Do you think animals should wear clothes? Let us know when you have listened to this amusing poem. It tells the story of Albert Orangutan, who is a very fashionable ape.

Read by Richard Scott.

Written by Glenn Lawrence for Storynory.

Original Pictures for Storynory by Sophie Green.

Nursery Rhymes are of course mainly for smaller children… and we know that lots of you are rather more grown up. But even if you are older, we think you can listen to these rhymes again and learn lots about rhythm and verse. These are very old rhymes and they have lasted for a reason – they are actually very good verses !

Natasha gives some actions that you can do while you are saying the rhymes and some of them have dances. Listen again to these familiar rhymes and be reminded just how charming they are.

For some educational activities that you can do with Nursery Rhymes, see Learning With Nursery Rhymes.

Read by Natasha. Duration 9 min.

Hello

This is Natasha, and I’m dropping by with some more English Nursery rhymes. They come with actions and dances,that you can do while you say them. They are fun to do and will help you learn about rhythm and verse.

Rub a dub dub.

This first one is perfect for bath times.

Rub a dub dub

Three men in a tub

And who do you think they were ?

The Butcher , the Baker,

The Candlestickmaker

Turn them out knaves all of three

You can pretend to be drying yourself with a towel by doing a shaking action up and down with two arms and your hands clasped in front of you..

Rub a dub dub

Three men in a tub

And who do you think they were ?

The Butcher , the Baker,

The candlestickmaker

Turn them out knaves all of three

The action will help you find the rhythm in the verse.

Hickory Dickory Dock

This verse is particularly good for watching the Clock

Hickory Dickory Dock

The mouse ran up the clock

The clock struck one,

The mouse ran down

Hickory Dickory dock

Why not try making a clock shape with two arms as you say it? Hold the right arm up to the sky and the other arm out to the side – like the hands of a clock. And you can bring one arm up in a tick-tock motion, 1,2,3,

Hickory Dickory Dock

The mouse ran up the clock

The clock struck one,

The mouse ran down

Hickory Dickory dock

This Little Piggy Went to Market.

That is an extra fun verse and good for warming up your feet for the longer rhymes we have to come. Lots of mothers enjoy saying this verse to their young children but any one can do it too!

This little piggy went to Market

And this little piggy went home

And this little piggy had roast beef

And this little piggy had none..

And this little piggy went “wee wee, wee” all the way home

Pinch your own toes as you say the rhyme, imagining that each toe is a little pig

This little piggy went to Market

And this little piggy went home

And this little piggy had roast beef

And this little piggy had none..

And this little piggy went “wee wee, wee” all the way home

Little Jack Horner.

This is a Christmasy verse, but you can say it any time of year.

Little Jack Horner

Sat in a corner eating his Christmas pie

He put in his thumb

And pulled out a plumb

And said “what a good boy am I?”

Picture a big juicy plumb pie in front of you. And as you are saying the rhyme imagine that you are putting in your thumb and pulling out a plumb.

Little Jack Horner

Sat in a corner eating his Christmas pie

He put in his thumb

And pulled out a plumb

And said “what a good boy am I?”

Well actually, I don’t think everyone would agree with Jack that he had such good table manners.

And now here are some rhymes often sung in schools and they come with dances that you can do with them. Some of them are very old verses indeed, but they are timeless and children still play them to this day.

Here we go round the mulberry bush

This is a rhyme about a special tree called a mulberry bush.

Here we go round the mulberry bush

The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush

Here we go round the mulberry bush

On a cold and frosty morning

As you sing it, you all hold hands and gallop three times to the left and three times to the right.

Here we go round the mulberry bush

The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush

Here we go round the mulberry bush

On a cold and frosty morning

Ring a ring a roses

And here’s another verse with a simple circle dance. It’s from the 17th Century. I’m sure everyone knows it ! First you link hands, and you skip round and round in a circle, and when it says ‘a tissue’ you hold your nose and you all fall down.

Ring a ring a roses

A pocket full of poses

A tissue a tissue

We all fall down

Did you know that some people say the verse is about the plague that happened in the 17th Century. The poses – which were flowers like roses – were supposed to protect you from the plague which they thought was caught in the air.

Ring a ring a roses

A pocket full of poses

A tissue a tissue

We all fall down

Oranges and lemons,

This is a longer rhyme well known in English schools and has a game like a dance that is performed with it. Two children link their hands in the air to make an arch. The others dance under the arch – but at the end, their hands come down to make a “chopper” and catch who ever is going through just then, as you will hear.

Oranges and lemons,

Say the bells of St. Clement’s.

You owe me five farthings,

Say the bells of St. Martin’s.

When will you pay me?

Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,

Say the bells of Shoreditch.

When will that be?

Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,

Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

And all those bells, are bells of London churches.

And here is a very old rhyme from from The Mother Goose tales first written in 1765. Its called Two Little Dickie Birds

Two little Dickie birds

Sitting on a wall

Fly away peter, fly away Paul

Come back Peter, come back Paul!

For the actions, use your index finger on either hand to act out the birds sitting on the wall when they fly away bring each bird behind your back and then bring them back again for the last line.

Two little Dickie birds

Sitting on a wall

Fly away peter, fly away Paul

Come back Peter, come back Paul!

Well I hope you enjoyed those nursery rhymes. They can help you learn a lot about rhythm

and verse. Some of the verses are very old, and children have sung and played to them for 100s of yeas. So they give us a feel for history too. Bertie says they are really fun, for little children and even when you are grown up!

Ill be back with more stories from Storynory.com soon

For now,

From me Natasha

Bye Bye

Small children love nursery rhymes. But actually, even if you are a little older – perhaps even grown up – you will find the charm and the fun of these traditional verses hard to resist. Perhaps you heard them long ago? We bet you will remember them like you heard them only yesterday.

Nursery rhymes are really important for early speech development. They also seem to reflect the eternal aspects of childhood. Each rhyme might be several hundred years old – but the playground tunes and games never change. Bertie thinks that this is a very special reading of several of the best known rhymes. We hope that you will agree.

For some educational activities that you can do with Nursery Rhymes, see Learning With Nursery Rhymes.

