The Project Gutenberg eBook of The giant, and other nonsense verse

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The giant, and other nonsense verse

Author: Albert W. Smith

Release date: January 11, 2026 [eBook #77672]

Language: English

Original publication: Ithaca: Andrus & Church, 1910

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77672

Credits: Tim Miller, Tom Trussel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIANT, AND OTHER NONSENSE VERSE ***

The Giant

AND

Other Nonsense Verse

BY

ALBERT W. SMITH

ANDRUS & CHURCH

ITHACA, N. Y.

1910

“The Giant,” the “Arctic Ball,” and “Funnyland,” in slightly different form, appeared originally in “The Ladies’ Home Journal,” and thanks are due to the editor for his kind permission to include them in this book.

Copyright, 1910

by Albert W. Smith.

Copyright, 1911

by Albert W. Smith.

To

Ruby

Alpheus

Dorothy

and

Ruth.

Contents:

THE GIANT

THE ARCTIC BALL

A TROPICAL AFTERNOON TEA

THE TIDES

NIGHT AND DAY

FUNNYLAND

A MARSH LYRIC

THE BOY AND THE BASILISK

RETRIBUTION

WHY THE SEA IS SALT

OVERDONE

THE WEST WIND

THE NORTH WIND

HOW IT HAPPENED

THE FIRST MIST

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

THE GIANT

There is a Giant in the world

Whose head is up so high,

He has to get down on his knees

To look up in the sky.

And when he feels the need of food,

He wades out in the sea

And fishes out a whale or two

Just right to fricassee.

Or if he’s near to Hindustan

He gathers up a few

Young elephants with jungle brush

For oriental stew.

And when he tires of earthly food

His diet, as a rule,

Consists of planets roasted well

And hung outside to cool.

He sends his wife to gather them;

She brings them on a tray;

For cream to make the planet sauce

She skims the Milky Way.

When Mrs. Giant cooks, the steam

Floats off across the sky

In clouds that drop the rain that keeps

The world from getting dry.

And sometimes when the clouds are dark,

The Giant gets his gun

And shoots it in their very midst—

Because he likes the fun.

But when the sky is clear all day,

Without a cloud in sight,

The Giant finds his supper cold

When he gets home at night.

Whenever Mrs. Giant goes

To tidy up the room,

She picks a comet ’cause its tail

Is handy for a broom.

The Giant drinks, to quench his thirst,

A whirling water-spout;

He gave up drinking mountain lakes

Lest he should have the gout.

He puts a forest in his pipe

When he’s inclined to smoke,

And lights his match upon the moon;

The moon can’t see the joke!

I think, my child, were you a moon,

’Way off in stellar space,

You’d feel put out if anyone

Scratched matches on your face!

The Giant dresses up sometimes

And goes to take a stroll;

And picks a little bunch of stars

To deck his buttonhole.

He’s mighty careful which he takes;

He knows the ones to shun;

He burned his fingers badly once

By fooling with the Sun.

And once in absent minded mood

He picked a nettle star;—

He ran a-yelling all the way

From Rome to Zanzibar!

The islands are his stepping-stones,

The continents his bed;

He slept on Greenland once and caught

A snuffle in his head.

He slides around the Arctic Pole;

And if he gets a chill

He goes and sits a month or two

In India or Brazil.

He caught his trousers on Cape Horn

And tore an awful slit;

He stayed in bed a season while

His wife embroidered it;

She fixed it with a patch of sky;

It didn’t show a bit!

When walking through a mountain land,

He sometimes stubs his toe;

The shock is called an earthquake by

The frightened folks below.

Our weather only comes about

Up to the Giant’s knees;

The rest of him sticks up above

As pleasant as you please.

So, when he wants to dust his shoes,

He only has to stand

A minute in the middle of

Some handy, windy land.

He saw the men who went to dig

The Panama Canal.

He slapped his knees and laughed until

He grew hysterical.

He could have finished that Canal

With half a dozen kicks;

But he had promised not to get

Mixed up in politics!

One night a great astronomer,

While gazing into space,

By chance looked through his telescope

Right in the Giant’s face.

He thought it was the moon until

The Giant winked his eye;—

The wise man never dared again

To search the starry sky.

We never see the Giant, for

On seeing us he flies,

Because he feels so ill at ease

And conscious of his size.

THE ARCTIC BALL

They gave a ball in the Arctic Zone,

And they danced on the frozen sea.

The North-wind blew on a big trombone,

And he played tunes that would melt a stone,

But none in a minor key;

For that would melt ice and lower the tone.

Imagine a ball in the Arctic Zone

On a melting, mushy sea!

An Arctic ball is a long, long thing,

For it’s dark for six months there.

They dance from Fall till early Spring,

The two-step, waltz and the Highland-fling,

Utterly free from care.

They eat ice-cream that they have to blow

To cool it off for it burns them so;

And they all drink liquified air.

The whalloping whales came floundering through

A hole in the icy floor;

And the Seals all came and the Caribou,

The old Musk-ox, and the Reindeer too

And many many more.

They all joined feet and flippers and fins

And danced ’round the Pole where the world begins,

With bark and bellow and roar.

When Boreas started an Irish reel

The Reindeer pricked up his ears;

And a thrill ran through him from antler to heel

Of longing to dance that he couldn’t conceal,

Although the most proper of deers.

So they scattered some sand in an open space

And gave him a hearty call;

And he sidestepped out with a rythmical pace,

And danced to the reel with the greatest of grace.

’Twas the finest thing at the ball!

An Iceberg waltzed with the Northern Light;

And she flushed and smiled and said:

“O, why, dear Berg, so cool tonight?

You give me a chill and a frosty fright,

Lest I catch a cold in my head.”

“I’m as warm as I dare to be, my sweet,

With dancing and love of you;

If I loved you more or should hurry my feet,

My blood would rise to a fever heat,

Fahrenheit thirty-two.

And then I’d melt and babble away,

From a tall iceberg to a big flat bay;

Melted for love of you.”

