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veil

      Tied with a ribbon by way of a sail,

        To a small tobacco-pipe mast.

      And every one said who saw them go,

      "Oh! won't they soon be 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.

      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.

      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 Timballoo! 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.

      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 jackdaws,

      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.

      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.

      POEMS BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

      THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST

      Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,

        With his swarthy, grave commanders,

      I forget in what campaign,

      Long besieged, in mud and rain,

        Some old frontier town of Flanders.

      Up and down the dreary camp,

        In great boots of Spanish leather,

      Striding with a measured tramp,

      These Hidalgos, dull and damp,

        Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather.

      Thus as to and fro they went,

        Over upland and through hollow,

      Giving their impatience vent,

      Perched upon the Emperor's tent,

        In her nest, they spied a swallow.

      Yes, it was a swallow's nest,

        Built of clay and hair of horses,

      Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest,

      Found on hedge-rows east and west,

        After skirmish of the forces.

      Then an old Hidalgo said,

        As he twirled his gray mustachio,

      "Sure this swallow overhead

      Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed,

        And the Emperor but a Macho!"

      Hearing his imperial name

        Coupled with those words of malice,

      Half in anger, half in shame,

      Forth the great campaigner came

        Slowly from his canvas palace.

      "Let no hand the bird molest,"

        Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!"

      Adding then, by way of jest,

      "Golondrina is my guest,

        'Tis the wife of some deserter!"

      Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft,

        Through the camp was spread the rumor,

      And the soldiers, as they quaffed

      Flemish beer at dinner, laughed

        At the Emperor's pleasant humor.

      So unharmed and unafraid

        Sat the swallow still and brooded,

      Till the constant cannonade

      Through the walls a breach had made

        And the siege was thus concluded.

      Then the army, elsewhere bent,

        Struck its tents as if disbanding,

      Only not the Emperor's tent,

      For he ordered, ere he went,

        Very curtly, "Leave it standing!"

      So it

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