Read by Natasha. Duration 7.10

Hello

This is Natasha,

And I am dropping by with some English nursery rhymes. I expect you might have heard some of them before, but they are always really nice to hear. Most of them are really short. The first is about a little insect that will bring you luck. Next time a ladybird lands on your hand, chant this rhyme as fast as you can and make a wish:

Ladybird, ladybird,

fly away home.

Your house is on fire;

Your children all roam.

Except little Nan

Who sits in her pan

Weaving her laces as fast as she can.

And remember, it’s meant to be really bad luck to kill a ladybird…so make sure that you never do that.

The next rhyme is also about a small creature, but this one is a creepy crawly…

Little Miss Muffet,

Sat on a tuffet,

Eating her curds and whey;

Along came a spider,

And sat down beside her,

And frightened Miss Muffet away.

Ugh ! Poor little Miss Muffet. Spiders can be really creepy. I’m glad to say that the next rhyme is a little more happy:

Mary Mary Mary

Quite Contrary how does your garden grow?

With Silver Bells and Cockle shells

And pretty maids all in a row

Yes, I love that one. It’s really pretty. And this is a verse that I really like because, well, it’s kind of crazy.

Hey diddle diddle the Cat

And the fiddle

The Cow jumped over the moon

The little dog laughed to see such sport

And the dish ran away with the spoon

Oh, I’d just love to see a cow jump over the moon, and sometimes at night I look up into the sky and hope to see it happen….but I’m still looking, and I’m still hoping.

And this rhyme is about a slightly naughty boy:

Georgie Porgie pudding and pie,

Kissed the girls and made them cry

When the boys came out to play,

Georgie Porgie ran away

And there was another naughty boy called Tom

Tom Tom, the Piper’s Son,

Stole a pig and away he ran

The pig was eat

And the boy was beat

And Tom went roaring down the street.

Now here is a little piece of a good advice:

A wise old owl lived in an oak

The more he saw the less he spoke

The less he spoke the more he heard.

Why can’t we all be like that wise old bird? ?

Yes, silence is golden. And those were a few short rhymes. I’d like to leave you with a longer one. There’s a game that goes with it.. Two people stand facing each other and hold up their arms to make the shape of an arch. Everyone else passes through the arch in turn. When the rhyme ends, the arch comes down and catches who ever is underneath just at that moment.

Well here’s the rhyme. I’m going to give you the slightly older version. And by the way, in old English gay means happy.

London Bridge

Is broken down,

Dance over my Lady Lee.

London Bridge

Is broken down

With a gay Lady.

How shall we build

It up again,

Dance over my Lady Lee, &c.

Build it up with

Gravel, and Stone,

Dance over my Lady Lee, &c.

Gravel, and Stone,

Will wash away,

Dance over my Lady Lee, &c.

Build it up with

Iron, and Steel,

Dance over my Lady Lee, &c.

Iron, and Steel,

Will bend, and Bow,

Dance over my Lady Lee, &c.

Build it up with

Silver, and Gold,

Dance over my Lady Lee, &c.

Silver, and Gold

Will be stolen away,

Dance over my Lady Lee, &c.

Then we’ll set

A man to watch,

Dance over my Lady Lee.

Then we’ll set

A man to watch,

With a gay Lady.

And that was London Bridge is Broken down. If you have enjoyed these nursery rhymes, remember you can leave a comment on Storynory.com and if enough people like them, perhaps we will do some more.

For now, from me, Natasha

Bye Bye.

The classic poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

“Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.”

An old sea captain stands in the way of somes guests on the way to a wedding and holds them in thrall while he recounts his story.

The story is of a most terrible journey at sea. The captain shot a sacred bird, and Albatross (which flies in the shape of a cross), and after that his ship was cursed. The ship was becalmed without wind, and the sailors ran out of drinking water. The captain finds himself in charge of a “ghastly crew” of ghosts. He sees visions and hears the voices of spirits, until at last the wind begins to blow.

The poem is read by Richard with some help from Natasha.

See PRC: The Ocean, The Ship & The Moon at Night

And as it happens, Richard’s friend, Nick Hayes, has just published a graphic novel based on the poem called “The Modern Mariner. You can read the glowing praise of his book at The Guardian.

Picture From the Rime of the Modern Mariner by Nick Hayes – click picture for more detail.

Sit back and enjoy one of the most famous poems in the English language.

Part I

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
`By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

The bridegroom’s doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
Mayst hear the merry din.’

He holds him with his skinny hand,
“There was a ship,” quoth he.
`Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye -
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years’ child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

“The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon -”
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

“And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o’ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And foward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken -
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name.

It ate the food it ne’er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner’s hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine.”

`God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus! -
Why look’st thou so?’ -”With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross.”

Part II

“The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners’ hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work ‘em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head,
The glorious sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down,
‘Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.”

Part III

“There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye -
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight the sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the sun,
Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that Woman’s mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
`The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper o’er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip -
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly, -
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my crossbow!”

Part IV

`I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown.’ -
“Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropped not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
Forthe sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

An orphan’s curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man’s eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside -

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.”

Part V

“Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light -almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools -
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.”

`I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
“Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned -they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now ’twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe;
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

The sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she ‘gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion -
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

`Is it he?’ quoth one, `Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.’

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, `The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’

Part VI

First Voice

But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing -
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?

Second Voice

Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast -

If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.

First Voice

But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?

Second Voice

The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner’s trance is abated.

“I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
‘Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapped: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen -

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring -
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze -
On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own country?

We drifted o’er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray -
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck -
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart -
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot’s cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot’s boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third -I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away
The Albatross’s blood.”

Part VII

“This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineers
That come from a far country.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve -
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
`Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?’

`Strange, by my faith!’ the Hermit said -
`And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf’s young.’

`Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look -
(The Pilot made reply)
I am afeared’ -`Push on, push on!’
Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot’s boat.

Upon the whirl where sank the ship
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips -the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot’s boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
`Ha! ha!’ quoth he, `full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row.’

And now, all in my own country,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!
The Hermit crossed his brow.
`Say quick,’ quoth he `I bid thee say -
What manner of man art thou?’

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns;
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are;
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely ’twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
‘Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company! -

To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.”

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom’s door.