The Walrus danced with the Polar Bear,

But it wasn’t much for grace;

Their joints were rusty and out of repair:

But the Bear wore an icicle wreath in her hair,

And the Walrus a smiling face.

And the Chaperone said, behind her fan:

“They’re doing the best they possibly can,

And laughter is out of place!”

The North Pole listened and wondered why

He felt such a troublesome thrill;

Though he stood stock still as they all danced by,

It was sorely against his will.

But if he should move just the wink of an eye,

The world would wabble and things would fly

And the oceans would surely spill.

So he heaved a sigh and took a brace

And held himself in his proper place,

And “the old world wags on still.”

A TROPICAL AFTERNOON TEA

One afternoon when a mild monsoon

Blew over the tropical sea,

On the ocean strand of a sandy land

They gave a Tropical Tea.

O, O, who could foresee

All the beasts there would be at a Tropical Tea?

In a monsoony land,

With a Tropical Band.

O, who could foresee?

Every lady beast attended the feast

With the lady birds so fair;

But the Whale and the Eel were sure they would feel

Quite out of their element there.

O, O, think of an Eel!

With a squirming disgust that she couldn’t conceal!

Nothing wet but the tea,

Far away from the sea.

O, think of the Eel!

A truce for the day kept the beasts of prey

From eating a handy guest;

So the Tiger was there and the timid Hare,—

Though the Hare wasn’t quite at her best.

O, O, if the Hare wasn’t scared!

She would have gone lippetty home if she’d dared.

But she gave up the flight

And kept well out of sight.

O, wasn’t she scared!

The Zebra sneered when the Leopard appeared,

And said with a satisfied smile:

“In France they would not wear a dress with a spot

And stripes are the latest style.”

O, surely the Zebra forgot

That the Leopard’s unable to alter a spot;

Her critical tone

She’d have dropped if she’d known.

She surely forgot!

The Ostrich was dressed in her very best

With plumy wings outspread;

But the Paradise Bird said: “How absurd!

She hasn’t a plume for her head!”

O, O, it wasn’t polite!

The Ostrich felt sure that she looked like a fright.

She covered her head

In a handy sand-bed

Quite out of their sight.

The Chimpanzee sipped oolong tea

And simpered and nibbled a sweet;

And the Boa-constrictor would fain have kicked her,

But she hadn’t the requisite feet.

O, O, she wasn’t complete!

A twenty foot Boa without any feet;

If she’d had twenty three

What a kicker she’d be!

She wasn’t complete!

An Orang-outang came out and sang

Unembarrassed by the throng;

And they cried encore with a terrible roar

To her tropical, topical song.

SONG:

In the jungle dim and dusky,

A monkey lithe and husky

Was hanging by his long prehensile tail;

When he heard two men, preparing

An iron cage, declaring

That they’d learn the monkey lingo without fail.

O, O, wasn’t it fun!

He unhooked his tail and he started to run;

Every simian friend

To the dim jungle’s end

He told of the fun!

When at night the men were waiting

Safe behind the iron grating,

The monkeys came in crowds from every way,

And although it was exciting,

Yet the men inside were writing

All the things they thought they heard the monkeys say.

O, O, this is a lark!

Two men writing monkey talk down in the dark;

If they only could know

What we’re saying, O, O,

Then ’twould be a lark!

An Elephant rose with a cold in her nose

And she thought she would sing like a bird;

But the song went astray on the wearisome way

Through her trunk, and it never was heard.

O, O, she felt like a goose;

With a song in her soul that she couldn’t turn loose;

How she twisted and blew!

But it couldn’t get through.

O, what was the use!

A Crocodile with an afternoon smile

Sang a song that made them quail.

Her mouth opened wide and the sight inside

Gave point to her musical tale.

SONG:

A yacht came sailing up the Nile,

Sail away, sail away,

And the sight made every crocodile smile;

Smile away, smile away,

With a bubbly wake, through foam and spray,

Through Egypt’s land, it sailed away.

Alack-a-day!

The Sphinx was smiling all the while,

Smile away, smile away,

As the yacht came sailing up the Nile;

Sail away, sail away,

And she asked them a riddle that none could guess

So she swamped the yacht in a wink or less.

Alack-a-day!

Not a single person came to land;

Alack-a-day! Alack-a-day!

But crocodiles on every hand,

Smile away, smile away,

Said; “O, we wish that every day

A yacht would happen along this way!”

Alack-a-day!

And everyone stayed till the twilight shade

Dimmed the tropical afternoon.

And they all went away through the fading day,

By the moon through the mild Monsoon.

O, O, it was a lark!

They gossipped and stayed till the edge of the dark.

And some were afraid

And were sorry they’d stayed.

O, wasn’t it dark!

THE TIDES

The ocean had, in days of yore,

A very dirty, mussy shore

From Newfoundland to Singapore.

When mermaids wished to go to land,

To sit and sing upon the strand,

They had to flop through slimy sand.

When Neptune saw this, it befell,

He took his dolphin team and shell

And sped away across the swell.

He went to every sea and bay,

And gave his orders all the way

From Greenland’s rim to far Cathay;—

And now the tides rise up and roar,

And twice a day they wash the shore

From Newfoundland to Singapore;

And beaches lie all clean and fair,

Where mermaids sing and take the air

With tidy tails and streaming hair.

NIGHT AND DAY

Before Time started on his way

There was no changing night and day;

The sun stood still above Bombay.

And Bombay people had to hear

The constant clanging far and near

Of bells that called to noonday cheer.

They ate continuously, for when

They finished their dessert, why then

They started off with soup again.

One eats with pleasure and a jest

With time between meals to digest;

But constant eating spoils the zest.

About three thousand miles away

In all directions from Bombay

It was forever early day;

And people worked with might and main

Hoping for dinner time and fain

For night and rest, but all in vain.

A sandwich snatched, a wedge of pie,

A cat-nap stolen on the sly,

These were the only reasons why,

Since they could neither rest or play,

They didn’t stop in sheer dismay

And starve, dry up and blow away.

And further on for many a mile

The dawn held sway with rosy smile,

And yawning folks dressed all the while.

