, Sir Stodge, and his mystic Book Oblivious slept in a grave-yard nook.
Then a Glug stood out with a pot in his hand, As the King was bewailing the fate of his land, ⁠And he said, "If these Ogs you desire to retard. ⁠Then hit them quite frequent with anything hard." ”

“ What did our grandpas lay down in their rules?"
⁠And the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book:
⁠"To Cheapness," he said, "was the road they took."
Then every Glug who was not too fat
Turned seventeen handsprings, and jumped on his hat.
⁠They fined the Glug with the cast in his eye
⁠For looking both ways—which he did not deny—
And for having no visible precedent, which
Is a crime in the poor and a fault in the rich. ”

“ Was the proof that Sir Stodge was a traitor, and worse!
Sir Stodge (said the Mayor) , must go from his place;
And the Swanks, one and all, were a standing disgrace!
⁠For the influence won o'er a weak, foolish king
⁠Was a menace to Gosh, and a scandalous thing!
"And now," said the Mayor, "I stand here to-day
As your leader and friend." And the Glugs said, "Hooray!"
Then they went to their homes in the suburbs and town ”