Spirk Troll-Derisive

The Mastodon stopped, his ditty he dropped,
And murmured, "Good morning, my dear!
I never will sing to a sensitive thing
That shatters a song with a sneer!"

855

The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."
Of course 'twas a sensible thing to do;
For Little Peetookle is spared the strain
Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
Arthur Macy.

NONSENSE VERSES

THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE

I'D Never Dare to Walk across
A Bridge I Could Not See;
For Quite afraid of Falling off,
I fear that I Should Be!

THE LAZY ROOF

THE Roof it has a Lazy Time

A-lying in the Sun;

The Walls they have to Hold Him Up;
They do Not Have Much Fun!

MY FEET

My feet, they haul me Round the House,
They Hoist me up the Stairs;

I only have to Steer them and

They Ride me Everywheres.

Gelett Burgess.

SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE

THE Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon,

And wistfully gazed on the sea

Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune
To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee."

The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek

Was fitfully wafted afar

To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek With the pulverized rays of a star.

The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig,
And his heart it grew heavy as lead

As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig
On the opposite side of his head;

And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill
Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies
To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill
To pick the tears out of his eyes.

The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance;
And the Squidjum hid under a tub

As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance

With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub!

And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died, "My fate there is none to bewail!"

While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide With a long piece of crape to her tail.

James Whitcomb Riley.

THE MAN IN THE MOON

SAID the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon,

"My!

Sakes!

What a lot o' mistakes

Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon
But people that's been up to see him like Me,
And calls on him frequent and intimutly,

The Man in the Moon

Might drop a few hints that would interest you

Clean!

Through!

If you wanted 'em to

Some actual facts that might interest you!

"O the Man in the Moon has a crick in his back Whee!

Whimm!

Ain't you sorry for him?

And a mole on his nose that is purple and black;
And his eyes are so weak that they water and run
If he dares to dream even he looks at the sun,-
So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctor's advise-
My!

Eyes!

But isn't he wise

To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise?

"And the Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear

Whee!

Whing!

What a singular thing!

I know! but these facts are authentic, my dear,-
There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin,—
He calls it a dimple,—but dimples stick in,-

Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know!
Whang!

Ho!

Why certainly so!

It might be a dimple turned over, you know!

"And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee,

Gee!

Whizz!

What a pity that is!

857

And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be. So whenever he wants to go North he goes South,

And comes back with porridge crumbs all round his mouth,

And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan,

Whing!

Whann!

What a marvellous man!

What a very remarkably marvellous man!

"And the Man in the Moon," sighed the Raggedy Man, "Gits!

So!

Sullonesome, you know!

Up there by himself since creation began!-
That when I call on him and then come away,
He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay,—
Till-well, if it wasn't for Jimmy-cum-Jim,

Dadd!

Limb!

I'd go pardners with him!

Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!"

James Whitcomb Riley.

THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG

OUT on the margin of moonshine land,

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,
Out where the whing-whang loves to stand
Writing his name with his tail on the sand,
And wiping it out with his oogerish hand;
Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks?

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,
Or what is the sound the whing-whang seeks,
Crouching low by the winding creeks,
And holding his breath for weeks and weeks?
Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo

Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!
Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,
"Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings,
And bridal jewels of fangs and stings,

And she sits and as sadly and softly sings
As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings;
Tickle me, dear; tickle me here;

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

859

James Whitcomb Riley.

THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO

I

ON the Coast of Coromandel

Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,
One old jug without a handle,-

These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,

Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

II

Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,
""Tis the Lady Jingly Jones!
On that little heap of stones
Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!"
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.