The rest of earth was brooded o’er

By endless night, and one grand snore

Swelled loud and long from shore to shore.

And folks would wake with start and sigh

And rub their eyes and wonder why

Dawn never tinged the eastern sky.[1]

The moon and stars were wan and pale

From overwork, the nightingale

Could only croak and hoarsely wail.

But ghosts might range abroad at will

Fearless of dawn and cock-crow shrill,

And waken folks with awful thrill.

Now Phoebus driving in his car

With winged steeds from star to star,

Passed by the earth and from afar

Beheld the weary human race;

He checked his horses for a space

And pondered with a serious face;

Then put his horses to the run

And when a long swift course was done

He hitched his wagon to the sun.

Since then the dusky night alway

Around the world has chased the day;

And we can work and rest and play.

[1]

Some critic now will surely say:—

“How could they think of dawn when they

Had never been where it was day?”

Their shiftless forbears may have pined

In dawn-land, and with debts behind

Have gone where they were hard to find.

So, gentle critic, be content.

This hope of dawn was surely sent

By atavistic accident.

FUNNYLAND

There’s an island ’way off in the seas

Where the babies all grow upon trees.

It’s the jolliest fun

To swing in the sun;

But they have to look out how they sneeze,

O, I tell you they’d better not sneeze!

They might break themselves off

With a sneeze or a cough

And tumble down flop on their knees.

When the clouds darken mountain and dale,

When the breeze freshens up to a gale,

There is screaming and dropping

And laughing and hopping;—

In fact little babies just hail.

They all lie on the ground in a pile,

And when people come, after a while,

They quickly pass by

The babies that cry,

And they pick up the babies that smile;—

O, they even take twins if they smile!

There’s a tree where the kitty-cats grow.

They hang by their tails in a row;

If they happen to fall,

They don’t mind it at all,

For they fall on their feet as you know.

There once was a puppy-dog tree

That people came miles just to see.

But the bark was so loud

That it scattered the crowd

And rattled the isles of the sea;

It frightened the King,

And the troublesome thing

Was cut down by a royal decree.

Whenever dogs grow now at all,

They are puggy and snarly and small;

They grow on a vine

Like a squash, and they whine

Although they can’t possibly fall.

Wherever an elephant grows,

He’s always hitched on by his nose;

And he just has to wait

Till his weight is so great

That his nose is stretched out to a hose;—

That accounts for his rubbery nose.

And sometimes, when something is wrong,

The elephant hitch is so strong

That he fails to get free

From the elephant tree

Till his nose is a hundred feet long.

So he buys a hose-cart

To trundle a part

Of his nose as he lumbers along.

Any sensible person should know

How giraffes are hitched on when they grow.

Their necks elongate

With increase of their weight

Till their feet touch the ground and they go.

When first a young donkey appears,

He hangs from the limb by his ears;

And he hangs till the day

When he first tries to bray—

O, the tree shakes him off when it hears!

And he runs away wagging his ears.

The birdies swim ’round in the sea,

With the wasp and the bungleing bee.

If you dangle a worm,

With a wiggley squirm,

You might catch a chick-a-dee-dee.

The fishes swim ’round in the sky,

With pollywogs woggleing by,

While frogs hop around

On the clouds to the sound

Of the song of the lobsters that fly.

A wonderful Funnyland sight

Is a mountain of very great height;

But you never could guess

What happens unless

You should be there on Saturday night.

When the sun in the west is aglow

The whole mountain rumbles, and lo,

It pours out a stream

Of assorted ice-cream

By the banks where the macaroons grow.

Then from city and country and town,

The children, of king and of clown,

All run with their spoons

And they pick macaroons

And they eat till they have to lie down.

But the thing that the children adore,

Is a mountain that stands by the shore,

With a cratery pot

Where molasses keeps hot

With trickles of taffy galore.

Sometimes it rains pop-corn at night;

And all of the kernels that light

On the mountain-top, pop,

And they hop, and they drop,

Till the top of the mountain is white;

And corn balls roll down

To the edge of the town,

While the children dance ’round with delight.

There’s a spring hidden deep in a glade,

Of most excellent pink lemonade.

It falls in a pool

All bubbly cool

From a babbling and brawling cascade;

And the children, each summery day

When they’re thirsty with rollicking play,

Go there and dip up

Lemonade in a cup

And drink till their buttons give ’way.

When Funnyland children have chills

And fever, or colicky ills,

They are not put to bed

To be poulticed and fed

On gruel and puckery pills.

When the Doctor comes in to advise,

He says, as he scowls and looks wise:

“You’ve been eating brown bread

And potatoes instead

Of good wholesome candies and pies.

I can tell by the look in your eye

That you’ve kept your feet constantly dry.

For a lassie or lad

It is best to be bad,

Don’t even be good on the sly.”

The Funnyland clerk of the weather

Doesn’t waste his time finding out whether

Tomorrow’ll be blowy

Or sunny or snowy;—

O, he’s wiser than that altogether.

He carefully studies the past

And runs up a flag on a mast,

So that people can see

If there’s going to be

A thunder storm week before last.

The hunters go forth to the lair

Of the Tiger with crimps in his hair.

And peppery snuff

Is the terrible stuff

That they shoot at the blundering Bear.

For lo, when they happen to spy

The bears that go wandering by,

They shoot off their gun

And, although the bears run,

They sneeze off their heads and they die.

But they never go hunting this way

For the Tiboons that live in the bay;

When they sneeze, O, the sound

Cracks the air, and the ground

Wabbles ’round in a terrible way.

So the King’s Grenadiers,

With wool in their ears,

Stand always in warlike array

On the edge of the sand

With a fan in each hand

To keep tickley dust from the bay;

So the Tiboons won’t sneeze

Shaking surf from the seas

And rattling the islands away.

The King goes forth daily at noon,

To parade with the knights of the moon;

And he’s grandly arrayed

In clothes that are made

From the skin of a raging Tiboon;

A roaring and ramping Tiboon.

There was only one man in the isles

Who was wily enough with his wiles

To capture this beast,

So that people could feast

And the King could keep up with the styles.

