Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Alexander the Great, B.C....
 Judas Maccabaeus, 2nd century...
 Julius Caesar, B.C. 100-44
 Boadicea, 1st century A.D.
 Charlemagne, 742-814
 Alfred the Great, 849-901
 Brian Boru, 926-1014
 Lady Godiva, 1040-1080
 Hereward the Wake, 11th centur...
 The Cid, 1040-1099
 Saladin, 1137-1193
 Robert Bruce, 1306-1329
 Robin Hood, 14th century
 William Tell, 14th century
 Timour the Tartar, 1336-1405
 Joan of Arc, 1412-1431
 Christopher Columbus, 1446-150...
 Mary Queen of Scots, 1542-1587
 Sir Francis Drake, 1550-1596
 Sir Philip Sidney, 1554-1586
 Pocahontas, 1595-1617
 Masaniello, 1623-1647
 The Duke of Marlborough, 1650-...
 Rob Roy, 1671-1734
 Alexander Selkirk, 1676-1723
 Flora Macdonald, 1722-1790
 George Washington, 1732-1799
 Nelson, 1758-1805
 Napoleon, 1769-1821
 Wellington, 1769-1852
 Lady Hester Stanhope, 1778-183...
 Garibaldi, 1807-1882
 David Livingstone, 1813-1873
 Grace Darling, 1815-1842
 Florence Nightingale, 1820-191...
 Buffalo Bill, 1846-1917
 Emmeline Pankhurst, 1858-1928
 Nansen, 1861-1930
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Group Title: Heroes and heroines
Title: Heroes & heroines
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00086958/00001
 Material Information
Title: Heroes & heroines
Alternate Title: Heroes and heroines
Heroes and heroines
Physical Description: 79 p. : col. ill. ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Farjeon, Eleanor, 1881-1965
Farjeon, Herbert, 1887-1945
Thornycroft, Rosalind ( Illustrator )
E. P. Dutton (Firm)
Publisher: E.P. Dutton
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date:
Subject: Heroes -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Women heroes -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1940
Genre: Children's poetry
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: by Eleanor & Herbert Farjeon ; with illustrations by Rosalind Thornycroft.
General Note: Poems.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00086958
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002396203
oclc - 18756661
notis - AMA1111

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 3
    Alexander the Great, B.C. 356-323
        Page 4
        Page 5
    Judas Maccabaeus, 2nd century B.C.
        Page 6
        Page 7
    Julius Caesar, B.C. 100-44
        Page 8
        Page 9
    Boadicea, 1st century A.D.
        Page 10
        Page 11
    Charlemagne, 742-814
        Page 12
        Page 13
    Alfred the Great, 849-901
        Page 14
        Page 15
    Brian Boru, 926-1014
        Page 16
        Page 17
    Lady Godiva, 1040-1080
        Page 18
        Page 19
    Hereward the Wake, 11th century
        Page 20
        Page 21
    The Cid, 1040-1099
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Saladin, 1137-1193
        Page 24
        Page 25
    Robert Bruce, 1306-1329
        Page 26
        Page 27
    Robin Hood, 14th century
        Page 28
        Page 29
    William Tell, 14th century
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Timour the Tartar, 1336-1405
        Page 32
        Page 33
    Joan of Arc, 1412-1431
        Page 34
        Page 35
    Christopher Columbus, 1446-1506
        Page 36
        Page 37
    Mary Queen of Scots, 1542-1587
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Sir Francis Drake, 1550-1596
        Page 40
        Page 41
    Sir Philip Sidney, 1554-1586
        Page 42
        Page 43
    Pocahontas, 1595-1617
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Masaniello, 1623-1647
        Page 46
        Page 47
    The Duke of Marlborough, 1650-1722
        Page 48
        Page 49
    Rob Roy, 1671-1734
        Page 50
        Page 51
    Alexander Selkirk, 1676-1723
        Page 52
        Page 53
    Flora Macdonald, 1722-1790
        Page 54
        Page 55
    George Washington, 1732-1799
        Page 56
        Page 57
    Nelson, 1758-1805
        Page 58
        Page 59
    Napoleon, 1769-1821
        Page 60
        Page 61
    Wellington, 1769-1852
        Page 62
        Page 63
    Lady Hester Stanhope, 1778-1839
        Page 64
        Page 65
    Garibaldi, 1807-1882
        Page 66
        Page 67
    David Livingstone, 1813-1873
        Page 68
        Page 69
    Grace Darling, 1815-1842
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Florence Nightingale, 1820-1910
        Page 72
        Page 73
    Buffalo Bill, 1846-1917
        Page 74
        Page 75
    Emmeline Pankhurst, 1858-1928
        Page 76
        Page 77
    Nansen, 1861-1930
        Page 78
        Page 79
    Back Matter
        Page 80
        Page 81
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



The Biadcm Lnhrir









Printed and made in Great Britain

c -! .4, -l 0 s

Heroes and Heroines

Alexander the Great -

Judas Maccabaus

Julius Caesar -


Charlemagne "

Alfred the Great

Brian Boru

Lady Godiva

Hereward the Wake

The Cid


Robert Bruce

Robin Hood -

William Tell '

Timour the Tartar

Joan of Arc -

Christopher Columbus -

Mary Queen of Scots -

Sir Francis Drake -

p. 5


















Sir Philip Sidney p.



The Duke of Marlborough

Rob Roy

Alexander Selkirk

Flora Macdonald

-George Washington




Lady Hester Stanhope


David Livingstone

Grace Darling

Florence Nightingale -

-Buffalo Bill "

Emmeline Pankhurst



Alexander the Great

A B.C. 356-323
ALEXANDER the Great,
Alexander the Great, f
He conquered the world at a rollicking rate,
In a very few weeks
He defeated the Greeks
And scattered the Persians and settled their fate,
In a couple of twos
He walloped the Jews,
He skedaddled the Gypsies, unable to wait,
Then, cutting a dash,
He reduced in a flash
The Indian tribes to a similar state.

