Читать книгу Rhymes and Jingles - Mary Mapes Dodge - Страница 4

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Do not think the story

Of the giant-killer's glory

Is known and cherished only by yourselves,

O, my dears;

For his deeds so daring,

And his trick of scaring

All his foes, are quite familiar to the elves,

It appears.

In the starlight, tender—

In the moonlight's splendor

Do they gather and recount every deed,

It is said;

How he met a hornet,

Who was playing on a cornet,

Out of tune; and he slew him with a reed—

Slew him dead!

How, growing ever bolder,

With his reed upon his shoulder,

And an acorn-shield upon his little arm

Well equipped—

He sought a mighty giant,

Who was known as "Worm, the pliant,"

And after giving battle, fierce and warm,

Left him whipped.

How he saw a spider

With her victim, dead, inside her,

Told her, in a voice of fury, to begone

From his sight;

How he killed her when she'd risen

To her cruel, fatal prison,

And nobly freed her captives, so forlorn—

Gallant knight!

Ah, but the elves are proudest,

And ring his praises loudest,

When telling of a snail, grim and hoary,

In his mail.

With those fearful horns before him,

Jack gallantly upbore him,

And killed him with a thrust (to his glory)

In the tail!

List in the starlight, tender—

List in the moonlight's splendor—

For a whirring, like hurrahing, in the glen,

Far and near.

'Tis the elves who, looking back

To their giant-killer, Jack,

Tell his story to each other, funny men!

With a cheer.

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