He stealthily crept to the bay

While the little Tiboons were at play,

And their parents were drowsing

Or quietly browsing.

(They can’t rage the whole of the day!)

The man waded quietly near

To the biggest Tiboon, from the rear,

And he tied a tin pail

To the end of his tail;

O, the Tiboon went crazy with fear;

His raging was awful to hear.

But he finally died

Of a twisted inside,—

Thus ended his ramping career.

The soldiers are never afraid

To march in a long cavalcade

To His Majesty’s park

To shoot at a mark

Or take part in a deadly parade;—

A boom-ta-rah-rahing parade.

When the band blows a blare

To crack open the air,

O, the soldiers are never afraid.

For years, through the King’s oversight,

They had never been called out to fight;

And they thirsted for gore,

(Other people’s) and swore

That they languished to fight for the right.

One day the King happened to spy

A ship sailing by in the sky;

And, I grieve to relate,

Made a face at the Mate,

And the Mate was insulted thereby;

In fact “he had blood in his eye.”

So he signalled the Chief Engineer

To check the ship’s raging career,

And the anchor dropped down

And caught on the Town,

While the children all trembled with fear,—

A lovely, blood-curdling fear!

Then the best parachute was prepared,

And the Mate, while the people all stared,

Came zigzagging down

In the midst of the town;

But the King didn’t look a bit scared.

(Though I think that he would if he’d dared.)

The face of the furious Mate

Was covered with whiskers and hate;

“The people,” said he,

“Who make faces at me

All meet with a horrible fate,—

A midnighty, church-yardy fate.”

“Surrender your Funnyland isle!

Surrender your treasury pile!

Surrender to me!”

But the King said, said he,

“Excuse me dear Sir, if I smile!”

(O, his smile could be seen for a mile!)

When the speaking and smiling were done

The army came up at a run.

O, the Mate was alarmed,

For each soldier was armed

With a kind of sky-rocketty gun.

They drew up in battle array

All loaded and primed for the fray.

O, the racket was dire

At the order to fire,

And the Mate—why he fainted away.

(’Twas the one way of getting away.)

Then there came a most terrible crash,

Such as big things make, going to smash;

For the ship struck the ground,

And the air all around

Was filled up with splinters and trash,

Dust, kindling-wood, oakum and hash.

(The Captain and crew were the hash.)

The Mate knew his chances were slim,

But he never suspected how grim

Was his oncoming fate.

He was destined to wait

On the King who’d made faces at him,—

Disrespectful, wry faces at him!

If you ever should sail in the air

As mate of a ship, O, beware!

If a King in full view

Should make faces at you,

Don’t suffer your anger to flare;—

Remember this tragic affair!

The Funnyland chimneys are all

So large and exceedingly tall,

That Santa Claus shook

In his shoes when he took

A look at the distance to fall;

Then he altered his plan

Like a wise little man

And didn’t climb chimneys at all.

But in dooryards of every degree

He planted a curious tree;

And now every year

When Christmas is near

The fruit is a wonder to see.

There are dollies and trolleys and rows

Of silky and satiny clothes;

And candles and strings

Of tinsel, and rings

For the fingers and bells for the toes.

There are serpents and sugary hearts;

Tin soldiers and cinnamon tarts;

While bicycles grow

On the branches below

With wagons and wabbly carts.

There are ducks that you squeeze and they squawk;

And green polly-parrots that talk;

And filberts and figs,

And cottony pigs

That you pull by a string and they walk.

On Christmas Eve children go out

To the Santa Claus tree with a shout,

And put baskets below

The things that they know

That they couldn’t be happy without.

Then Santa Claus comes in the night

When there isn’t a person in sight;

And he chuckles with glee

As he climbs every tree

And shakes it with all of his might.

Things rustle and rattle and flop,

And loosen and tumble and drop,

Till the children awake

With the noise that they make

And the baskets are full to the top.

Just think of the wide-open eyes

Of children awaiting surprise!

They tumble and twist

And sit up and insist

That the sun has forgotten to rise.

Then all, when the windows grow gray,

Run out in their bedtime array,

And the frolic begins;—

They would like to be twins

To double the joy of the day.

When slanting moonbeams touch the hills,

And shadows fill the glen;

When people all are fast asleep,

The little maids and men

From Fairyland come sliding down

The moonbeams in a row,

With tuneful laugh and merry jest

And faces all aglow;

As children in the winter lands

Toboggan on the snow.

The moonlight gleams on gauzy wings

And glints from precious stones;

And caps are crowned with little bells

With silvery tinkling tones,

Each Fairy wears a cob-web dress,

And through this filmy guise

The mischief shows in every move

And sparkles in their eyes.

And some with bags of happy dreams

Go softly stealing where

The island children lie asleep,

And while they’re unaware

Untie the bags, and lo, the doors

Of wonderland stand wide!

I hope, my child, you’ve been sometimes

Where dream-bags were untied.

The crooked gnomes, with peaked hats

And faces ill to see,

Come swiftly riding night-mares too,

And with an elfish glee

They gallop over children who

Ate fruitcake after tea.

I hope, my child, you do not know

About the things they see.

One fairy stole a pepper-box

And flew above the bay,

And scattered clouds of pepper where

The sleeping Tiboons lay.

The Tiboons sneezed, the islands shook,

And chimneys tumbled down.

The people thought a foe had come

To cannonade the town.

The King got up and trembled so

He joggled off his crown.

My child, if Tiboons chance to live

In any neighboring bay,

You’d better lock the pepper up

Whenever you’re away.

One night with fairy mandolins

They played such ’witching strains,

A kind of dancing madness ran

Through every hearer’s veins;

The players passed the Palace Gate;

The King and Queen and all

The people of the household came

A-dancing through the hall.

They hadn’t time to don their dress

Who heard the music’s call.

They danced the streets, and all who heard

The music lilt along,

Came tripping lightly at the sound

To join the merry throng;

Till all the people in the isle,

In sleeping clothes arrayed,

Were dancing in the moonlight night

In motley masquerade.