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote this strange and powerful poem in 1797 after waking up from a dream. In the dream he had a vision of a pleasure palace built by the Mongolian Khan in Xanadu.
Xanadu was the capital of the Mongols after they conquered North West China.

He describes rivers and fountains, and dark caverns. Then he veers off into another dream of an maid carrying a dulcimer (stringed instrument). She is from Abyssinia in the horn of Africa – quite unconnected geographically.

So this is a strange poem, but it is extremely musical. Don’t worry if you can’t follow the meaning, just listen to the sounds. Look out for the alliteration using the same sounds at the start of words “measureless to man” , “sunless sea” , “ceaseless turmoil seething”, “symphony and song”. ….

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Read by Natasha

See  Natasha Review: The Kublah Kahn, Language & Imagery

This is the story of a sea battle. It’s history and it really happened !

The Revenge was a British warship in the time of Elizabeth I. The story of its last battle against the Spanish was told in verse 300 years later by the Victorian poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson.

The telling of the tale brings you some historical notes which have been written for us by John Fairlamb – ( a big thank you to John).

Flores in the Azores where the battle took place (the island belongs to Portugal)

View Larger Map

Read by Richard. Duration 15.53.

The Revenge (with notes)

In 1588, Sir Francis Drake made the The Revenge his flagship. The story is about its last battle and you will hear it told in a somewhat stirring poem
At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,

First a little scene setting.

When Elizabeth I was Queen of England, her country was at war with Spain. This was a maritime war – that means it was fought at sea by their navies. Both countries built ships made of wood. The Spanish ships were very much bigger than the English ships. As you will learn from this story, BIG is NOT always BEST.

It was such an amazing battle that the famous English Poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson, wrote a poem called “The Revenge: Ballad of the Fleet” about it. Tennyson wrote the poem almost 300 years after the battle actually took place and it is important to remember that it is told from the English perspective, and in parts it’s not very polite about the Spanish…..

One day, in the year 1591, Admiral Lord Thomas Howard and Sir Richard Grenville were on an island called Flores, which is part of an a group of islands called the Archipelago of Azores . (These islands belong to Portugal.) A message was brought to these two men that a huge fleet of Spanish ships was seen heading towards the islands. The response of the two men was very different. Being an Admiral, Lord Howard was the commander of a number of ships – in fact – he had six ships under his command, one of which was The Revenge, which Sir Richard Grenville commanded as Captain. Six ships, when compared to Spain’s 53 very much bigger ships, was no contest that Lord Howard was willing to take on, and so he commanded that they get moving and leave the island as quickly as possible.

This is how the poem Called the Revenge begins. A pinnace, by the way, is a small ship.

And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away:

“Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!”

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: “‘Fore God I am no coward;

But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,

And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.

We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?”

So that’s how the poem sets up the battle. I’ll just pause to explain a few things.

Sir Richard Grenville saw things in a different way from the Admiral, and decided not to flee with Thomas, but to fight. His crew were sick, and he thought that the Spanish Armada, which is what the Spanish navy was known as, would quickly overtake the ships and destroy them all, and so he had different tactic in mind. Instead of fleeing with the other five ships, Sir Richard Grenville decided to steer the Revenge straight towards the mighty Spanish Armada, and, perhaps he thought that while they had no chance of defeating the Armada, they could at least slow down their progress and give the other ships a chance to get away.

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: “I know you are no coward;

You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.

But I’ve ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,

To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.”

Nearly half his crew were lying sick and dying, on the island – at least ninety sailors, leaving him with just a hundred crew to sail the big sailing ship and to fight against the Spaniards, but he took all the sick men onto the The Revenge and laid them in the cabins below deck. They were grateful to Sir Richard for not leaving them to be taken prisoner by the Spaniards when they reached the island.

So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day,

Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;

But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land

Very carefully and slow,

Men of Bideford in Devon,

And we laid them on the ballast down below;

For we brought them all aboard,

And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain,

To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.

So they set sail straight towards those huge Spanish Galleons or giant ships that towered above the Revenge like skyscrapers. There were two rows of Galleons – one to the left and one to the right and Sir Richard directed the Revenge right down the corridor between them. Well, you can imagine the Spanish sailors and soldiers surprise when they saw the little ship in their midst.

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,

And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight,

With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.

“Shall we fight or shall we fly?

Good Sir Richard, tell us now,

For to fight is but to die!

There’ll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.”

And Sir Richard said again: “We be all good English men.

Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil,

For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet.”

Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so

The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,

With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;

For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen,

And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.

They, the great Spanish Armada, had FIFTY-THREE huge ships and the English, the English, ONLY ONE measly little boat. They had Hundreds of cannons and thousands of soldiers; the English, well they had about a hundred men on board and few cannons. What chance did they have against the MIGHTY SPANISH? The situation seemed so ridiculous that the Spanish started to laugh and mock the puny little craft. I think they didn’t know if they should feel sorry for the English – Had they lost their minds? – or be insulted by their sheer audacity.

Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laughed,

Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft

Running on and on, till delayed

By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons,

And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,

Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed.

The Revenge kept going, on and on right down the long avenue that lay between the Spanish Galleons, that is, until it came under the shadow of the Armada’s biggest ship – the San Philip. It was so huge that the wind that propelled the Revenge, was blocked and the Revenge came to a sudden halt right there.

And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud

Whence the thunderbolt will fall

Long and loud,

Four galleons drew away

From the Spanish fleet that day,

And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay,

And the battle-thunder broke from them all.

There the battle began and the first cannon balls flew from Spanish ships to the Revenge and from the Revenge to the Spanish ships. Some of the Spanish ships moved away, not bothering to even fight. Hard as the Spanish came against Sir Richard’s men, they gave it back to them.

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went

Having that within her womb that had left her ill content;

And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand,

For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers,

And a dozen times we shook ‘em off as a dog that shakes his ears

When he leaps from the water to the land.

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,

But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came,

Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame;

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame.

For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight us no more -

God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

For he said “Fight on! fight on!”

Though his vessel was all but a wreck;

And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone,

With a grisly wound to be dressed he had left the deck,

But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead,

And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head,

And he said “Fight on! fight on!”

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea,

And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring;

But they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still could sting,

So they watched what the end would be.

