The Book of Humorous Verse Part 172

_Henry Coggswell Knight._

THE WHANGO TREE

The woggly bird sat on the whango tree, Nooping the rink.u.m corn, And graper and graper, alas! grew he, And cursed the day he was born.

His crute was clum and his voice was rum, As curiously thus sang he, "Oh, would I'd been rammed and eternally clammed Ere I perched on this whango tree."

Now the whango tree had a bubbly thorn, As sharp as a nootie's bill, And it stuck in the woggly bird's umptum lorn And weepadge, the smart did thrill.

He fumbled and cursed, but that wasn't the worst, For he couldn't at all get free, And he cried, "I am gammed, and injustibly nammed On the luggardly whango tree."

And there he sits still, with no worm in his bill, Nor no guggledom in his nest; He is hungry and bare, and gobliddered with care, And his grabbles give him no rest; He is weary and sore and his tugmut is soar, And nothing to n.o.b has he, As he chirps, "I am blammed and corruptibly jammed, In this cuggerdom whango tree."

_Unknown._

THREE CHILDREN

Three children sliding on the ice Upon a summer's day, As it fell out they all fell in, The rest they ran away.

Now, had these children been at home, Or sliding on dry ground, Ten thousand pounds to one penny They had not all been drowned.

You parents all that children have, And you too that have none, If you would have them safe abroad Pray keep them safe at home.

_Unknown._

'TIS MIDNIGHT

'Tis midnight, and the setting sun Is slowly rising in the west; The rapid rivers slowly run, The frog is on his downy nest.

The pensive goat and sportive cow, Hilarious, leap from bough to bough.

_Unknown._

COSSIMBAZAR

Come fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar, For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from afar.

"Banoolah! Banoolah!" The Brahmins are nigh, And the depths of the jungle re-echo their cry.

_Pestonjee Bomanjee!_ Smite the guitar;

Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.

Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon, Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon Stick to thy music, and oh, let the sound Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round.

_Jamsetjee, Jeejeebhoy!_ Sweep the guitar.

Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.

Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed?

Art thou a Ghebir--a blinded Pa.r.s.ee?

Not that it matters an atom to me.

_Cursetjee Bomanjee!_ Tw.a.n.g the guitar Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.

_Henry S. Leigh._

AN UNSUSPECTED FACT

If down his throat a man should choose In fun, to jump or slide, He'd sc.r.a.pe his shoes against his teeth, Nor dirt his own inside.

But if his teeth were lost and gone, And not a stump to sc.r.a.pe upon, He'd see at once how very pat His tongue lay there by way of mat, And he would wipe his feet on _that_!

_Edward Cannon._

THE c.u.mBERBUNCE

I strolled beside the s.h.i.+ning sea, I was as lonely as could be; No one to cheer me in my walk But stones and sand, which cannot talk-- Sand and stones and bits of sh.e.l.l, Which never have a thing to tell.

But as I sauntered by the tide I saw a something at my side, A something green, and blue, and pink, And brown, and purple, too, I think.

I would not say how large it was; I would not venture that, because It took me rather by surprise, And I have not the best of eyes.

Should you compare it to a cat, I'd say it was as large as that; Or should you ask me if the thing Was smaller than a sparrow's wing, I should be apt to think you knew, And simply answer, "Very true!"

Well, as I looked upon the thing, It murmured, "Please, sir, can I sing?"

And then I knew its name at once-- It plainly was a c.u.mberbunce.

You are amazed that I could tell The creature's name so quickly? Well, I knew it was not a paper-doll, A pencil or a parasol, A tennis-racket or a cheese, And, as it was not one of these, And I am not a perfect dunce-- It had to be a c.u.mberbunce!

With pleading voice and tearful eye It seemed as though about to cry.

It looked so pitiful and sad It made me feel extremely bad.

My heart was softened to the thing That asked me if it, please, could sing.

Its little hand I longed to shake, But, oh, it had no hand to take!

I bent and drew the creature near, And whispered in its pale blue ear, "What! Sing, my c.u.mberbunce? You can!

Sing on, sing loudly, little man!"