They danced and whirled beside the bay

Where Tiboons by the score,

Who’d heard the merry mandolins,

Were skipping on the shore.

One Tiboon gave his flipper to

His Majesty the King,

And there together on the sand

They “cut a pigeon-wing.”

The Fairies laughed until they cried,

’Twas such a funny thing!

At dawn the Fairies flew away;

The dancing stopped—ah me!

The weariness and burning shame

Were very sad to see.

A sort of Sunday quiet filled

The isle from shore to shore;

But Fairyland resounded with

A most hilarious roar.

My child, when slanting moonbeams fall

Around your house, beware,

Lest Fairies with their mandolins

Should catch you unaware.

A MARSH LYRIC

With humble apologies to the Shade of Edward Lear.

He went to hunt on the marsh, he did;

A middle-aged man was he;

In spite of all his friends could say,

On a foggy morn of a Winter’s day

To the mushy marsh went he.

And everyone said who saw him go;

“O, he’ll surely stick in the slough below,

For the mud is deep and the tide is strong

And happen what may it’s extremely wrong

For a man of forty three.”

Slime and slough, slime and slough,

In the marsh where the wild ducks swim;

Their heads are green and their bills are blue

But there wasn’t a duck for him!

The water came into his boots, it did;

The water and mud came in;

But he called aloud, “My boots will do

To hold my feet and the water too,”

As he held his chattering chin.

And he found a fish and a soft-shell clam

And he said: “How extremely wise I am;

Though the marsh is broad and the sloughs are long,

I shall never think I was rash or wrong

To come where the fog blows in.”

Slime and slough, slime and slough,

In the marsh where the wild ducks swim;

Their heads are green and their bills are blue

But there wasn’t a duck for him!

He went to the shore of the bay, he did

To the shore where the tules grow;

And he shot at a hawk and a brown marsh-owl,

And a rail and a teal and a feathery fowl

Whose name he didn’t know.

He shot at a snipe and a wild goose gray,

And a spoonbill duck that didn’t stay,

And a fat mud-hen and a butter-ball;

And he shot three times at a heron tall,

And a pelican big and slow.

Slime and slough, slime and slough,

In the marsh where the wild ducks swim;

Their heads are green and their bills are blue

But there wasn’t a duck for him!

The birds all laughed out loud, they did;

To see the hunter there;

And they said: “It’s just no end of fun

When a middle-aged man with a great big gun

Shoots ragged holes in the air.”

And the wild gray goose kept laughing till

The tears in streams ran down his bill;

For there’s fun so funny, the ducks agree

That even the biggest goose can see;

But the hunter was unaware.

Slime and slough, slime and slough,

In the marsh where the wild ducks swim;

Their heads are green and their bills are blue

But there wasn’t a duck for him!

Toward night the man came back, he did,

With movements sad and slow.

And they said: “He’s been to the briny bay;

And he wasn’t drowned in the usual way;

But he hasn’t a bird to show.”

They gave him toast and some tule tea,

And drank long life that they couldn’t foresee;

And everyone said: “Some other day

We too will hunt by the foggy bay

Where the slimy sloughs o’erflow.”

Slime and slough, slime and slough,

In the marsh where the wild ducks swim;

Their heads are green and their bills are blue

But there wasn’t a duck for him!

THE BOY AND THE BASILISK

Of all the fearsome, ugly things

With arms or legs or fins or wings,

That haunt the earth or seas or skies,

The Basilisk with fiery eyes

For fearsomeness took every prize.

His home, within a barren glen,

Was shunned by beasts and birds and men.

It didn’t matter; what cared he

For senseless sociability.

Daily the Basilisk would take

A trip down to a boiling lake

Of brimstone which he drank until

He had to crawl with care or spill.

He thought hot brimstone just the thing

With small blue flames for garnishing.

He swallowed it without a wink;

It served him both for food and drink.

Then stretched upon the blistering shore

He slept, and lo, a sulphurous snore

Resounded loud and long and slow

From Zululand to Borneo.

None knew who heard this fearsome roar

Of what the future held in store.

When in his most goodnatured mood,

He basked content and filled with food,

His mildest glance would kill a tree,

Or split a rock or boil the sea.

’Twere wisdom then to shun his path

If he were roused to righteous wrath.

The Imp who kept the boiling lake

Supplied with sulphur, by mistake

Sent all the stock another way;

The surface settled every day;

And then—the lake went wholly dry.

It was a fearful hungry cry

With which, in no placating mood,

The Basilisk set out for food.

With anxious haste he left the glen

And sought the homes of beasts and men;

For, lacking brimstone, he could stand

’Most any food that came to hand.

In fact he could, as you can guess,

Stand anything but emptyness.

For forty feet to left and right

He blasted everything in sight.

He spied upon a distant steep

A peaceful flock of grazing sheep.

He hustled up, this monster grim,

For mutton was the meat for him!

As he approached with hungry gaze,

Each sheep burned up with sulphurous blaze;

And coming to the place he found

Just piles of ashes on the ground.

Now when a monster seeking food

Finds ashes, the resulting mood

Is apt to be a thing to dread;

In fact he turned a fiery red.

He would have turned white hot but he

Feared burning up spontaneously.

He could have raged and gnashed his jaws;

He could have scratched with all his claws;

He had a long and mighty tail,

He could have lashed it like a flail.

What was the use, no thing in sight

Was left whereon to vent his spite.

Why should he make a grand-stand play

With grand-stands all so far away?

The Basilisk was not too dense

To temper rage with common sense.

He reasoned thus: “Since I destroy

By gazing, things I’d fain enjoy,

The one conclusion that I find

Is—I must starve or go it blind.”

He shut his eyelids with a snap

And started out across the map.

He gobbled here a flock of sheep,

And there he found some cows asleep.

By working overtime he could

Obtain a modest livlihood.

Sometimes he made a meal of men,

He could get on with eight or ten.

A load of wheat, a bale of hay,

A bunch of bushes by the way,

All these sufficed to partly fill

The need of his digestive mill.