And we had not fought them in vain,

But in perilous plight were we,

Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain,

And half of the rest of us maimed for life

In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife;

And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold,

And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent;

And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side;

But Sir Richard cried in his English pride,

“We have fought such a fight for a day and a night

As may never be fought again!

We have won great glory, my men!

And a day less or more

At sea or ashore,

We die -does it matter when?

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner -sink her, split her in twain!

Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!”

And the gunner said “Ay, ay,” but the seamen made reply:

“We have children, we have wives,

And the Lord hath spared our lives.

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go;

We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow.”

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then,

Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last,

And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace;

But he rose upon their decks, and he cried:

“I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true;

I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do:

With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!”

And he fell upon their decks, and he died.

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true,

And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap

That he dared her with one little ship and his English few;

Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew,

But they sank his body with honour down into the deep,

And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew,

And away she sailed with her loss and longed for her own;

When a wind from the lands they had ruined awoke from sleep,

And the water began to heave and the weather to moan,

And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,

And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,

Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags,

And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shattered navy of Spain,

And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags

To be lost evermore in the main.

Dear Listeners,

This is a masterful achievement

of an epic poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson

known as a literary Ballad, containing

iambic trochee meter, ( stresses

from long to shot with a characteristic forward

movement) and

echoing half rhymes

that drive the action through the verse lines

Its interesting rhyme scheme

of alternating rhyming verse ends

and rhyming couplets as well as

eight verse length stanza’s known

as Octaves also part of its formation

and make it highly complex.

Following the story of the English

fleet and the defeat of the Spanish Armada

with little resources. And the character voice

within the narrative verse of Sir Richard Granville

excellently read by Richard make it a highly gripping drama.

The account of the story interwoven in the poem

of Sir Richard batteling against the Spannish,

also provide a great account of history during

the Sixteenth Century, that we can learn from.

I hope you enjoy this and other literary Ballads

in the Classics section, including The Pied Piper

another Victorian verse epic, following a central

character. And written by contemporary

Victorian poet Robert Browning. If you go to this

page you can view it as an I pod Video

that like a digital App syncs the text with

the visuals and the picture,

brought to you first by Storynory.com.

Bye Bye

N *

“I wandered lonely as a cloud” must rank as one of the most famous lines of poetry in the English language. It was written by William Wordsworth in 1802 after one of his many walks in the England’s Lake District. It’s a lovely poem to listen to when Spring is on its way. And it’s also one that might appeal to you if you are getting in the mood for Wales’s patron saint, St. David, whose celebration falls on March 1st, because Daffodils are closely associated with Wales. You can hear our story of St. David here.

And don’t miss Natasha’s thoughts on the poem here. She writes these “Post Recording Reviews” shortly after the recordings when the impressions of the stories or poems are still fresh in her mind.

Kindly sponsored by the The Center for Guided Montessori Studies

Read by Natasha. Duration 4.47.

I WANDER’D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Afterthought

Bertie has asked me to tell you that a phrase like , “I wondered lonely as a cloud” is called a simile, because it finds something similar in two different things. In this case it’s saying that both the poet and a cloud are “lonely”. You can also imagine a picture of a gentle cloud floating over the hills. Perhaps you can guess that the poet is in a dreamy mood with his “head in the clouds” which is why he is all the more surprised when suddenly sees the colourful crowd of of daffodils.

Similes often have the word “like” or “as” in them. For instance there’s another simile in the line

Continuous as the stars that shine

Anyway, where ever you are in the world, whether it’s spring or autumn, or Summer or Winter, you can always drop by at Storynory.com for free stories and poems.

Natasha Says
The Table and The chair, is a funny poem by Edward Lear about the relationship between the Table and the Chair.

As with many of Lear’s poems the story is of a couple who run away together. The Table and the chair don’t roam quite as far as The Owl and the Pussy Cat or The Duck and the Kangeroo, but they do draw surprise from onlookers as they explore the the alley and the street.

It’s a perfect Poem to read out aloud for Primary Years, and for older children to copy its structure in their own compositions (Five verses each with four rhyming couplets).

Read by Natasha. Duration 2.54. By Edward Lear.

Said the Table to the Chair,

“You can hardly be aware

How I suffer from the heat

And from chilblains on my feet.

If we took a little walk,

We might have a little talk;

Pray let us take the air,”

Said the Table to the Chair.

II.

Said the Chair unto the Table,

“Now, you know we are not able:

How foolishly you talk,

When you know we cannot walk!”

Said the Table with a sigh,

“It can do no harm to try.

I’ve as many legs as you:

Why can’t we walk on two?”

III.

So they both went slowly down,

And walked about the town

With a cheerful bumpy sound

As they toddled round and round;

And everybody cried,

As they hastened to their side,

“See! the Table and the Chair

Have come out to take the air!”

IV.

But in going down an alley,

To a castle in a valley,

They completely lost their way,

And wandered all the day;

Till, to see them safely back,

They paid a Ducky-quack,

And a Beetle, and a Mouse,

Who took them to their house.

V.

Then they whispered to each other,

“O delightful little brother,

What a lovely walk we’ve taken!

Let us dine on beans and bacon.”

So the Ducky and the leetle

Browny-Mousy and the Beetle

Dined, and danced upon their heads

Till they toddled to their beds.

Natasha Says
The Table and The chair, is a funny verse poem by Edward Lear about the relationship between the Table and the Chair As with many of Lear’s poems the story is of a couple who run away together. The Table and the chair don’t roam quite as far as The Owl and the Pussy Cat or The Duck and the Kangeroo, but they do draw surprise from onlookers as they explore the the valley and the street. It’s a perfect Poem to read out aloud for Primary Years, and for older children to copy its structure in their own compositions (Five verses each with four rhyming couplets).

Said the Table to the Chair,

“You can hardly be aware

How I suffer from the heat

And from chilblains on my feet.

If we took a little walk,

We might have a little talk;

Pray let us take the air,”

Said the Table to the Chair.

II.

Said the Chair unto the Table,

“Now, you know we are not able:

How foolishly you talk,

When you know we cannot walk!”

Said the Table with a sigh,

“It can do no harm to try.

I’ve as many legs as you:

Why can’t we walk on two?”

III.

So they both went slowly down,

And walked about the town

With a cheerful bumpy sound

As they toddled round and round;

And everybody cried,

As they hastened to their side,

“See! the Table and the Chair

Have come out to take the air!”

