The Nine Little Goblins
They all climbed up on a high board-fence--Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes--Nine little Goblins that had no sense,And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat--And I asked them what they were staring at.
And the first one said, as he scratched his headWith a queer little arm that reached out of his earAnd rasped its claws in his hair so red--"This is what this little arm is fer!"And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,"How on earth do you scratch your head?"
And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge--Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;And when he choked, with a final twingeOf his stifling laughter, he thumped his backWith a fist that grew on the end of his tailTill the breath came back to his lips so pale.
And the third little Goblin leered round at me--And there were no lids on his eyes at all--And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,"What is the style of your socks this fall?"And he clapped his heels--and I sighed to seeThat he had hands where his feet should be.
Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,Bowed his head, and I saw him slipHis eyebrows off, as I looked at him,And paste them over his upper lip;And then he moaned in remorseful pain--"Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!"
And then the whole of the Goblin bandRocked on the fence-top to and fro,And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,Singing the songs that they used to know--Singing the songs that their grandsires sungIn the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.
And ever they kept their green-glass eyesFixed on me with a stony stare--Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise,And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair,And I felt the heart in my breast snap toAs you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do.
And they sang "You're asleep! There is no board-fence,And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!--'Tis only a vision the mind inventsAfter a supper of cold mince-pies,--And you're doomed to dream this way," they said,--"And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!"
Words in this poem
- mince v. t.
- To cut into very small pieces; to chop fine; to hash; as, to mince meat. [AS. minsian to grow less, dwindle, fr. min small; akin to G. minder less, Goth. minniza less, mins less, adv., L. minor, adj. (cf. Minor); or more likely fr. F.]
- twinge v. i.
- To pull with a twitch; to pinch; to tweak. [OE. twengen, AS. twengan; akin to OE. twingen to pain, afflict, OFries. thwinga, twinga, dwinga, to constrain, D. dwingen, OS. thwingan, G. zwingen, OHG. dwinga]
- remorseful a.
- Full of remorse.
- clung a.
- Wasted away; shrunken. [Prop. p. p. fr. OE. clingen to wither. See Cling, v. i.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Nine Little Goblins is in the public domain. This text is taken from Riley Child-Rhymes, Project Gutenberg ebook #9777; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: James Whitcomb Riley, The Nine Little Goblins, in Riley Child-Rhymes (1890), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #9777, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/riley-child-rhymes/the-nine-little-goblins.html, id L25052.
Form and metre
The Nine Little Goblins is 48 lines in 8 stanzas of 6 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCC, complete in 5 of its 8 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 73%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABCC fenceA · eyesB · senseA · piesB · satC · atC
- 2 A-A-AA headA · ear · redA · fer · saidA · headA
- 3 ABABCC hingeA · blackB · twingeA · backB · tailC · paleC
- 4 ABABAA meA · allB · heA · fallB · seeA · beA
- 5 ABABCC grimA · slipB · himA · lipB · painC · againC
- 6 ABABCC bandA · froB · handA · knowB · sungC · tongueC
- 7 ABABCC eyesA · stareB · surmiseA · hairB · toC · doC
- 8 -A-ABB fence · eyesA · invents · piesA · saidB · deadB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| They all climbed up on a high board-fence-- | 9 | ········· |
| Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes-- | 9 | ·/˘/˘···· |
| Nine little Goblins that had no sense, | 9 | ·/˘/˘···· |
| And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies; | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat-- | 10 | ·········· |
| And I asked them what they were staring at. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And the first one said, as he scratched his head | 10 | ·········· |
| With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear | 12 | ···/˘······· |
| And rasped its claws in his hair so red-- | 9 | ········· |
| "This is what this little arm is fer!" | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| And he scratched and stared, and the next one said, | 10 | ·········· |
| "How on earth do you scratch your head?" | 8 | ········ |
| And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge-- | 11 | ········/˘· |
| Laughed and laughed till his face grew black; | 8 | ········ |
| And when he choked, with a final twinge | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back | 10 | ··/˘/˘···· |
| With a fist that grew on the end of his tail | 11 | ··········· |
| Till the breath came back to his lips so pale. | 10 | ·········· |
| And the third little Goblin leered round at me-- | 11 | ···/˘/˘···· |
| And there were no lids on his eyes at all-- | 10 | ·········· |
| And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he, | 10 | ·········· |
| "What is the style of your socks this fall?" | 9 | ········· |
| And he clapped his heels--and I sighed to see | 10 | ·········· |
| That he had hands where his feet should be. | 9 | ········· |
| Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim, | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| Bowed his head, and I saw him slip | 8 | ········ |
| His eyebrows off, as I looked at him, | 9 | ·/······· |
| And paste them over his upper lip; | 9 | ······/˘· |
| And then he moaned in remorseful pain-- | 9 | ·····˘/˘· |
| "Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!" | 8 | ······˘/ |
| And then the whole of the Goblin band | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Rocked on the fence-top to and fro, | 8 | ········ |
| And clung, in a long row, hand in hand, | 9 | ········· |
| Singing the songs that they used to know-- | 9 | /˘······· |
| Singing the songs that their grandsires sung | 9 | /˘······· |
| In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And ever they kept their green-glass eyes | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Fixed on me with a stony stare-- | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And I felt the heart in my breast snap to | 10 | ·········· |
| As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do. | 10 | ·········· |
| And they sang "You're asleep! There is no board-fence, | 11 | ····˘/····· |
| And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!-- | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| 'Tis only a vision the mind invents | 10 | ·/˘·/˘··˘/ |
| After a supper of cold mince-pies,-- | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| And you're doomed to dream this way," they said,-- | 9 | ········· |
| "And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!" | 10 | ·········· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.