A Nonsense Anthology Part 3

The Nyum-Nyum's love was sorrowful; And, after she had cried, She, with a brand-new carving-knife, Committed suicide.

"Alas!" the Nyum-Nyum said, "alas!

With thee I will not part,"

And straightway seized a rolling-pin And drove it through his heart.

The mourners came and gathered up The bits that lay about; But why the ma.s.sacre had been, They could not quite make out.

One said there was a mystery Connected with the deaths; But others thought the silent ones Perhaps had lost their breaths.

The doctor soon arrived, and viewed The corpses as they lay; He could not give them life again, So he was heard to say.

But, oh! it was a horrid sight; It made the blood run cold, To see the bodies carried off And covered up with mould.

The Toves across the briny sea Wept buckets-full of tears; They were relations of the dead, And had been friends for years.

The Jabberwock upon the hill Gave forth a gloomy wail, When in his airy seat he sat, And told the awful tale.

And who can wonder that it made That loving creature cry?

For he had done the dreadful work And caused the things to die.

That Jabberwock was pa.s.sing bad-- That Jabberwock was wrong, And with this verdict I conclude One portion of my song.

_Anonymous_.

UFFIA

When sporgles spanned the floreate mead And cogwogs gleet upon the lea, Uffia gopped to meet her love Who smeeged upon the equat sea.

Dately she walked aglost the sand; The boreal wind seet in her face; The moggling waves yalped at her feet; Pangw.a.n.gling was her pace.

_Harriet R. White_.

SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE

The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon, And wistfully gazed on the sea Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee."

The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek Was fitfully wafted afar To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek With the pulverized rays of a star.

The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig, And his heart it grew heavy as lead As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig On the opposite side of his head;

And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill To pick the tears out of his eyes.

The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance; And the Squidjum hid under a tub As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub!

And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died, "My fate there is none to bewail!"

While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide With a long piece of c.r.a.pe to her tail.

_James Whitcomb Riley_.

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."

_1840_.

SING FOR THE GARISH EYE

Sing for the garish eye, When moonless brandlings cling!

Let the froddering crooner cry, And the braddled sapster sing, For never and never again, Will the tottering beechlings play, For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, And the throngers croon in May!

_W.S. Gilbert_.

THE CRUISE OF THE "P.C."

Across the swiffling waves they went, The gumly bark yoked to and fro: The jupple crew on pleasure bent, Galored, "This is a go!"

Beside the poo's'l stood the Gom, He chirked and murgled in his glee; While near him, in a grue jipon, The Bard was quite at sea.

"Gollop! Golloy! Thou scrumjous Bard!

Take pen (thy stylo) and endite A pome, my brain needs kurgling hard, And I will feast tonight."

That wansome Bard he took his pen, A flirgly look around he guv; He squoffled once, he squirled, and then He wrote what's writ above.

_Anonymous_.