IV.

But in going down an alley,

To a castle in a valley,

They completely lost their way,

And wandered all the day;

Till, to see them safely back,

They paid a Ducky-quack,

And a Beetle, and a Mouse,

Who took them to their house.

V.

Then they whispered to each other,

“O delightful little brother,

What a lovely walk we’ve taken!

Let us dine on beans and bacon.”

So the Ducky and the leetle

Browny-Mousy and the Beetle

Dined, and danced upon their heads

Till they toddled to their beds.

( Of course, in modern English, “The Tyger” would be “The Tiger”.)

We present three “songs” by the poet and artist, and Londoner, William Blake (1757-1827). His Songs of Innocence and Experience were intended to be sung, but the melodies are now lost. Many of his poems see the world with the freshness of a child’s eye.

THE TYGER

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

THE FLY

Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

THE LAMB

Little Lamb, who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Dear Listners,

This poem by William Blake has the form of a childish nursery ryhme, but it is packed with images than can take your thoughts off in any number of directions.

The vivid images and metaphor of the ‘Tyger Tyger ‘Burning Bright’, its fearful symmetry and
the ‘fire of thine eyes’ create the the yellow and amber colors and light in the poem. The personified Stars ‘throwing down their spears and watering heaven with their tears are in direct contrast to the light imagery of the poem. These images reinforce the theme of the wonder of God’s creation. There is also a fascination with the far away British Colonies of the East, and the jungles of India, where of course the Tyger lives. (The spelling of the word Tyger with a ‘Y’ is
archaic and poetic).

With its consistent four stresses per verse line and four verse lines to make 6 Stanzas in total,
it is a wonderfully pleasing poem to follow. And the first and last verses repeated like the ‘Symmetry of the Tyger’ give it a satisfying poetic form.

I do hope you enjoy listening to more of our poems on Storynory.com
There are more Classic Audio poems to come from some famous Victorian Poets

So stay tuned!
Bye Bye
N*

Around about Halloween, you might like to sit by the fire and listen to a spooky, supernatural poem by Edgar Allan Poe.

A student sits reading and thinking about his dead girlfriend, Lenore. He hears a tap-tap-tapping at his window, and he sees a jet black bird – a raven. The raven comes into his room at sits on top of a statue of Pallas Athene (the goddess of wisdom) and speaks one word – Nevermore ! The word reminds the student that never more will he see his long lost love, Lenore. Then the air seems to thicken with incense swung by supernatural creatures ( Seraphims), and the student starts to cry out that the Raven should stop reminding him of Lenore … he asks if there is any relief from this torment in heaven – and the bird replies – Nevermore ! At last the raven turns into a statue and remains in the room for ever more.

Read by Natasha. Duration 11.22.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore -
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

This pair of poems by Lord Alfred Tennyson sound like they are echoing through the underwater chambers of the ocean.

Read by Natasha

See PRC The Mermaid & The Ocean

We have already quoted The Mermaid in our story Bertie and the Mermaid and we thought it was so nice, it would be a shame not to hear the rest of it.

The Merman.

1

Who would be
A merman bold,
Sitting alone,
Singing alone
Under the sea,
With a crown of gold,
On a throne?

2

I would be a merman bold;
I would sit and sing the whole of the day;
I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power;
But at night I would roam abroad and play
With the mermaids in and out of the rocks,
Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower;
And holding them back by their flowing locks
I would kiss them often under the sea,
And kiss them again till they kiss’d me
Laughingly, laughingly;
And then we would wander away, away
To the pale-green sea-groves straight and high,
Chasing each other merrily.

Oh! what a happy life were mine
Under the hollow-hung ocean green!
Soft are the moss-beds under the sea;
We would live merrily, merrily.

THE MERMAID

1

Who would be
A mermaid fair,
Singing alone,
Combing her hair
Under the sea,
In a golden curl
With a comb of pearl,
On a throne?

2

I would be a mermaid fair;
I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
And still as I comb’d I would sing and say,
“Who is it loves me? who loves not me?”
I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall,
Low adown, low adown,
From under my starry sea-bud crown
Low adown and around,
And I should look like a fountain of gold
Springing alone
With a shrill inner sound,
Over the throne
In the midst of the hall;
Till that great sea-snake under the sea
From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps
Would slowly trail himself sevenfold
Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate
With his large calm eyes for the love of me.
And all the mermen under the sea
Would feel their immortality
Die in their hearts for the love of me.

3

But at night I would wander away, away,
I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks,
And lightly vault from the throne and play
With the mermen in and out of the rocks;
We would run to and fro, and hide and seek,
On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells,
Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea.
But if any came near I would call, and shriek,
And adown the steep like a wave I would leap
From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells;
For I would not be kiss’d by all who would list,
Of the bold merry mermen under the sea;
They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me,
In the purple twilights under the sea;
But the king of them all would carry me,
Woo me, and win me, and marry me,
In the branching jaspers under the sea;
Then all the dry pied things that be
In the hueless mosses under the sea
Would curl round my silver feet silently,
All looking up for the love of me.
And if I should carol aloud, from aloft
All things that are forked, and horned, and soft
Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,
All looking down for the love of me.

This ancient poem tells us about romance in the world of garden birds. Unfortunately the ending is rather tragic, but we hope that the gallant and charming verses will make up for that.

Robin Redbreast (also known as Cock Robin in the poem) falls in love with Jenny Wren. Her taste is very English – she is not at all “showy” in her dress – but everyone agrees that Robin and Jenny make a very fine-looking couple indeed. The couple weds and celebrates with a feast – until the Cuckoo gatecrashes the party, the sparrow draws his bow and arrow – and tragedy strikes.

Anyone who loves seeing a Robin at their window, especially at Christmas, will enjoy this poem.

Read by Natasha. Duration 10.50.

It was on a merry time,
When Jenny Wren was young,
So neatly as she danced,
And so sweetly as she sung–

Robin Redbreast lost his heart:
He was a gallant bird;
He doffed his hat to Jenny,
And thus to her he said.

“My dearest Jenny Wren,
If you will but be mine,
You shall dine on cherry pie,
And drink nice currant wine.

