The Legend of the Lily

Once a Tiger for a freak,Fell in loveWith a Lily, pure and meekAnd as timid, white, and weakAs a dove.Yet withal a wee bit chilly,Just enough the Tiger’s sillyPride to pique.

By and by the Lily cold,Felt the charm;Learned, tho’ dreadful to behold,That the Tiger, fierce and bold,Meant no harm.And she smiled upon him shyly,Till at length the Tiger wilyWas consoled.

So in time the Beauty grewTo adoreThe Royal Beast who came to woo,Loved him for his golden hue--For his roar;All for him with blushes burning,To a Tiger-lily turning,Golden too.

But alas, the luckless LilyLoved in vain;For a painted daffodillyCame between them, and the Lily,Pale with pain,In a dark pool, drooped and pining,Drowned herself, and rose a shiningWater-lily.

A child at school who fails to passExamination in his classOf Natural History will beSo shaky in Zoölogy,That, should he ever chance to goTo foreign parts, he scarce will knowThe common Mus RidiculusFrom Felis or Caniculus.And what of boys and girls is trueApplies to other creatures, too,As you will cheerfully admitWhen once I’ve illustrated it.

Once on a time a young Giraffe(Who when at school devoured the chaff,And trampled underneath his feetThe golden grains of Learning’s wheat)Upon his travels chanced to seeA Python hanging from a tree,A thing he’d never met before.All neck it seemed and nothing more;And, stranger still, it was bestrownWith pretty spots much like his own.“Well, well! I’ve often heard,” he said,“Of foolish folk who lose their head;But really it’s a funnier jokeTo meet a head that’s lost its folk.

“Dear me! Ha! ha! It makes me laugh.Where has he left his other half?If he could find it he would beA really fine Giraffe, like me.”

The Python, waking with a hiss,Exclaimed, “What kind of snake is this?Your spots are really very fine,Almost as good in fact as mine,But with those legs I fail to seeHow you can coil about a tree.Take away half, and you would makeA very decent sort of snake--Almost as fine a snake as I;Indeed, it’s not too late to try.”

A something in the Python’s eyeTold the Giraffe ’t was best to fly,Omitting all formality.And afterward, when safe at home,He wrote a very learned tome,Called, “What I Saw beyond the Foam.”Said he, “The strangest thing one seesIs a Giraffe who hangs from trees,And has--(right here the author begsTo state a fact) and has no legs!”

The book made a tremendous hit.The public all devoured it,Save one, who, minding how he missedDevouring the author--hissed.

A dark old Raven lived in a tree,With a little Tree-frog for company,

In the midst of a forest so thick with treesOnly thin people could walk with ease.

Yet though the forest was dank and dark,The little Tree-frog was gay as a lark;

He piped and trilled the livelong day,While the Raven was just the other way:

He grumbled and croaked from morn till night,And nothing in all the world was right.

The moon was too pale, or the sun too bright;The sky was too blue, or the snow too white;

The thrushes too gay, or the owls too glum;And the squirrels--well, they were too squirrelsome.

And as for the trees, why did they growIn a wood, of all places?--he’d like to know.

A wood is so dark and unhealthy, too,For trees; and besides, they obstruct the view.

And so it went on from morn till night:The Tree-frog piping with pure delight,

And the Raven croaking with all his mightThat nothing in all the world was right.

Well, in this same wood, it chanced one dayThe enchanter Merlin lost his way;

And stopping to rest ’neath the very treeWhere the Raven and Tree-frog were taking their tea,

He divined of a sudden, by magic lore,A thing I forgot to mention before:

That the forest and all that therein did dwellOwed their present shape to an ancient spell.

Now a spell, though a tiresome job to make,Is the easiest thing in the world to break,

When once you know how to perform the trick,As Merlin did. Waving his magic stick,

He cried, “Let this forest and everything in itTake its former shape!” When lo! in a minute,

In place of the Raven, a stern old sageAll robed in black and all bent with age;

And where the little Tree-frog had beenSat a goodly youth all dressed in green;

And around about was a flowery lawnWhere the forest had been. Said the sage, with a yawn:

“I must have been dozing--well, to resume--As I was saying, this world of gloom--”

“Oh, bother the world of gloom--just hearThat thrush!” cried the youth; “the first this year!”