Sometimes when hunger would abate

From fullness, he would meditate;

And burning curiosity

Would fill his bosom full, for he

Was fain to see the landscape where

He sought his humble daily fare.

But when he chanced to crack his eye

All things in sight would blaze and fry;

And thus he failed of his desire

To see the country free from fire.

And also, when he tried to see,

No man in range had time to flee.

Perhaps ’twere better just to burn

And have one’s ashes in an urn,

Than to be gobbled up and risk

One’s self inside the Basilisk.

This Monster with his hungry wrath

Left death and ruin in his path;

And as he went on pasturing,

He neared the palace of the King.

The King had heard how, far away,

The Basilisk made disarray

By skuffing up the landscape’s face

And swallowing the populace.

If this continued, it was plain

He’d have no reason left to reign.

Though far above the common mob,

He didn’t like to lose his job.

’Twas now a far more serious thing,

The populace might lose their King!

So he sent out a hurry call;

The Council hustled to the hall,

And talked and talked and talked some more;

And then—a Basiliskian roar

Reverberated near and far;

It made the palace windows jar!

Then silence fell and everyone

Forgot to talk and wished to run.

(’Tis hoped the reader won’t mind this

Irrelevant parenthesis.

Each King or Queen or Potentate

Or man who runs a town or state,

Should have a Basilisk to stalk

Around the place for stopping talk.)

Responding to the King’s command,

A man whose voice could drown a band,

Came up and stood before the throne.

The King passed out his megaphone

And said: “Go forth by every way

Unto my kingdom’s bound and say,

‘Hear ye, hear ye, the King declares

That he who kills this beast or scares

His hungry ugliness away

To lands where he’ll be sure to stay,

Shall be a knight and have a key

That fits the royal treasury.’”

The man went forth straightway and tried

His voice upon the countryside.

The Basilisk, in great surprise,

Woke up and almost blinked his eyes;

He wished so much to see who kept

This racket going while he slept.

At last before he noticed it,

His eyelids opened just a slit;

A little blaze, a little whir—

The King had lost his messenger!

“Alas the day!” bewailed the King,

“I see my finish in this thing.

The Council can convene no more

For fear the Basilisk may roar.

The soldiers are of no avail;

You can’t expect them not to quail

When thinking of the awful risk

In war against the Basilisk.”

Just then, a half grown Boy alone

Came in and walked up to the throne,

And said: “Your Majesty, I heard

Your proclamation. I am stirred

To undertake to overwhelm

The beast that now despoils the realm.”

The King considered for a while

And raised his hand to hide a smile.

But though His Royal Highness smiled,

’Most any plan however wild,

Seemed in this dire emergency

Worth trying; therefore a decree

Went forth at once to authorize

This Boy’s unusual enterprise.

“Farewell, my Boy,” called out the King,

“And may you overcome the thing!”

“Prepare” said he, “a burial urn

To hold this youth on his return.”

The Boy took neither bow nor spear,

Nor any other warlike gear.

A basket, broom and tin dustpan

Were carried by a serving man.

Two others carried on before

A mirror large as any door.

Thus they went forth along the way

Frequented by this beast of prey.

With mirror set and polished clear,

The party waited in the rear.

The Monster came; they could not see,

But hearing made them wish to flee.

He blindly stumbled up before

The mirror; then he heard a roar;

He stopped; his eyelids slowly raised;

His eyes, uncovered, fairly blazed;

He saw himself; he winked—too late!

His mirrored glance had sealed his fate.

A great black smoke, a flame, a boom,

Some ashes swept up with a broom!

The fearsome Basilisk had died,

Against his will, by suicide.

His ashes occupied the urn

Prepared against the Boy’s return.

And when the Boy grew up he chose

The Princess for his bride and rose

To occupy the throne in state

When Basilisks were out of date.

RETRIBUTION

Cupid tired of the twang

Of his bow-string said;

“I will try a boomerang

In the arrow’s stead.”

Pliant to his cunning art

Far the weapon whirled;

Touched a throbbing human heart;

Changed its little world.

Boomerangs come back, and this

Hit the careless elf;

Lo, into love’s baleful bliss

Cupid fell himself.

WHY THE SEA IS SALT

AN OLD STORY.

Long ago the water was fresh that now is salt in the seven seas.

Once on a time upon a moor

There lived a man who grew so poor

That though he toiled with all his might

From early morn till late at night,

He found it harder every day

To keep the hunger wolf away.

One Christmas eve in deep despair

He found the cupboards all were bare.

His wife and children hungry-eyed

Their dumb reproaches strove to hide;

But all in vain, their deep distress

Caused him to groan in helplessness.

All hopelessly he turned about

To seek what fate might hand him out.

His old godmother years ago

Had helped him when his funds were low;

But she had been for many a day

Godmothering so far away,

That thoughtlessly she’d failed to heed

This godson’s present, direful need.

But now by chance with beaming smile

She met him e’er he’d gone a mile.

She said, “Come, shorten up your face;

The world’s a very pleasant place!”

Alas, her cheer could not avail;

He told her all his woeful tale.

She brought out from her ample cloak

A side of bacon brown with smoke,

And said, “Take this and keep on straight

Until you reach an iron gate;

It is the gate of hell—repress

Your tendency to nervousness,

The Devil never would admit

A man like you into the pit;

But with the bacon you can go

Into the anteroom of woe.

Now everybody knows full well

That bacon’s very scarce in hell;

And any of the Devil’s kind

Would sell his soul for bacon rind.[2]

Just look behind the entrance door;

You’ll see a mill upon the floor.

Don’t come away from there until

You trade that bacon for the mill.”

And so it happened in detail;

The man’s persistence did prevail;

He took the mill with him, while hell

Was filled with frying bacon smell.

The man’s godmother made him stay

A minute on his homeward way,

That he might gain the needed skill

To operate the magic mill.

With hands above the mill outspread

She bade him listen well and said:—

“Grind, mill grind

The thing that’s in my mind;

Grind, mill grind.”

Round went the mill, a “coach and four”

Stood ready with an open door.

“Stay, mill stay,

No more I pray,

Stay, mill stay.”

