The Press interviewed him a great many times, And printed his portrait, and published his rhymes; Till the King and Sir Stodge and the Sw.a.n.ks grew afraid Of his fame 'mid the Glugs and the trouble it made.

For, wherever Sym went in the city of Gosh, There were cheers for the tinker, and hoots for King Splosh.

His goings and comings were watched for and cheered; And a crowd quickly gathered where'er he appeared.

All the folk flocked around him and shouted his praise; For the Glugs followed fashion, and Sym was a craze.

They sued him for words, which they greeted with cheers, For the way with a Glug is to tickle his ears.

"0, speak to us, Tinker! Your wisdom we crave!"

They'd cry when they saw him; then Sym would look grave, And remark, with an air, "'Tis a very fine day."

"Now ain't he a marvel?" they'd shout. "Hip, Hooray!"

"To live," would Sym answer, "To live is to feel!"

"And ain't he a poet?" a fat Glug would squeal.

Sym had a quaint fancy in phrase and in text; When he'd fed them with one they would howl for the next.

Thus he'd cry, "Love is love 1" and the welkin they'd lift With their shouts of surprise at his wonderful gift.

He would say "After life, then a Glug must meet death!"

And they'd clamour for more ere he took the next breath.

But Sym grew aweary of this sort of praise, And he longed to be back with his out-o'-door days, With his feet in the gra.s.s and his back to a tree, Rhyming and tinkering, fameless and free.

He said so one day to the Mayor of Quog, And declared he'd as lief live the life of a dog.

But the Mayor was vexed; for the Movement had grown, And his dreams had of late soared as high as a throne.

"Have a care! What is written is written," said he.

"And the dullest Glug knows what is written must be.

'Tis the prophet of Gosh who has prophesied it; And 'tis thus that 'tis written by him who so writ:

"'Lo, the Tinker of Gosh he shall make him three rhymes: One on the errors and aims of his times, One on the symptoms of sin that he sees, And the third and the last on whatever he please.

And when the Glugs hear them and mark what they mean The land shall be purged and the nation made clean."'

So Sym gave a promise to write then and there Three rhymes to be read in the Great Market Square To all Glugs a.s.sembled on Sat.u.r.day week.

"And then," said the Mayor, "if still you must seek To return to your tramping, well, just have your fling; But I'll make you a marquis, or any old thing ..."

Said Sym, "I shall tinker, and still be a king."

IX. THE RHYMES OF SYM

n.o.body knew why it should be so; n.o.body knew or wanted to know.

It might have been checked had but someone dared To trace its beginnings; but n.o.body cared.

But 'twas clear to the wise that the Glugs of those days Were crazed beyond reason concerning a craze.

They would pa.s.s a thing by for a week or a year, With an air apathetic, or maybe a sneer: Some ev'ryday thing, like a crime or a creed, A mode or a movement, and pay it small heed, Till Somebody started to laud it aloud; Then all but the n.o.bodies followed the crowd.

Thus, Sym was a craze; tho', to give him his due, He would rather have strayed from the popular view.

But once the Glugs had him they held him so tight That he could not be n.o.body, try as he might.

He had to be Somebody, so they decreed.

For Craze is an appet.i.te, governed by Greed.

So on Sat.u.r.day week to the Great Market Square Came every Glug who could rake up his fare.

They came from the suburbs, they came from the town, There came from the country Glugs bearded and brown, Rich Glugs, with cigars, all well-tailored and stout, Jostled commonplace Glugs who dropped aitches about.

There were gushing Glug maids, well aware of their charms, And stern, ma.s.sive matrons with babes in their arms.

There were querulous dames who complained of the "squash,"

The pushing and squeezing; for, briefly, all Gosh, With its aunt and its wife, stood agape in the ranks-- Excepting Sir Stodge and his satellite Sw.a.n.ks.

The Mayor of Quog took the chair for the day; And he made them a speech, and he ventured to say That a Glug was a Glug, and the Cause they held dear Was a very dear Cause. And the Glugs said, "Hear, hear."

Then Sym took the stage to a round of applause From thousands who suddenly found they'd a Cause.

THE FIRST RHYME OF SYM

We strive together in life's crowded mart, Keen-eyed, with clutching hands to over-reach.

We scheme, we lie, we play the selfish part, Masking our l.u.s.t for gain with gentle speech; And masking too--O pity ignorance!-- Our very selves behind a careless glance.

Ah, foolish brothers, seeking e'er in vain The one dear gift that liesso near at hand; Hoping to barter gold we meanly gain For that the poorest beggar in the land Holds for his own, to h.o.a.rd while yet he spends; Seeking fresh treasure in the hearts of friends.

We preach; yet do we deem it worldly-wise To count unbounded brother-love a shame, So, ban the brother-look from out our eyes, Lest sparks of sympathy be fanned to flame.

We smile; and yet withhold, in secret fear, The word so hard to speak, so sweet to hear--

The Open Sesame to meanest hearts, The magic word, to which stern eyes grow soft, And crafty faces, that the cruel marts Have seared and scored, turn gentle--Nay, how oft It trembles on the lip to die unppoke, And dawning love is stifled with a joke.

Nay, brothers, look about your world to-day: A world to you so drab, so commonplace-- The flowers still are blooming by the way, As blossom smiles upon the sternest face.

In everv hour is born some thought of love; In every heart is hid some treasure-trove.

With a modified clapping and stamping of feet The Glugs mildly cheered him, as Sym took his seat.

But some said 'twas clever, and some said 'twas grand- More especially those who did not understand.

And some said, with frowns, tho' the words sounded plain, Yet it had a deep meaning they craved to explain.

But the Mayor said: Silence! He wished to observe That a Glug was a Glug; and in wishing to serve This glorious Cause, which they'd asked him to lead, They had proved they were Glugs of the n.o.ble old breed That made Gosh what it was ... and he'd ask the police To remove that small boy while they heard the next piece.

THE SECOND RHYME OF SYM

"Now come," said the Devil, he said to me, With his swart face all a-grin, "This day, ere ever the clock strikes three, Shall you sin your darling sin.

For I've wagered a crown with Beelzebub, Down there at the Gentlemen's Brimstone Club, I shall tempt you once, I shall tempt you twice, Yet thrice shall you fall ere I tempt you thrice."

"Begone, base Devil!" I made reply-- "Begone with your fiendish grin!

How hope you to profit by such as I?

For I have no darling sin.

But many there be, and I know them well, All foul with sinning and ripe for h.e.l.l.

And I name no names, but the whole world knows That I am never of such as those."

"How nowt' said the Devil. "I'll spread my net, And I vow I'll gather you in!

By this and by that shall I win my bet, And you shall sin the sin!

Come, fill up a b.u.mper of good red wine, Your heart shall sing, and your eye shall shine, You shall know such joy as you never have known.

For the salving of men was the good vine grown."