Alexander the Great
Looked very ornate
In his beautiful plumes and his gold armour-plate,
And he rode on a steed
Of the very best breed
With an elegant tail and a delicate gait,
But he sighed as he cried,
'I shall now have to ride
Home to Macedon since, I regret to relate,
With the map at my feet,
There is no one to beat,
I have conquered the world at too early a date !'


Judas Maccabaeus

2nd Century B.C.

JUDAS MACCABJEUS,' the Jews of old implored,
'Gird up your loins and free us for the service of the Lord!
The Syrians, our conquerors, have crushed us under heel,
And try to make us feel and think the things they think and feel.
They bid us bow to Bacchus,
They load us with abuse,
They thwack us and they whack us
To make us worship Zeus.
Alack! that we should follow,
By bondage rendered meek,
Their pagan god Apollo
And pray to him in Greek!'

Then up rose Maccabaeus, the mighty Jewish chief,
And cried, 'The Lord shall see us wage war for our-belief!
The Syrian idolaters may worship whom they choose,
Bdt the worship of Jehovah is the worship for the Jews.
Upon the tribe of Bacchus
.His bolt the Lord shall loose!
Not though they hack and rack us
Will we bbw down to Zeus!
Sham gods are these and hollow!
Mark now the words I speak:
A curse upon Apollo
And all who pray in Greek!'

So mighty Maccabaus the enemy defied,
Till 'Lo! our foemen flee us!' the Jewish captain cried,
And entering Jerusalem, acclaimed with joy and awe,
He fortified the Temple and upheld Jehovah's Law.
'Confusion light on Bacchus!
We'll grant the foe no truce
Should they come back to sack us
And re-establish Zeus!
Henceforth no Jew shall swallow
The faith he does not seek,
Or serve the false Apollo
And say his prayers in Greek!'

Julius Caesar

B.C. 100-44

JULIUS CAESAR, pride of Rome,
Made the battlefield his home;
First he fought, and then he went
And wrote about it in his tent.

Casar conquered Rome and Gaul,
Belgium, Germany and all;
Then, with very little fuss,
He came and saw and conquered us.

When his battles he had won,
Caesar, second unto none,
Always tried to civilize
And elevate his enemies.

Laws he taught them how to make,
Roads to lay, and bricks to bake;
Thus his foes, when they were beat,
Were benefited by defeat.

But the jealous Romans who
Saw how Casar's power grew
Whispered, 'Men who wax too great
Become a danger to the State.'

So they planned to shed his gore;
Even Marcus Brutus swore
In the Capitol to end
The life of Caesar, his good friend.

One by one, they stabbed him through;
One by one, his blood they drew;
'Brutus! even thou!' he cried;
And Brutus struck; and Casar died.


Ist Century A.D.

Was frightened of no man
And scorned the idea
Of anything Roman,r
(The Roman she hated
For treating the Briton
As something created
Expressly to sit on,)
So when in her regions,
With fire and with pillage,
The conquering legions
Invaded each village,
This Queen of Iceni
Said, 'Say what you like, I
Am sick of their veni
And vidi and vici!'

Then urging her horses,
Her chariot lashing,
In front of her forces
Pugnaciously dashing,
With hair wildly streaming,
With wrath and rampaging,
With shouting and screaming
And stamping and raging,
With fearsome grimaces
And fury unshaken,
She took several places
The Romans had taken,
And left nothing undone
To make the foe go forth
From Colchester, London,
St. Albans and so forth.

But Roman Paulinus,
By no means enraptured
To hear he was minus
The towns he had captured,
Turned up and attacked her
With swiftness surprising,
And thoroughly whacked her
And put down the rising.
So Boadicea,
In failure resplendent,
Refusing to be a
Mere Roman dependent,
A poisonous fluid
Courageously swallowed.
Bemoaned by the Druid,
Her funeral followed.



SING my sweet King,
SWho rights all wrongs,
His deathless fame I sing
In my poor songs.
Charlemagne! Flower of France!
Who would not die
To win thy favouring glance?
Fain would I!

I sing my King's sire,
Pepin the Short,
The lord who gat a squire
Of taller sort.
Charlemagne! Crown of France!
Who would not try
To merit thy least glance?
Fain would I!

I sing his fair dam,
The Swanfoot Queen,
Who nurtured in her lamb
The lion's mien.
Charlemagne! Soul of France!
Who would not sigh
To earn thy pleasant glance ?
Fain would I!

I sing his Twelve Knights,
His Paladins,
Who turned all wrongs to rights,
And slew all sins.
Charlemagne! Heart of France!
Who would not cry
The glory of thy glance?
Fain would I!

I sing his bright blade,
Joyous, his sword,
Which many a squire hath made
Into a lord.-
Charlemagne! Sword of France!
Who would not vie
To gain thy welcome glance?
Fain would I!

I sing the Oriflamne, /
The Flag of Gold,
In war the proudest claim
For knight to hold.
Charlemagne! Flame of France!
Who would not buy
With death thy lightest glance?
Fain would I!

Alfred the Great


CHILL, shrill,
wind bloweth,
up hill
Alfred goeth,
by Dane
heart, brain,
skin sodden.

Rain raineth,
sludge sludgeth,
pain paineth,
Alfred trudgeth.

At hut
King knocketh,
old slut
'Help, kind
crone, prithee!'
'Pack, hind!
Off with 'ee!'

Slut grumbleth,
Alfred prayeth,
slut mumbleth,
Alfred stayeth.

By glow
King stretcheth,
rye dough
slut fetcheth,
no whit
King heedeth
whiles it
slut kneadeth.

Hearth warmeth,
Alfred lieth,
storm stormeth,
Alfred drieth.