So said the dame; and lo, the mill

Stopped instantly and stood stock still.

(Imagine how ’twould be today

If she had let it grind away!)

The man turned round with thankful pride

To ask the dame to have a ride;

But she had vanished; with a thrill

He lifted up the precious mill,

Stepped in the coach and banged the door

As if he’d done it oft before.

(He took with grace, like you or me,

An unaccustomed luxury.)

He reached his home and bolted in;

The mill ground with a merry din,

A table, chairs, and linen laid

By butler and a serving maid;

A shining set of silver plate,

And food and drink enough to sate

A hungry family, and then—

The mill was asked to grind again.

’Twas Christmas eve and all with glee

Asked of the mill a Christmas tree.

Then for each happy, weary head

It ground a grateful downy bed;

And then, ah me, such restful sleep!

For sweet and pleasant dreams too deep.

But one small daughter woke in fright,

(I’m sure her supper wasn’t light.)

And while she lay there scared and still,

She said the rhyme to start the mill.

Now nightmares of most every kind

Just then filled up her little mind.

The mill began and from its spout

Assorted nightmares galloped out.

They kept on coming out until

The father woke and stopped the mill.

Alas, the nightmares still were there,

Neighing and stamping everywhere.

The man called on the mill to grind

A driver of the nightmare kind;

And when one came he stopped the mill.

The driver drove the nightmares till

There wasn’t one that you could find;

And as he followed on behind

He cracked his whip with leathern thong

And drove them back where they belong.

So quiet was restored and then

They all went back to sleep again.

The next day saw a busy mill;

It ground a mansion on a hill,

With all things else they could require

To make the land of heart’s desire.

Then, since the man was wise, behold,

It ground the cellars full of gold.

And then the mill was put away

And never turned for many a day.

A Captain of a freighting ship,

Who sailed with salt, trip after trip,

Heard of the magic mill; said he,

“I’d never have to sail the sea

If I could get that mill, ah well,

I’ll ask the man if he will sell.”

“I’d never sell the mill,” said he,

“I’ll give it to you willingly.”

The Captain scarce could trust his ears;

For he had had the gravest fears

That mills like this would come so high

That he could never hope to buy.

In haste he took the mill away;

He feared that if he made delay

The man might chance to change his mind.

He’d learned the rhyme to make it grind,

But his mad haste would not permit

His learning how to make it quit.

He reached the ship and sailed away;

And when they passed beyond the bay

He set the mill—the story’s told—

Where hatches opened to the hold.

Then said the rhyme to make it grind

While only salt was in his mind.

The salt streamed forth, the Captain smiled;

Not very long was he beguiled;

The hold was filled up to the top;

The Captain told the mill to stop.

It ground right on without a check;

The salt was piling on the deck.

His sword in anger then he drew

And cut the fiendish thing in two.

Each half kept grinding more and more;

The salt came faster than before.

It sank the ship and all were drowned;

But still the mill keeps turning ’round

And grinding salt; so that must be

The way the salt came in the sea.

[2]

The critics here will stop and tell

How devils haven’t souls to sell.

OVERDONE

Time was old and on his way

Slowly toiled; it seemed the day

Ne’er would end; it seemed the Sun

Crawled the course he used to run.

But Love came, and when I showed

How Time lagged, he took a goad,

With its sharpened point of steel

Touched old Time upon his heel.

The laggard urged the tardy Sun

And like a boy began to run.

Stay, old Time, I pray thee stay!

Why this haste? Why make the day

All too short? Why make the Sun

Fly the course he used to run?

THE WEST WIND

The King and Queen of the Esquimaux

Came forth from the royal palace to go

On a ringing sledge with a great dog team

’Neath the clear still stars and the fitful gleam

Of the northern lights, on a long night ride

To the Pole and back, for the Queen was a bride,

And this was their wedding tour, heigh-ho!

For the ride of the royal Esquimaux!

The King was proud and the Queen was fair,

Though you wouldn’t have known it had you been there;

For they wore white fur from top to toe,

And you couldn’t tell t’other from which although

The King felt taller, though ’twas hard to see,

While the Queen was taller—horizontally.

At any rate when ready to ride

The King couldn’t reach round his royal bride.

The dogs were eager, they set them free;

They flew over snow and the frozen sea;

And the breath of the dogs and the King and Queen

Like little plumes in the cold so keen

Turned to frosty flakes that twinkled bright.

The rosy glow from the northern light

Grew pale and wan in the snapping cold;

But the dogs raced on for the King was bold.

On the cold white earth, ’neath the cold, cold sky

From the frozen sea to the glaciers high,

There wasn’t a living, breathing thing

Save the racing dogs and the Queen and King.

The cooling Queen, in esquimau,

Said, “Dear, how far are we to go?”

The King’s teeth chattered but he managed to say,

“I have vowed on this our wedding day

To show my bride how the world turns ’round,

And so, my dearest, we are bound

For the cold north pole—” I regret to say

That she broke in here in a certain way

That isn’t confined, as some folks know,

To the land of ice and the Esquimaux.

“Of course,” said she, “I’d love to go

To the ends of the earth with you, but O,

I would never dare to go in sight

Of the old north pole on such a night.”

Now the King was young and the King was bold,

And also newly married, behold!

He cracked his whip; with right good will

The dogs flew northward faster still.

But though this was his wedding day,

The King expected the Queen to say

A word or two of protest—no,

Not a word was heard from her although

Against her will she was hurried away;

So he turned—imagine his deep dismay,

She was white and still and frozen, alack!

The King saw why she didn’t talk back.

Now whatever the King was, he wasn’t slow;

He yelled the esquimau word for “whoa.”

They stopped and turned and the cracking whip

Urged the dogs due south at a good round clip.

Said the King, “O, Zephyrus, come and blow,”

(He was talking still in esquimau)

“Blow north; I know that you like best

To fan warm lands from the warm, far west,

But just for once do come and blow

And melt Jack Frost, my family foe;

And thaw my Queen, it’s surely plain

That a frozen Queen can’t help me to reign!”