“I’ll dress you like a Goldfinch,
Or like a Peacock gay;
So if you’ll have me, Jenny,
Let us appoint the day.”

Jenny blushed behind her fan,
And thus declared her mind:
“Then let it be to-morrow, Bob;
I take your offer kind.

“Cherry-pie is very good;
So is currant-wine;
But I will wear my brown gown,
And never dress too fine.”

Robin rose up early,
At the break of day;
He flew to Jenny Wren’s house,
To sing a roundelay.

He met the Cock and Hen,
And bade the Cock declare,
This was his wedding-day
With Jenny Wren the fair.

The Cock then blew his horn,
To let the neighbors know
This was Robin’s wedding-day,
And they might see the show.

And first came Parson Rook,
With his spectacles and band;
And one of Mother Hubbard’s books
He held within his hand.

Then followed him the Lark,
For he could sweetly sing;
And he was to be clerk
At Cock Robin’s wedding.

He sang of Robin’s love
For little Jenny Wren;
And when he came unto the end,
Then he began again.

The Goldfinch came on next,
To give away the bride;
The Linnet, being bridesmaid,
Walked by Jenny’s side.

And as she was a-walking,
Said, “Upon my word,
I think that your Cock Robin
Is a very pretty bird.”

The blackbird and the Thrush,
And charming Nightingale,
Whose sweet “jug” sweetly echoes
Through every grove and dale;

The sparrow and Tomtit,
And many more were there;
All came to see the wedding
Of Jenny Wren so fair.

The Bullfinch walked by Robin,
And thus to him did say:
“Pray mark, friend Robin Redbreast,
That Goldfinch dressed so gay;

“What though her gay apparel
Becomes her very well;
Yet Jenny’s modest dress and look
Must bear away the bell !”

Then came the bride and bridegroom;
Quite plainly was she dressed;
And blushed so much, her cheeks were
As red as Robin’s breast.

But Robin cheered her up;
“My pretty Jen,” said he,
” We’re going to be married,
And happy we shall be.”

“Oh, then,” says Parson Rook,
“Who gives this maid away ?”
“I do,”says the Goldfinch,
“And her fortune I will pay;

“Here’s a bag of grain of many sorts,
And other things beside;
Now happy be the bridegroom,
And happy be the bride !”

“And will you have her, Robin,
To be your wedded wife ?”
“Yes, I will,” says Robin,
And love her all my life.”

“And you will have him, Jenny,
Your husband now to be ?”
“Yes, I will,” says Jenny,
And love him heartily.”

Then on her finger fair
Cock Robin put the ring;
“You’re marrried now,” says Parson Rook;
While the Lark aloud did sing:

“Happy be the bridegroom,
And happy be the bride!
And ,nay not man, nor bird, nor beast
This happy pair divide.”

The birds were asked to dine;
Not Jenny’s friends alone,
But every pretty songster
That had Cock Robin known.

They had ;cherry-pie,
Besides some currant-wine,
And every guest brought something,
That sumptuous they might dine.

Now they all sat or stood,
To eat and to drink;
And every one said what,
He happened to think.

They each took a bumper,
And drank to the pair,
Cock Robin the bridegroom,
And Jenny Wren the fair.

The dinner things removed,
They all began to sing;
And soon they made the place
Near a mile around to ring.

The concert it was fine;
And every bird tried
Who best should sing for Robin,
And Jenny Wren the bride,

When in came the Cuckoo
And made a great rout;
He caught hold of Jenny,
And pulled her about.

Cock Robin was angry,
And so was the Sparrow,
Who fetched in a hurry
His bow and his arrow.

His aim then he took,
But he took it not right;
His skill was not good,
Or he shot in a fright;

For the cuckoo he missed,
But Cock Robin he killed!—
And all the birds mourned
That his blood was so spilled.

Who killed Cock Robin?
“I,” said the Sparrow,
“With my bow and arrow,”
I killed Cock Robin.”

Who saw him die
“I” said the Fly,
“With my little eye,
And I saw him die.”

Who caught his blood?
“I,” said the Fish,
“With my little dish,
And I caught his blood.”

Who made his shroud?
“I,” said the Beetle,
“With my little needle,
And I made his shroud.

Who shall dig his grave ?
“I,” said the Owl,
“With my spade and show’l,
And I’ll dig his grave.”

Who’ll be the parson ?
“I” said the Rook,
“With my little book,
And I’ll be the parson.”

Who’ll be the clerk ?
“I,” said the Lark,
“If it’s not in the dark,
And I’ll be the clerk.”

Who’ll carry him to the grave ?
“I,” said the Kite,
“If tis not in the night,
And I’ll carry him to his grave.”

Who’ll be the chief mourner ?
“I,” said the Dove,
“I mourn for my love,
And I’ll be chief mourner.”

Who’ll carry the link ?
“I,” said the Linniet,
“I’ll fetch it in a minute,
And I’ll carry the link.”

Who’ll sing a psalm ?
“I,” said the Thrush,
As she sat in a bush,
“And I’ll sing a psalm.”

And who’ll toll the bell ?
“I,” said the Bull,
“Because I can’ pull ;”
And so, Cock Robin, farewell.

Download the audio

Fidgety Philip is another horrid creature from the poem Shock-Headed Peter by Heinrich Hoffmann. He’s not quite so terrifying as Dreadful Harriet, but he’s certainly a bit of a brat. Hoffmann’s children are made from the same stuff as some of Roald Dahl ‘s characters (see Augustus Gloop ) They are pretty horrid, and they sometimes come to sticky ends, but in the case of Philip, it’s his poor parents who suffer most.

Read by Natasha. Duration 3.15

“Let me see if Philip can
Be a little gentleman;
Let me see if he is able
To sit still for once at table”:
Thus Papa bade Phil behave;
And Mamma looked very grave.
But fidgety Phil,
He won’t sit still;
He wriggles,
And giggles,
And then, I declare,
Swings backwards and forwards,
And tilts up his chair,
Just like any rocking horse—
“Philip! I am getting cross!”

See the naughty, restless child
Growing still more rude and wild,
Till his chair falls over quite.
Philip screams with all his might,
Catches at the cloth, but then
That makes matters worse again.
Down upon the ground they fall,
Glasses, plates, knives, forks, and all.
How Mamma did fret and frown,
When she saw them tumbling down!
And Papa made such a face!
Philip is in sad disgrace.

