RIP VAN WINKLE (continued)

Their hats looked odd, each with sugar-loaf crown,
And their eyes were small, and their beards hung down,
While their high-heeled shoes all had peaked toes,
And their legs were covered with blood-red hose;
Their noses were long, like a porker's snout,
And they nodded and winked as they moved about
They tapped the keg, and the liquor flowed,
And up to the brim of each flagon glowed;
And a queer old man made a sign to Rip,
As much as to say, "Will you take a nip?"
Nor did he linger or stop to think,
For Rip was thirsty and wanted a drink.
"I'll risk it," thought he; "it can be no sin;
And it smells like the best of Holland gin;"
So he tipped his cup to a grim old chap,
And drained it; then, for a quiet nap,
He stretched himself on the mossy ground,
And soon was wrapped in a sleep profound.
At last he woke; 'twas a sunny morn,
And the strange old man of the glen was gone:
He saw the young birds flutter and hop,
And an eagle wheeled round the mountain-top;
Then he rubbed his eyes for another sight--
"Surely," said he, "I have slept all night."
"Ie thought of the flagon and nine-pin game;
"Oh! what shall I say to my fiery dame!"
He, faintly faltered; "I know that she
Has a fearful lecture in store for me."
He took up his gun, and strange to say,
The wood had rotted and worn away:
He raised to his feet, and his joints were sore;
"Said he, "I must go to my home once more."
Then, with trembling step, he wandered down,
Amazed, he entered his native town.
The people looked with a wondering stare,
For Rip, alas! was a stranger there;
He tottered up to his cottage-door,
But his wife was dead, and could scold no more;
And down at the tavern he sought in vain
For the chums he would never meet again;
He looked, as he passed, at a group of girls
For the laughing eye and the flaxen curls
Of the child he loved as he loved his life,
But she was a thrifty farmer's wife;
And when they met, and her hand he took,
She blushed and gave him a puzzled look;
But she knew her father and kissed his brow,
All covered with marks and wrinkles now;
For Rip Van Winkle was old and gray,
And twenty summers had passed away--
Yes, twenty winters of snow and frost
Had he in his mountain slumber lost;
Yet his love for stories was all the same,
And he often told of the nine-pin game.
But the age was getting a little fast--
The Revolution had come and passed,
And Young America, gathered about,
Received his tales with many a doubt,
Awhile he hobbled about the town;
Then, worn and weary, at last laid down,
For his locks were white and his limbs were sore--
And RIP VAN WINKLE will wake no more.