And Zephyrus heard and softly blew,

And Jack Frost heard the sound and knew

The time had come for him to flee;

And he fled far north to the frozen sea.

The stars grew soft and the floating frost

Was turned to mist, and the Queen had lost

Her death-like pallor; a pink flush rose

To her cheeks and—alas—to her little flat nose.

Her eyelids fluttered and opened and then

She began the unfinished discussion again.

She looked at the King and said, “I’m bound

That I never shall see how the world turns round.”

And she didn’t. The King from that day forth

When he took her to drive never dared to turn north.

Alas, when they came to their palace of ice,

They found it a puddle that didn’t look nice;

For well-meaning Zephyrus just didn’t know

That enough is enough when they ask you to blow.

So the King and Queen spent more than a year

In a rented tent, while an engineer

And an architect, at a very high price,

Built a brand-new palace of brand-new ice.

And there they lived and, as you’ll foresee,

Were just as happy as happy could be.

But Zephyrus, as his wife fortold,

Came home with a very serious cold;

And though he improved, yet even today,

When he blows through a pine tree on his way,

He wheezes asthmatically all the way through.

Just listen some time and you’ll find this true.

THE NORTH WIND

Long years ago and far away,

One very sunny, summer day,

In tropic lands, one special spot

Was very, very, very hot.

A King lay in the sweltering shade,

While crowds of dusky slaves arrayed

In almost nothing, tried to keep

His Highness cool enough to sleep.

Though fans were waved to stir the air,

Though fountains tinkled everywhere,

Though every noisy sound was stilled,

Though sweet and cooling odors filled

The air, though lulled was every sense,

The King was far from somnolence.

“Descend,” said he, “O, drowsy god;

Vouchsafe at least to let me nod.”

His prayer was vain, the god ’twas clear,

Was out or did not care to hear.

In desperation then the King

Called up a slave and bade him bring

Young Boreas, a big, fat fool,

And said, “Why don’t you make it cool?”

Now Boreas knew of just one way

To cool things off, for every day

With mighty power of cheek and lung

He blew his soup to save his tongue.

And so responding to the King

He ’gan to blow like anything.

The sunshine paled, an icy chill

Came over all, and plain and hill

Were frosted white; in sound repose

The King slept; what is more he froze.

Still Boreas blew and blew until

There was no sound except the shrill

Sound of his blowing; all in sight

Was silenced by the frosty blight.

He stopped, lo, all the land was dead;

In terror at his deed he fled,

Nor stopped for flood nor stick nor stone

Until he reached the arctic zone.

And there he dwells; alas, we know

That he remembers how to blow.

HOW IT HAPPENED

Amidst fair gardens long ago

Beneath a changing sky,

There stood a castle, while below

A stream flowed slowly by.

A goodly man of high degree

Lived with his lady there;

And time and fate had brought them three

Fair sons with joy and care.

These boys played by the river’s rim;

Alas one autumn day

It chanced while none was watching him

The youngest son at play

Fell in a deep and muddy pool;

The yells that did resound

Would make it clear to any fool

That someone might be drowned.

The father grabbed a handy hook

And ran his best; before

He reached the pool, the colored cook

Had brought the boy to shore.

The father held him downside up,

And rolled him round and round;

He yelled—joy filled the father’s cup—

He couldn’t yell if drowned.

A joyful spanking, then a bath,

Dry clothes; when he came through,

Though deeply stirred to rosy wrath,

He seemed as good as new.

The father pondered long—then sent

A note to Zeus which said;

“In general the government

Has had an honest head.

But ’gainst one thing I now protest;

The waters everywhere

In north and south and east and west

Are left completely bare.”

Great Zeus had been in politics

For years and years and years;

His term approached its close, and kicks

Like this aroused his fears

That reelection now might fail.

He told Jack Frost to plan

Whatever measure might avail

To satisfy the man.

And so Jack Frost invented ice,

And spread it clear and thin

Upon the waters; this device

Kept folks from falling in.

Alas, he did not dare to go

Far in the temperate zone;

The warm South Wind, his bitter foe,

Might catch him there alone.

And now when Spring comes back in May,

With robins in her train,

Jack Frost, the coward, flees away

And waits for Winter’s reign.

The ice without his constant care,

Grown thin and weak and brown,

Runs off and leaves the water bare,

And anyone may drown.

THE FIRST MIST

Once Hermes paused in arrowy flight

And while he hovered to alight,

Beheld a winsome mortal maid;

With other maids she danced and played;

They all were fair; he thought this one

The fairest thing beneath the sun.

Then Hermes, like a golden gleam,

Darted and dropped beside a stream;

He called up from the water clear

A naiad; in her dripping ear

He whispered long and low, while she

Nodded and chuckled pleasantly.

She waved her hand; he flew away;

A mist formed ’round the maids at play.

Then flying Hermes did invade

The thickening mist and kissed the maid,

And flew reluctantly away

With sighs and smiles; (for many a day

Olympian letters went astray.)

The other maidens midst the mist,

Where they stood silently unkissed,

Saw nothing though they heard a sound

Like rose leaves falling on the ground.

The mist grew thin that had concealed

The startled maid; she stood revealed

With conscious blush and just below

A budding branch of mistletoe.

And so the whole world came to know

Of mist and maids and mistletoe.

Transcriber’s Note:

Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have been corrected in this version, but minor inconsistencies and archaic forms have been retained as printed.

Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end of their respective poems in this version.

A table of contents has been added to this version

Two instances of a doubled word has been changed to single:

In The Boy and the Basilisk: the the to the

In Why the Sea is Salt: every every to every

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIANT, AND OTHER NONSENSE VERSE ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg

Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516, Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

The Giant

THE GIANT

THE ARCTIC BALL

A TROPICAL AFTERNOON TEA

THE TIDES

NIGHT AND DAY

FUNNYLAND

A MARSH LYRIC

THE BOY AND THE BASILISK

RETRIBUTION

WHY THE SEA IS SALT

OVERDONE

THE WEST WIND

THE NORTH WIND

HOW IT HAPPENED

THE FIRST MIST

Transcriber’s Note:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE