5

THE MAN IN THE MOON STAYED UP TOO LATE

There is an inn, a merry old innbeneath an old grey hill,And there they brew a beer so brownThat the Man in the Moon himself came downone night to drink his fill.The ostler has a tipsy catthat plays a five-stringed fiddle;And up and down he runs his bow,Now squeaking high, now purring low,now sawing in the middle.The landlord keeps a little dogthat is mighty fond of jokes;When there's good cheer among the guests,He cocks an ear at all the jestsand laughs unlit he choices.They also keep a horned cowas proud as any queen;But music turns her head like ale,And makes her wave her tufted tailand dance upon the green.And O! the row of silver dishesand the store of silver spoons!For Sunday there's a special pair,And these they polish up with careon Saturday afternoons.The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,and the cat began to wail;А dish and a spoon on the table danced,Тhe cow in the garden madly pranced,and the little dog chased his tail.The Man in the Moon took another mug,and then rolled beneath his chair;And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,Till in the sky the stars were pale,and dawn was in the air.The ostler said to his tipsy cat:'The white horses of the Moon,They neigh and champ their silver bits;"But their master's been and drowned his wits,and the Sun'll be rising soon!'So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,a jig that would wake the dead:He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:'It's after three!' he said.They rolled the Man slowly up the hilland bundled him into the Moon,While his horses galloped up in rear,And the cow came capering like a deer,and a dish ran up with a spoon.Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;the dog began to roar,The cow and the horses stood on their heads;The guests all bounded from their bedsand danced upon the floor.With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!the cow jumped over the Moon,And the little dog laughed to see such fun,And the Saturday dish went off at a runwith the silver Sunday spoon.The round Moon rolled behind the hill,as the Sun raised up her head.She hardly believed her fiery eyes;For though it was day, to her surprisethey all went back to bed!

6

THE MAN IN THE MOON CAME DOWN TOO SOON

The Man in the Moon had silver shoon,and his beard was of silver thread;With opals crowned and pearls all boundabout his girdlestead,In his mantle grey he walked one dayacross a shining floor,And with crystal key in secrecyhe opened an ivory door.On a filigree stair of glimmering hairthen lightly down he went,And merry was he at last to be freeon a mad adventure bent.In diamonds white he had lost delight;he was tired of his minaretOf tall moonstone that towered aloneon a lunar mountain set. He would dare any peril for ruby and berylto broider his pale attire,For new diadems of lustrous gems,emerald and sapphire.So was lonely too with nothing to dobut stare at the world of goldAnd heark to the hum that would distantly comeas gaily round it rolled.At plenilune in his argent moonin his heart he longed for Fire:Not the limpid lights of wan selenites;for red was his desire,For crimson and rose and ember-glows,for flame with burning tongue,For the scarlet skies in a swift sunrisewhen a stormy day is young.He'd have seas of blues, and the living huesof forest green and fen;And he yearned for the mirth of the populous earthand the sanguine blood of men.He coveted song, and laughter long,and viands hot, and wine,Eating pearly cakes of light snowflakesand drinking thin moonshine.He twinkled his feet, as he thought of the meat,of pepper, and punch galore;And he tripped unaware on his slanting stair,and like a meteor,A star in flight, ere Yule one nightflickering down he fellFrom his laddery path to a foaming bathin the windy Bay of Bel.He began to think, lest he melt and sink,what in the moon to do,When a fisherman's boat found him far afloatto the amazement of the crew,Caught in their net all shimmering wetin a phosphorescent sheenOf bluey whites and opal lightsand delicate liquid green.Against his wish with the morning fishthey packed him back to land:'You had best get a bed in an inn', they said;'the town is near at hand'.Only the knell of one slow bellhigh in the Seaward TowerAnnounced the news of his moonsick cruiseat that unseemly hour.Not a hearth was laid, not a breakfast made,and dawn was cold and damp.There were ashes for fire, and for grass the mire,for the sun a smoking lampIn a dim back-street. Not a man did he meet,no voice was raised in song;There were snores instead, for all folk were abedand still would slumber long.He knocked as he passed on doors locked fast,and called and cried in vain,Till he came to an inn that had light within,and tapped at a window-pane.A drowsy cook gave a surly look,and 'What do you want?' said he.'I want fire and gold and songs of oldand red wine flowing free!''You won't get them here', said the cook with a leer,'but you may come inside.Silver I lack and silk to my back—maybe I'll let you bide'.A silver gift the latch to lift,a pearl to pass the door;For a seat by the cook in the ingle-nookit cost him twenty more.For hunger or drouth naught passed his mouthtill he gave both crown and cloak;And all that he got, in an earthen potbroken and black with smoke,Was porridge cold and two days oldto eat with a wooden spoon.For puddings of Yule with plums, poor fool,he arrived so much too soon:An unwary guest on a lunatic questfrom the Mountains of the Moon.