Where is Philip, where is he?
Fairly covered up you see!
Cloth and all are lying on him;
He has pulled down all upon him.
What a terrible to-do!
Dishes, glasses, snapt in two!
Here a knife, and there a fork!
Philip, this is cruel work.
Table all so bare, and ah!
Poor Papa, and poor Mamma
Look quite cross, and wonder how
They shall have their dinner now.

This wonderful poem is by the master of sound and nonsense, Edward Lear. It tells the stories of some small people who might have been the Victorian equivalent of the Teletubbies ( Their heads are green, and their hands are blue). Like the Owl and the Pussycat, they set out on a poetic journey across the seas. Their craft – a sieve – doesn’t sound very seaworthy, but somehow, after 20 years they return to the Land of the Jumblies.

Read by Natasha. Duration 6.34

I

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, ‘You’ll all be drowned!’
They called aloud, ‘Our Sieve ain’t big,
But we don’t care a button! we don’t care a fig!
In a Sieve we’ll go to sea!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

II

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
‘O won’t they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it’s extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

III

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, ‘How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

IV

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
‘O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

V

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

VI

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, ‘How tall they’ve grown!
For they’ve been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!’
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, ‘If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,—
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

Natasha’s reading of The Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lear is an old favourite on Storynory. And this verse, about an equally unlikely match – a Duck and a Kangaroo – is the follow-up.

If a duck married a kangaroo, their children might be duck-billed platypuses. Well there’s a thought that might or might not have occurred to Edward Lear when he published his Nonsense Songs, Stories Botany and Alphabets, in 1871. Like the owl and the pussycat, the two go off traveling together, though Lear doesn’t say whether or not these two get married.

Pictures by Lear and slightly later ones by William Foster can be viewed here or as a slide show here.
Read by Natasha. Duration 4.12

THE DUCK AND THE KANGAROO.

I.

Said the Duck to the Kangaroo,
“Good gracious! how you hop Over the fields, and the water too,
As if you never would stop! My life is a bore in this nasty pond;
And I long to go out in the world beyond:
I wish I could hop like you,” Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.

II.

“Please give me a ride on your back,”
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo: “I would sit quite still, and say nothing but ‘Quack’
The whole of the long day through; And we ‘d go the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee,
Over the land, and over the sea:
Please take me a ride! oh, do!” Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
The Duck and the Kangaroo

III.

Said the Kangaroo to the Duck,
“This requires some little reflection. Perhaps, on the whole, it might bring me luck;
And there seems but one objection; Which is, if you’ll let me speak so bold,
Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold,
And would probably give me the roo- Matiz,” said the Kangaroo.

IV.

Said the Duck, “As I sate on the rocks,
I have thought over that completely; And I bought four pairs of worsted socks,
Which fit my web-feet neatly; And, to keep out the cold, I’ve bought a cloak;
And every day a cigar I’ll smoke;
All to follow my own dear true Love of a Kangaroo.”

V.

Said the Kangaroo, “I’m ready,
All in the moonlight pale; But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady,
And quite at the end of my tail.”
The Duck and the Kangaroo

So away they went with a hop and a bound;
And they hopped the whole world three times round.
And who so happy, oh! who, As the Duck and the Kangaroo?
The Duck and the Kangaroo

Download the Ipod Video Version of the Pied Piper

[youtube]54lZYdjeojQ[/youtube]

Slide Show Part Two

[youtube]EzsCUUjqnVg[/youtube]

MP3 Audio

Download the MP3 audio of the Pied Piper (right click, save as)

This famed story of the greatest rat-charmer of all time was told by the Brothers Grimm, but this is even more special: the verse version by the Victorian poet Robert Browning (1812-1889).

Actually, we have two versions: The MP3 audio file as usual, as well as a slide show in which Natasha’s reading is synced with the beautiful illustrations of Kate Greenaway (1846 – 1901).

You can also download a version that will play in a video iPod, in iTunes or Quicktime from this page. This is probably our highest quality video. Read, as usual, by the one and only Natasha.THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

I.

Hamelin Town’s in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city;
The river Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin, was a pity.

II.

Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats.
And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women’s chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking:
“Tis clear,” cried they, “our Mayor’s a noddy;
And as for our Corporation–shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can’t or won’t determine
What’s best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you’re old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease?
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we’re lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we’ll send you packing!”
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

An hour they sate in council,
At length the Mayor broke silence:
“For a guilder I’d my ermine gown sell;
I wish I were a mile hence!
It’s easy to bid one rack one’s brain–
I’m sure my poor head aches again,
I’ve scratched it so, and all in vain
Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!”
Just as he said this, what should hap
At the chamber door but a gentle tap?
“Bless us,” cried the Mayor, “what’s that?”
(With the Corporation as he sat,
Looking little though wondrous fat;
Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister
Than a too-long-opened oyster,
Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous
For a plate of turtle green and glutinous)
“Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?
Anything like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!”

V.

“Come in!”–the Mayor cried, looking bigger:
And in did come the strangest figure!
His queer long coat from heel to head
Was half of yellow and half of red,
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
But lips where smile went out and in;
There was no guessing his kith and kin:
And nobody could enough admire
The tall man and his quaint attire.
Quoth one: “It’s as my great-grandsire,
Starting up at the Trump of Doom’s tone,
Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!”

VI.

He advanced to the council-table:
And, “Please your honours,” said he, “I’m able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep or swim or fly or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.”
(And here they noticed round his neck
A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
To match with his coat of the self-same cheque;
And at the scarf’s end hung a pipe;
And his fingers they noticed were ever straying
As if impatient to be playing
Upon his pipe, as low it dangled
Over his vesture so old-fangled.)
“Yet,” said he, “poor Piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham,
Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats,
I eased in Asia the Nizam
Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats:
And as for what your brain bewilders,
If I can rid your town of rats
Will you give me a thousand guilders?”
“One? fifty thousand!”–was the exclamation
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

VII.

