Rip Van Winkle

NEAR to the town, in a cottage small,
Lived RIP VAN WINKLE, known to all
As a harmless, drinking, shiftless lout,
Who never would work, but roamed about,
Always ready with jest and song-
Idling, tippling all day long.
"Shame on you, Rip!" cried the scolding vrows;
And old men muttered and knit their brows.
Not so with the boys, for they would shout,
And follow their hero, Rip, about,
Early or late--it was all the same,
They gave him a place in every game.
At ball he was ready to throw or catch;
At marbles, too, he was quite their match;
And many an urchin's face grew bright,
When Rip took hold of his twine and Kite.
And so he frittered the time away--
"Good natured enough," they all would say.
But the village parson heaved a sigh
As Rip, in his cups, went reeling by,
With a silly and a drunken leer--
His good dog Schneider always near.
Rip was fond of his rod and line,
And many a time, when the day was fine,
He would wander out to some neighb'ring stream,
And there, with his dog, would sit and dream;
Hour after hour, would he dozing wait,
And woe to the fish that touched his bait.
But the stream of his life ran sometimes rough,
And his good "Vrow" gave him many a cuff,
For she was never a gentle dame,
And Rip was a toper, and much to blame.
But little did Rip Van Winkle care
For his wife or his home--he was seldom there--
But tried in his cups his cares to drown;
His scolding wife, with her threat'ning frown,
At his cottage-door he was sure to see--
"Ah! this," said Rip, "is no place for me."
So down to the tavern to drink his rum,
And waste his time with some red-nosed chum,
He was sure to go; for he knew that there
He would find a glass and a vacant chair,
And jolly fellows, who liked his fun,
And the tales he told of his dog and gun.
But his was still but a sorry life,
For, sot as he was, he loved his wife;
But he would tipple both day and night,
And she would scold him with all her might
Thus Rip Van Winkle had many a grief,
And up 'mongst the mountains sought relief.
For lowering clouds or a burning sun
He cared but little; his dog and gun
Were his friends, he knew; while they were near
He roamed the forests, and felt no fear.
If tired at last, and a seat he took,
And his dog came up with a hungry look,
He had always a crust or bone to spare,
And Schneider was certain to get his share.
And then if a squirrel chanced to stray
In range of his gun, he would blaze away,
And he held it too with a steady aim--
Rip never was known to miss his game.
But over his ills he would sometimes brood,
And scale the peaks in a gloomy mood;
And once he had climbed to a dizzy height,
When the sun went down, and the shades of night
Came up from the vale, and the pine-trees tall,
And the old gray rocks, and the waterfall
Gr w dusky and dim, and faded away,
Till night, like a pall, on the mountain lay.
Full many a mile he had strayed that day,
And up in the mountains had lost his way;
And there he must stay through the gloomy night,
And shiver and wait for the morning light.
He thought of the stories, strange and old,
Which the graybeards down in the village told;
"And what," said he, "if the tale were true
I have heard so oft of a phantom crew,
Who up in the Catskills, all night long,
Frolick and revel with wine and song."
Just then a voice from a neighb'ring hill
Cried, "Rip Van Winkle!" and all was still
Then he looked above and he looked below,
And saw not a thing but a lonely crow.
"Ho, Rip Van Winkle!" the voice still cried,
And Schneider skulked to his master's side.
Just then from a thicket a man came out--
His legs were short and his body stout,
He looked like a Dutchman in days of yore,
With buttons behind and buttons before;
And held a keg with an iron grip,
And beckoned for help to the gazing Rip.
Rip had his fears, but at last complied,
And bore the keg up the mountain side;
And now and then, when a thunder-peal
Made the mountain tremble, Rip would steal.
A look at his guide, but never a word
From the lips of the queer old man was heard.
Up, up they clambered, until, at last,
The stranger halted. Rip quickly cast
A glance around, and as strange a crew
As ever a mortal man did view
Were playing at nine-pins; at every ball
'Twas fun to see how the pins would fall;
And they rolled and rolled, without speaking a word,
And this was the thunder Rip had heard.