Into the street the Piper stept,
Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
Then, like a musical adept,
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives–
Followed the Piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped advancing,
And step for step they followed dancing,
Until they came to the river Weser
Wherein all plunged and perished!
–Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,
Swam across and lived to carry
(As he, the manuscript he cherished)
To Rat-land home his commentary:
Which was, “At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
Into a cider-press’s gripe:
And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,
And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:
And it seemed as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
Is breathed) called out, ‘Oh rats, rejoice!
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!’
And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,
All ready staved, like a great sun shone
Glorious scarce an inch before me,
Just as methought it said, ‘Come, bore me!’
–I found the Weser rolling o’er me.”

VIII.

You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple
“Go,” cried the Mayor, “and get long poles,
Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
Consult with carpenters and builders,
And leave in our town not even a trace
Of the rats!”–when suddenly up the face
Of the Piper perked in the market-place,
With a, “First, if you please, my thousand guilders!”

IX.

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;
So did the Corporation too.
For council dinners made rare havoc
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
And half the money would replenish
Their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish.
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!
“Beside,” quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,
“Our business was done at the river’s brink;
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think.
So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink
From the duty of giving you something to drink,
And a matter of money to put in your poke;
But as for the guilders, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
Beside, our losses have made us thrifty.
A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!”

X.

The Piper’s face fell, and he cried,
“No trifling! I can’t wait, beside!
I’ve promised to visit by dinner-time
Bagdad, and accept the prime
Of the Head-Cook’s pottage, all he’s rich in,
For having left, in the Caliph’s kitchen,
Of a nest of scorpions no survivor:
With him I proved no bargain-driver,
With you, don’t think I’ll bate a stiver!
And folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe after another fashion.”

XI.

“How?” cried the Mayor, “d’ ye think I brook
Being worse treated than a Cook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst!”

XII.

Once more he stept into the street,
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes
(such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician’s cunning
Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling,
that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls.
Tripping
and skipping,
ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping by.
–Could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the Piper’s back.
But how the Mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched Council’s bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However he turned from South to West,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.
“He never can cross that mighty top!
He’s forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our children stop!”
When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
And the Piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,
The door in the mountain side shut fast.
Did I say, all? No; One was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say,–
“It’s dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can’t forget that I’m bereft
Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new;
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagles’ wings;
And just as I became assured
My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped and I stood still,
And found myself outside the hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that country more!”

XIV.

Alas, alas for Hamelin!
There came into many a burgher’s pate
A text which says that Heaven’s gate
Opes to the rich at as easy rate
As the needle’s eye takes a camel in!
The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,
To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,
Wherever it was men’s lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart’s content,
If he’d only return the way he went,
And bring the children behind him.
But when they saw ’twas a lost endeavour,
And Piper and dancers were gone for ever,
They made a decree that lawyers never
Should think their records dated duly
If, after the day of the month and year,
These words did not as well appear,
“And so long after what happened here
On the Twenty-second of July,
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:”
And the better in memory to fix
The place of the children’s last retreat,
They called it, the Pied Piper’s Street–
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor,
Was sure for the future to lose his labour.
Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern
To shock with mirth a street so solemn;
But opposite the place of the cavern
They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great church-window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away,
And there it stands to this very day.
And I must not omit to say
That in Transylvania there’s a tribe
Of alien people that ascribe
The outlandish ways and dress
On which their neighbours lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison
Into which they were trepanned
Long time ago in a mighty band
Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don’t understand.

XV.

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers
Of scores out with all men–especially pipers!
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,
If we’ve promised them aught, let us keep our promise!

The classic Christmas poem by Clement Clarke Moore, is also known as “The Night Before Christmas”. You will hear that Santa hasn’t changed a great deal since the poem was written in 1822, expect that he seemed to be ‘miniature’ back then, and he did not yet have a reindeer called Rudolf, though he did have Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen.

Read by Natasha Duration 5.15

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

These wonderfully nasty poems by Dr. Heinrich Hoffmann are about all those naughty children who DON’T deserve any presents this Christmas. We’ve chosen four from the collection of little horrors – Shock-Headed Peter, Cruel Frederick, Dreadful Harriet, and Flying Robert.

Natasha gives a wonderfully lively and amusing performance, but these stories are rather horrid by modern standards. Some small children might find them a bit scary

Struwwelpeter first appeared in English in 1848, three years after the German original, but who translated it is unknown.

As a special treat we present the original pictures and text including other poems from the collection.

Read with great verve by Natasha.

Download the Spider and the Fly (How-to)

By Mary Howitt
If ever there were a story for children with a terrible warning, it is this. You will find it hard to miss the moral of this classic verse from the Victorian era. Natasha reads the Spider as a silky-throated villain, who weaves his web with flattery. His victem is the gauzy-winged fly.

Colin the Carp has a different interpretation. He thinks that flies are just scrumptious.

Mary Howitt has double-fame in the realm of Children’s literature. She was the first English translator of Hans Christian Andersen.

Read by Natasha. Duration 6.30.

You may also be interest in these external links:

Mary Howitt on the Wikipedia

A translation by Mary Howitt of “The True Story of my Life” by Hans Christian Andersen.

Text of The Spider and the fly by Mary Howitt (1799 to 1888).

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly, ”
‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there.”
“Oh no, no,” said the Fly, “to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend, what can I do
To prove that warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome – will you please take a slice?”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind sir, that cannot be,
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!”

“Sweet creature,” said the Spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf;
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say;
And bidding good morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple, there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, Then near and nearer drew, -
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head – poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlour – but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

or press the play button to listen now
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If you have ever been tempted to be just a little bit greedy, then you will sympathise with the hero of The Mouse and the Cake by Eliza Cook. Like all good Victorian poems for children, this verse tale has a strong moral in its ending.

The Country Mouse and the City Mouse by Richard Scrafton Sharpe is an enormously charming tale, that is based on an ancient Latin satire by Horace. We are glad to say that the moral is not quite so severe as in The Mouse and the Cake.

Needless to say, Natasha brings both these poems to life with her usual flair and feeling. The full text is here.

Read by Natasha. Duration 8.20

Download the audio poem
Or use the play button to listen now:

I

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

II

Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

III

‘Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

–

This romantic “nonsense” by Edward Lear is a classic of children’s literature. Its lilting rhythm has a wonderful calming effect on the senses. It even works on crying babies!

Read by Natasha Lee Lewis. Duration 2.35