'Watch bake
dough, fellow,
till cake
turn'th yellow,
whiles I
brave cruel
cold sky'
fetching fuel.'

Glow gloweth,
gleam gleameth,
slut goeth,
Alfred dreameth.

In fire
future seeth:
King's ire
Dane fleeth,
King's arm
Dane feeleth,
flame's charm
heart health.

Alfred thinketh,
hope returneth,
fire winketh,
cake burneth.

Thwack! thwack!
slut clouteth!
'Cake's black!'
slut shouteth.

'Fool! dolt!'
King quaileth!
'Clod! colt!'
slut raileth.

Slut growleth,
rateth, ranteth,
screameth, scowleth,
prateth, panteth.

'Lout! block!
lackwit! looby!
stick! stock!
bull-head! booby!'
'Come, thing,'
Alfred sayeth,
'thy King
pardon prayeth!'

Slut moaneth,
weepeth, squealeth,
whineth, groaneth,
waileth, kneeleth.

'Up, slut!
wherefore grovel?
Sweet hut!
bless thy hovel!'
Birds trill,
cock croweth,
down hill
Alfred goeth.

Sky cleareth,
leaf drippeth,
sun cheereth,
Alfred skippeth.

Brian Boru


BRIAN BORU, Boru, Boru,
Brian Boru, Boru!
Where did he live and what did he do,
And what was he like, aroo?
His face was fierce, and his beard was rough,
His eyes were big, and his voice was gruff,
His arms were mighty, his muscles were tough,
Brian Boru, Boru!

Brian Boru was a Munsterman,
His brother was King of the Munster Clan,
And when he died, quoth Brian Boru,
'I'll be King over Munster and Leinster too!'

Brian Boru with his army rude
The Kingdom of Leinster soon subdued,
But when he was King of Leinster, 'Pooh!
I'll be King of All Ireland!' said Brian Boru.

Brian Boru to Dublin sped,
He fought" the Danes and their chief fell dead,
Then he put on the crown, and he cried 'Hooroo!'
And the Dubliners shouted for Brian Boru!

Ever'since then the Irish race
Have adored Boru, in spite of his face,
And instead of boasting their blood is blue,
They declare, 'We're descended from Brian Boru!'

Brian Boru, Boru, Boru,
Brian Boru, Boru!
Though he stirred up a thoroughly Irish stew
Was no scholar at all, aroo!
In various ways he spelt his name,
So nobody spells it twice the same,
But he died in glory and lives in fame
As Brian Boru, Boru!

Lady Godiva

1040- 1o80

Let your hair down!
Bare you must go
Through" Coventry Town,
Riding your palfrey
Past window and door
Naked as Eva
For love of the poor.

Lady Godiva
Pity implored
For the poor people
Oppressed by her lord.
'Pity, my lady!'
He sneered as he spake,
'What would yu suffer
For pity's sweet sake?

'Lady Godiva,
Mount your white mare!
Ride along Coventry
Street if you dare
Stripped of your clothes
From your gown to your shift-
Do this, and pity
I'll grant as a gift!'

Lady Godiva
Through Coventry sent
Word that all windows
And doors should be pent;
She stripped off her shift,
And her hair she unbound,
It fell, a gold mantle,
Her body around.

Lady Godiva
Sat fair on her seat;
There wasn't a soul
To be seen in the street,
Or a sound to be heard
By the people inside
Save the clack on the cobbles
That told of her ride.

Lady Godiva,
Did none see at all?
A fellow named Tom
Made a hole in his wall;
He peeped as she passed,
All golden and white;
But heaven sent lightning
And stripped him of sight.

Lady Godiva
Rode naked to prove
That shame and injustice
Are weaker than love.
Cloaked in her hair
She rode back as she came;
Her lord kept his word
And her folk blessed her name.

Hereward the Wake

i Ith Century
O VER the marshy spaces,
Over the salty grass,
Hereward skims and races-
Which of ye saw him pass?
Harrying William's forces,
Scourge of the Conqueror's men,
Winding his mazy courses,
Hereward's at it again!
Is it a wild swan screaming, screaming
over the reedy land?
Or is it the cry of Hereward calling,
calling his Saxon band?
Is it a- bittern booming, booming,
beating a lonely wing?
Or is it the laugh of Hereward mocking,
mocking the Norman King?

Hereward hunting and hunted,
Hiding in swamp and bog,
Crouching by oak-stump stunted,
Couching beside the frog,
Hereward ever resisting,
Hereward fleet of heel,
.Hereward turning, twisting,
Making the Norman reel!
Is it a grey goose flying, flying
over the windy waste?
Or is it the cloak of Hereward flitting,
flitting in silent haste?
The wild swan screams, the bittern booms,
the grey goose flies the fen,
And Saxon Hereward waking, waking,
Hereward's at it again!

The Cid


H A IL to thee, great Castilian don!
Whose valour like bright silver shone!
Whose name struck terror! and whose sword
Spread death among the Moorish horde!
Hail, mighty Cid! whose bold intent
Made thee in life pre-eminent,
And (as my numbers now recount)
Even in death still paramount!

The strangest victory ever read
The Cid achieved when he was dead-
For, in a city hard beset,
Being sick to death, but living yet,
Unto a friend he gave his last
Commands; and when his life had passed
The Spanish followers of the Cid,
Even as he had ordered, did.

Out of his bed they took his corse;
They set it upright on his horse;
They fastened well the saddle, where
It sat with stern and martial air;
About his sword they closed his hand;
His banner, by the breezes fanned,
They raised aloft; and by his side
Five hundred living knights did ride.

And when, from out the city gate,
Upon his horse, erect and straight,
With trumpet blast and rolling drum,
The Cid, embalmed in death did come,
At sight of him, in armour dressed,
His long beard flowing down his breast,
The Moors in all directions fled,
Unwitting that the Cid was dead.

With panting breath and rolling eyes
They raised to heaven frenzied cries
Of 'Allah! Allah! all is vain!
The Cid is on us once again!'
And falling back on every side,
Some gazing on him open-eyed,
While some their sight in terror hid,
'The Cid!' they cried, 'the Cid! the Cid!'

So, cold and stiff and void of breath,
Triumphant on his day of death,
With clang of hoofs and clash of steel,
The Cid was carried to Castille,
And close beside an altar there
They set him on an ivory chair,
Where pilgrims flocked to see his face
For long years staring into space.


H ER E stands sooty Saladin-don't say Saladin!
His skin is as dark as the Slave of Aladdin!
A sumptuous turban his temples are clad in!
His robe is of silk, which he doesn't look bad in!
And every one knows that the mood he is glad in
Is when he is fighting Crusaders like mad'in
Jerusalem, Jaffa, in Mecca, Bagdad, in
Fact any old city a fight can be had in!

The King of the English would like to have slain him!
The King of the French did his utmost to brain him!
The Emp'ror of Germany tried to obtain him,
Desiring to manacle, shackle and chain him!
Yet none of these monarchs, who failed to restrain him,
Could really dislike or despise or disdain him,
For valour and honour combined to sustain him,
Which made them respect this remarkable Paynim!

And when he desisted from battle's confusions,
His houris refreshed him with fizzy solutions
Of sherbert, and singers made honeyed intrusions,
And conjurers conjured up cunning illusions,
And poets recited rhapsodic effusions,
And dancing-girls twisted in strange revolutions,
While Saladin lay on a cluster of cushions,
In rose-scented water performing ablutions.

Robert Bruce


W HEN BRUCE, King of Scotland,
Was getting the worst
Of the war he was waging
With Edward the First;
When most of his friends
Had been captured or slain,
And the sky over Scotland
Looked very like rain;

When he spent his days hiding
In bushes and trees,
Getting thorns in his fingers
And cuts on his knees;
And when nothing could lighten
The gloom he was feeling-
He lay in a hovel
And stared at the ceiling.

He stared at the ceiling
With thoughts that were black,
Till a spidery spider
Came out of a crack,
A spidery spider
All bulging with thread,
Which she started to spin
In the beam overhead.

She spun the web once,
But the spider-thread broke;
She spun the web twice-
Bruce's interest woke;
She spun the web three times
With pluck unavailing;
She spun the web four times
But still went on failing.

She spun the web five times-
'God bless me!' cried Bruce,
'Yon spidery spider
Must see it's no use!
O spidery spider,
It's plain as a pike
We two are as like as
Two peas are alike!'

She spun the web six times-
'How now!' cried the Scot,
'Don't you- know when you're beaten?'
The spider did not,
But calmly proceeded,
As patient as ever,
To start on an obstinate
Seventh endeavour.

She hung and she swung
And she swayed in the air,
While Bruce for the spider
Recited a prayer-
Then he whooped with delight
And sprang up to his feet,
For from one beam to t'other
The % eb hung complete!

With hope he was filled
And with courage he burned.
'O spider,' he said,
'What a lesson I've learned!
Dear Scotland! of English
Invaders I'll rid it!'
Then Bruce sallied forth
And at Bannockburn did it!


Robin Hood

I4th Century

Was an outlawed earl
He took to the wood
With a lovely girl,
And there and then
They were lord and queen
Of a band of men
In Lincoln green-
There was Scarlet Will, and Alan a Dale
And great big Little John-O,
And Friar Tuck, that fat old buck,
And Much the Miller's Son-O!

Robin Hood
He robbed the rich
And gave to the good
And needy, which,
When the moon was bright
And the sport'was rare,
Seemed only right
And fair and square
To Scarlet Will, and Alan a Dale,
And great big Little John-O,
And Friar Tuck, that fat old buck,
And Much the Miller's Son-O!

Robin Hood
He poached the .deer
And moistened his food
With stolen beer-
Hark how they sing
And shout and flout
The knavish king
Who turned him out
With Scarlet Will, and Alan a Dale,
And great big Little John-0,
And Friar Tuck, that fat old buck,
And Much the Miller's Son-O!

William Tell

I4th Century

Was a mountaineer,
He yodelled and hunted
And knew no fear,
With bow and arrow
He made no miss,
He loved his son
And they both were Swiss,
With ayodel-oodle-iddle-oo,

Austrian Gessler
Ruled that part
With a brutal hand
And a ruthless heart,
He stuck up his hat
In the market square
And made the peasants
Salute it there.

William Tell
Wouldn't bow his head,
Austrian Gessler
Scowled and said,
'Your son, you rebel,
I'll execute
Unless you can show me
How well you shoot.

'Behold this apple
So round and red!
This apple I set
On your small boy's head,

And if with an arrow
From yonder tree
You hit this apple,
I'll set him free!'

Tell's brow grew dark
And his eye flashed flame.
At the far-off apple
He took good aim,
He steadied his hand,
His arrow flew-
And ping! the apple
Was cleft in two!

Then William Tell
In secret planned
Of the Austrian pest
To rid his land;
He hid in the heights
For many a day
Till Austrian Gessler
Came that way.

Austrian Gessler
Rode below,
Twirling his curly
And ping! an arrow
Like lightning sped,
And Austrian Gessler
Fell down dead!
With ayodel-oodle-iddle-oo,

Timour the Tartar


T IMOUR was a Tartar,
Yellow as an egg!
Yellow was.his body
And his face and his leg!
He stamped and he trampled
On the people of the East,
Who fled from Timour
As a Great Wild Beast!
Here comes the Tartar-man!
The terrifying Turk!
Of Siberians and Indians
He makes Short Work!

Timour was a Tartar,
Yellow as a cake!
He made all his enemies
Shiver and shake!
When he had killed them,
This is what he did,
He piled up their skulls
In a Big Pyramid!
Here comes the Tartar-man!
The terrifying Turk!
Of Armenians and. Persians
He Makes Short Work!

Timour was a Tartar,
Yellow as a quince!
Not the sort of hero
We've cared for since!
On his way to China
He came over bad,
And died of distemper,
And Weren't They Glad!
There goes the Tartar-man!
The terrifying Turk!
No one was sorry when
He Knocked Off Work!

Joan of Arc
AID, what make you
Among your sheep?
Over the meadows,
As in sleep,
I hear the Voices,
Brighter than wine,
Of Margaret, Michael,

Maid, what make you
-Of their tale?
Doffyour kirtle,
Don your mail,
And save fair France,
Say the divine
Margaret, Michael,

Maid, what make you
At Orleans siege?
Force the English,
Ifree my liege,
I crown my king,
And obey the sign
Of Margaret, Michael,

Maid, what make you
In Rouen Town?
Ifeel aflame!
I wear a crown!
Father in Heaven,
I see them shine,
Margaret, Michael

Christopher Columbus


AID Christdpher Columbus,
Before he became renowned,
'The theory that
The world is flat
Is certainly most unsound!
So give me a ship
To make a trip,
And, west I'll go
With a yo-heave-ho!
Straight on I'll steer
Till I get back here
And prove that the world is round!'

To Christopher Columbus
The King of the Portuguese
Said 'Fiddle-de-dee!
You can't fool me
With silly ideas like these!'
And the King of Spain
Said, 'Look! it's plain
The world is far
From globular-
Apart from humps
And lumps and bumps,
It's flat as a piece of cheese!'

When Christopher Columbus
Was feeling as dark as night,
Queen Isabel
Said, 'Well! well! well!
You possibly may be right!
So go on a cruise,
For though your views
Seem rather cracked,
And though, in fact,
I don't expect
They'll prove correct,
There's always a chance they might!'

Then Christopher Columbus,
That mariner so renowned,
Sailed o'er the sea
Till one day he
Discovered American ground-
And therefore all
Americans call
The U.S.A.
In praise of the name
Of the man who came
To prove that the world was round!

Mary Queen of Scots


ARY, fairest of the fair,
Scotland's queen and England's heir,
By men worshipped to excess,
Was hated by her Cousin Bess.

When a child, she went to France,
Arid married there with .circumstance
The Dauphin, but the Dauphin died
And made a widow of his bride.

Home she:came to Scotland's throne,
Where, as dogs about a bone,
Lords and princes vied to bring
Mary her next wedding-ring.

Was she not the Scottish queen?
Might she not in time be seen
Wearing England's golden crown
When Queen Bess had laid it down?

Mary, fairer than the rose,
Next her cousin Darnley chose,
Darnley, weak and discontent,
Treacherous and insolent.

Jealous of her higher place,
Jealous even of her face,
Darnley sought to lay her low
And slew her singer Rizzio.

Darnley died; with Bothwell then
Marriage Mary tried again,
But Bothwell stirred up Scotland's hate
And Mary had to abdicate.

Then she fled in her distress
To England and her Cousin Bess,
Who envied her and, turning pale,
Quickly clapped her into gaol.

Mary, fairer than the day,
Nineteen years in prison lay,
A thorn in Bess's side, until
She lost her head on Tower Hill.

So she lived and so she died,
Scotland's pawn and Scotland's pride,
England's bane and England's heir,
Mary, fairest of the fair.

Sir Francis Drake


D EVONSHIRE DRAKE was a sea-dog bold
Who could laugh and swear and swagger and scold!
Young men gaped at the tales he told
Of the thrills a sea-life offers!
He rounded the world in the Golden Hind,
And plundered the wealth of the Western Ind,
So Elizabeth's purse was lined,
And so he filled her coffers!
That is the sort of a man he was,
Sea-dog Sir Francis!
Life is short, so put from port
And take the longest chances!

There wasn't a ship Sir Francis Drake
Wouldn't undertake to overtake!
He gave the dons a stomach-ache,
And made their donnas shudder!
Sir Francis Drake he never turned, pale!
On a rickety raft he braved the gale
With only a biscuit-bag for a sail
And a tree-trunk for a rudder!
That is the sort of a man he was,
Sea-dog Sir Francis!
Life is short, so put from port
And take the longest chances!

Devonshire Drake was playing at bowls
When the Spanish Armada neared the shoals,
But all he said was, 'Here she rolls!
We'll pepper King Philip later!'
Oh, some he fought to the final shot,
And some he sank till he'd settled the lot,
This Protestant, pirate, patriot,
And very-good-Spaniard-hater!
That is the sort of man he was,
Sea-dog Sir Francis!
Life is short, so put from port
And take the longest chances!


Sir Philip Sidney


HERE blooms the flower
Of Bess's Court,
Whose unstain'd hour
On earth was short.

Of courtesy
He was the prince,
None such as he
Before or since.

He held his cause
In honour's name,
His temper was
A shining flame.

With pen and sword,
In dance and fight,
A lovely lord,
A perfect knight.

On Zutphen's field
By mortal wound
His fate was sealed.
For thirst he swooned.

One ran, and brought
A brimming cup;
But ere he sought
The first sweet sup,

He caught a poor
Man's fevered eye,
Who at death's door
Did near him lie.

Amid the slaughter
"Where they bled,
'Take him the water,'
Sidney said-

(The water, sweeter
Then than wine)-
'His need is greater
Yet than mine.'

Crowning his dower
Of high report,
Thus died the flower
Of Bess's Court.

He wrote sweet prose
And sweeter song.
So bright a rose
Could not live long.

--.--r;-- --------~ -114~



Gentle and wild,
The Indian Chief
Powhatan's child,
In her deerskin-shoes
And her feather-cloak
Lived in Virginia
With her folk.

The red-leaf'd maple,
The pine-tree strong,
The wild-bee's honey,
The oriole's song,
The arrow's whistle,
The victim's yell,
Knew these things well.

But when the White Men
Sought her land,
These she did not
They came like heroes
Of ancient myth,
And when she saw him
She loved John Smith.

The Indian called
The White Man foe,
But Pocahontas
Did not so;
From the tomahawk
And the scalping-knife
Powhatan's daughter
Saved John Smith's life.

For when her idol
Was doomed to die
And bowed his head
As the blade rose high,
Her own brown body
On his she flung,
And death was stayed
As the axe-head swung.

And did she wed
The man she saved?
Her story was not
So engraved.
John Rolfe, the settler,
Made her his bride,
And brought her to England,
Where she died.

But Pocahontas
In memory runs
Under Virginia's
Moons and suns,
Swift and eager,
Gentle and wild,
The Indian Chief
Powhatan's child



T OMMASO ANIELLO, for short Masaniello,
A poor Neapolitan fisherman fellow,
Could hardly provide for his needs day by day
With his catch from the azure Sicilian bay.

In the Sicilies then, by a privilege pleasant,
There weren't any taxes to trouble the peasant,
Until a grandee made a sudden demand
That a thousand gold ducats be paid out of hand.

Obliged to obey him, the needy Sicilians,
Who never had thought about ducats in millions,
Decided, although it spelt ruin to do't,
To pay off the million gold ducats in fruit.

But Tommaso Aniello, for short Masaniello,
Cried, 'Ducats are golden, and lemons are yellow!
So when the collectors appear for their rent,
Let's pelt them with lemons until they're content!'

Four hundred young riotous rascals he rallied,
With thousands and thousands of lemons they sallied
To meet the collectors, who staggered to find
The sky raining lemons before and behind!

By lemons their noses were beaten and battered,
To lemons they danced as they scooted and scattered,
From lemons they fled with undignified shrieks,
And they dreamt about lemons for several weeks.

Hail Tommaso Aniello, for short Masaniello,
Who made the tax-gatherers blubber and bellow!
Before very long his success was so great
That this bare-footed fisherman captained the State!

The Duke of Marlborough


H E mighty Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim on the day,
And Ramillies and Oudenarde and
pla- /
So long as he was fighting, he didn't care a fig,
And he marched into battle in a Great Big Wig!
However fierce the fight, and the fuss however great,
He always kept his

The mighty Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim won with ease,
And Oudenarde and Malplaquet and
A hat full of feathers he wore upon his head,
And he changed it for a night-cap when he Went To Bed!
His officers saluted on the field of war,
And his sentinels saluted when they

The mighty Duke of Marlborough through Blenheim came unscarred,
And Malplaquet and Ramillies and
By day he led his regiments for Good Queen Anne,
And at night he kept his feet warm with a Warming-Pan!
And so he beat his enemies, instead of a retreat,
For he never, never, never, never

Rob Roy


Could fling a fine reel,
Och! aye!
With toe and with heel,
And skirl on the bagpipes
Beyond any man,
And was merry and lawless
And loved by his clan!

Rob Roy Macgregor
Stole cattle and'sheep,
Och! aye!
When folk were asleep,
Driving other men's cows
To his lair from the farm,
With other men's lambkins
Tucked under his arm!

Rob Roy Macgregor
Kept robbing the Roy,
Och! aye!
With Jacobite joy!
He helped all his friends,
And he cursed all his foes,
Crying, 'Down with the King
And the Duke of Montrose!'

Rob Roy Macgregor
Was partial to loot,
Och! aye!
And a rebel to boot!
His heart it was good,
If the ways they were bad,
Of Rob Roy Macgregor,
That daredevil lad!

Alexander Selkirk


A PECULIAR man was Selkirk, a difficult man was he,
He couldn't get on with his folks at home, nor yet with his cap'n at sea,
He seemed to be born with a sort of a natural gift for living alone,
So they cast him away at his own request on an isle in the tropic zone.

The Isle of Juan Fernandez, four hundred leagues from land,
With its peppers and palms and pumpkins, its rocks and hills and sand,
Its cats and rats on Monkey Key, its. humming-birds humming all day,
Its wild goat leaping on Rocky Point, and its shark in Sugarloaf Bay.

Now when Alexander Selkirk stood on the silent shore
And watched the vessel sail out of sight, his heart sank more and more,
So he said a prayer, and he sang a psalm, and the isle looked fair and good,
And picking up heart he built him a hut of grass and pimento wood.

He ate the shellfish along the beach and the flesh of the tender kid,
He tamed the cats to destroy the rats of which he was never rid,
And as his garments decayed in rags, he dried the skins of goats,
And he made them, with a needle-nail, into caps and breaks and coats.

The goats that gave him milk were his friends, the cats were his comrades too,
He taught his cats and goats to dance when he'd nothing besides to do,
And while he sang to them, light of heart, they would caper and caracol '
Many an eve on the moony grass as merry as fol-de-rol.

Four years he lived in calm content-then over the silver foam
He sighted a distant vessel, and suddenly yearned for home,
He kindled his island bonfires, the distant ship lay to,
And sent out a boat to fetch him off from the happiest life he knew.

Alas for his happy island! he was never so glad again!
For when he returned to his father's home and the life that is lived by men,
He pined for the strange dominions which had once been all his own,
And away from his fellows he'd roam all day, desiring to be alone.

And every night, with two tame cats, he'd sneak to his humble room,
And singing softly, teach them how to dance in the candle-gloom,
Dreaming of Juan Fernandez, where he used to caracol
With his old wild cats and his old wild goats as merry as fol-de-rol..

Flora Macdonald


OH, raw the nicht and keen the blast,
And lowly was the shed
Whaur Charlie lay aboon the brae,
A price upon his head.
'Twas Flo Macdonald tae him there,
Amid the mire an' murk,
The garments bore her handmaid wore,
Her bonnie Betty Burke.

'Put on this flowered gown, my king,
And quilted petticoat,
And you and I will sail to Skye
All in an open boat.'

'Beneath yon camlet cloak, my dear,
I'll hide my kilt an' dirk,
And gang wi' ye across the sea
As bonnie Betty Burke.'

'The wind is up at sea, my king,
" The hunt is up on shore!
Till you stand sound on friendly ground
I'll leave ye nevermore!'

'Then on the heather heights, my dear,
Nae mair I'll crouch an' lurk,
But tak my way by light o' day
As bonnie Betty Burke.'

'There's danger on the sea, my king,
There's death upon the strand,
But I will brave wi' you the wave
And save you either hand.'

'Now let you gae to sleep, my dear,
Your dreams nae ill shall irk,
For wha will keep ye in your sleep
But bonnie Betty Burke?'

They twa hae crossed the angry sea,
They twa hae come tae Skye,
And handsome Flo wi' pride aglow
Has kissed her king good-bye.
'Farewell, my Flo, farewell, my dear,
I'll mind for aye this work!'
'Farewell, farewell to bonnie Charles,
And bonnie Betty Burke!'

George Washington

WHEN little George was quite a child
He found a little hatchet,
And chopped with glee a cherry-tree
In order to dispatch it.
He chopped it up, he chopped it down,
He raised the axe and dealt it whacks,
And when it fell, he knew quite well
That somebody would catch it!

Then George's father came along
And said in tones decided:
'I-t seems to me this cherry-tree
Looks shockingly lop-sided!
Who chopped it up? who chopped it down?'
His voice was shrill-it boded ill!
And George turned red but frankly said:
'I cannot lie, dad, I did!'

And did the father take a birch
STo beat the trembling sinner?
Or say, 'You see that cherry-tree-
Well, there you see your dinner!'
No, no! he looked George up and down,
And cried, 'Good youth! you've told the truth!
Bravo, my lad! your happy dad
Has clearly bred a winner!'

No truer word was ever spoke!
Arrived at manhood's station,
Even as he had whacked the tree,
George whacked the English nation!
He marched his army up and down,
He freed his land from England's hand,
For which his name and fame became
Columbia's inspiration

So once a year the U.S.A.
Does honour to the chopper
Who made with glee that cherry-tree
And England come a cropper.
With rockets up and crackers down
In every State they celebrate
George Washington, the upright son
Who would not tell a whopper!




N ELSON only had one eye-
What! just the one eye?
Yes, just the one eye,
But the Froggies agreed it was much too spry
When he fought for his King and his Country!
And he won the Battle of Trafalgar,
Which shows one eye can see as far
As two can see, or even three,
When you fight for your King and your Country!

Nelson only had one arm-
What! just the one arm?
Yes, just the one arm,
But the Froggies agreed it worked like a charm
When he fought for his King and his Country!
For he won the Battle of Trafalgar,
Which shows one arm is as good in a spar
As two can be, or even three,
When you fight for your King and your Country!

Nelson he was sick at sea-
What! seasick at sea?
Yes, seasick at sea,
But he brought up his guns as well as his tea
When he fought for his King and his Country!
And he won the Battle of Trafalgar,
Which shows that sickness is no bar
To a victoree, or two or three,
When you fight for your King and your Country!



NAPOLEON, when the day is done,
On Saint Helena stands,
And gazes at the setting sun,
And dreams of distant lands
Where once the rulers feared his glance
When from the ranks he rose
To be the Emperor of France
And trample on her foes-
But now, encircled by the sea,
A solitary exile he.

He sees again with brooding eyes
His Corsica in flower,
He hears the Revolution rise
That lifted him. to power,
He sees again the laurel wreath
He won in many a war,
He hears France cry with eager breath.
'Long live the Emperor!'-
While now, encircled by the sea,
A solitary exile he.

He sees the chain of fire that spells
In Moscow his defeat,
He hears again the Kremlin's bells
And tramp of marching feet,
He sees the shadow on his reign
As Europe's tempests brew,
He hears, oh fateful toll! again
The guns of Waterloo -
And now, encircled by the sea,
A solitary exile he.

Napoleon, as the daylight fades,
His arm across his breast,
Watches the scarlet cavalcades
Of sunset in the west.
Oh, are not these his Grenadiers
Arisen from the grave?
And is this booming in his ears
Only the breaking wave?-
Night falls. Encircled by the sea,
A solitary exile he.


HIS here's the Iron Dook
For whom the drum goes bang!
And them as don't approve of him
May all of 'em go hang!
In Eighteen Hunderd and Fifteen
He got up on his pony,
And went with his drum to Bel-gi-um
To rid the world of Boney!
This here's the Iron Dook
For whom the fife goes tweet!
And them as can't abide his ways
Are them he'd like to meet!
In Eighteen Hunderd and Fifteen,
With Bloocher for his crony,
He went with fife-and-drum to Bel-gi-um
To make short work of Boney!

This here's the Iron Dook
For whom the cornet toots!
He won his spurs at Waterloo,
And left the world his boots!
In Eighteen Hunderd and Fifteen,
Like mince for a polony,
With cornet-fife-and-drum he went
And made mincemeat of Boney!

to Bel-gi-um

Lady Hester Stanhope


N the low hills of Lebanon,
Far from her native Somerset,
The Lady Hester Stanhope dwelt
Behind a grey stone parapet.

Pitt's niece and Chatham's grand-daughter,
This fiery heir of famous names
For forty years, among her kind,
Lived the calm life of English dames.

Sudden, when half her years were spent,
Departing from her native place,
To Smyrna and Jerusalem
The English lady turned her face.

Fearless she crossed the desert plains,
Fearless she faced the desert hordes;
Because she scorned all hurt and harm
She queened it over Arab lords.

When the ferocious Bedouin rode
With pointed spear, this woman gaunt
Rose in her stirrups, raised her veil,
And cried in hollow tones, 'Avaunt!'

And ever grew her fame and power,
And ever grew the murmurous
Whisper among the Arab tribes :
'A Prophetess is come to us!'

Not far from Sidon's ancient pile,
This Prophetess, this Desert Queen,
In a neglected convent dwelt
Communing with the Great Unseen.

No books she read but in the stars,
Nor tasted any food but milk;
Her eyes glowed in her milk-white face
Neath turban-folds of pallid silk.

Black slaves and Arabs served her needs
In her dilapidated halls,.
Waiting to rob her of her goods
When death should steal within her walls.

When travellers came from the West,
Whose mothers knew her as a child,
Gracious among her veils she rose
With welcoming words and glances wild.

She asked for news of Somerset-
But swiftly passed to vaster spheres-
Muttered of demons and black arts,
And whispered, 'The Messiah nears!'

Believed and served, revered and feared,
She died. Now through the chambers fly
The pillaging and plundering slaves,
Like jackals when the moon is high.

On the low hills of Lebanon,
Far from the vales of Somerset,
The Lady Hester Stanhope sleeps
Behind her grey stone parapet.



r"ARIBALDI tilled the soil,
And grew the olives that give the oil,
J And sowed the seed that bears the vine
That yields the grapes that make the wine.

But while he slashed the weeds and wrought
To clear his little patch, he thought
How everywhere his native land
Was choked with weeds of foreign brand.

He thought how lovely Venice lay
A captive under Austrian sway;
How Sicily and Naples groaned
Under the Frenchman there enthroned;

How Italy's unhappy king
Even in Rome played second string-
So Garibaldi left his farm
And called on Italy to arm.

All Italy enkindled when
He raised his Thousand Redshirt Men!
'Twas Redshirts here and Redshirts there,
Italian Redshirts everywhere!

A brave new soul awakened in
The land from Naples to Turin;
Wherever Garibaldi came,
The Redshirts followed like a flame.

He liberated Sicily,
From Naples made the Frenchman flee,
Nor rested till his king sat down
'Neath Italy's united crown.

They offered him for his reward
A castle suited to a lord,
Promised his son a place of power,
His daughter, a princess's dower.

But Garibaldi, void of greed,
Took nothing but a bag of seed,
Called on his Redshirts to disarm,
And went back to his country farm-

Went back again to till the soil,
And grow the olives that give the oil,
And sow the seed that bears the vine
That yields the grapes that make the wine.

David Livingstone


H, have you heard of Livingstone,
Dr. David Livingstone,
Who went to Darkest Africa and solved her darkest riddle?
We knew that she had edges
As we know a field has hedges,
But Livingstone discovered that she also had a middle.
Then sing aloud in chorus, with a tom-tom playing solo,
Cabango and Kabompo and Ilala and Dilolo,
Shapanga and Katanga and Ujiji and Chambese,
Not forgetting Bangweolo and Nyasa and Zambesi!

Oh, where is Dr. Livingstone,
Dr. David Livingstone,
Who went away to Africa to tread the track unbeaten?
We haven't had a letter
For so long, perhaps we'd better
Send Mr. H. M. Stanley, just to see if he's been eaten.
Come, sing again in chorus, though I know it isn't easy,
Cabango and Kabompo and Nyasa and Zambesi,
Ilala and Dilolo and Ujiji and Shapanga,
Not forgetting Bangweolo and Chambese and Katanga!

'Good morning, Dr. Livingstone!
Delighted, Dr. Livingstone,
To find you safe and sound in this environment forsaken!'
'Good morning, Mr. Stanley!
Your behaviour has been manly,
I'm very glad to see you-will you have some eggs and bacon?
And sing with me in chorus, while the natives do a romp-O,
Nyasa and Zambesi and Cabango and Kabompo,
Chambese and Ujiji and Ilala and Dilolo,
Shapanga and Katanga, not forgetting Bangweolo!'

Grace Darling


G RACE DARLING, the Pride of the Lifeboat,
Was a lass of Northumbrian stock;
She knew from a child a coast that was wild
And breakers that battered the rock;
Her father, one William D. Darling,
Kept the lighthouse on Longstone, in Fame,
While Grace in her home by the spray and the foam
The holes in his stockings would darn.

'Twas in Thirty-Eight that a tempest
Blew up amid lightning and rain,
And far out at sea, bound from Hull to Dundee,
The Forfarshire signalled in vain!
'Oh, who,' exclaimed William D. Darling,
'Our lifeboat to launch will dare try?'
Then his brave daughter Grace looked him straight in the face
And said, 'You, my dear father, and I.'

Unaided, they launched it together!
Unaided, they fought with the tide!
.But, high though it ran, Grace pulled like a man,
With Courage and Faith by her side!
And the bosom of William D. Darling
Swelled with pride of the child he had bred,
For she stuck to her oar 'mid the din and the roar
Of the thunder that rolled overhead!

At last they arrived at the vessel!
SThe breakers were flooding the deck,
But, though wet to the skin, Grace never gave in,
And rescued nine souls from the wreck.
And the daughter of William D. Darling
Was toasted from Falmouth to Fame,
While, meek as a mouse, she went back to the house,
Her dear father's stockings to darn.

Florence Nightingale

WHEN cannon-roar and musket-rattle
Shook the Crimea far and wide,
Many fell dead in bloody battle,
But more for lack of nursing died;
Uncared, uncomforted, uncherished,
Moaning, the sick and wounded lay,
Till, to the plague-spot where they perished,
A lady came from far away.

With courage high, across the water
She came in answer to their call;
Even in the heart of daily slaughter
She raised her healing hospital.
She faced the ague and the fever,
Filth and fatigue and bitter chill;
Ever she named her will, and ever
England compelled to grant her will.

Constant and staunch, however tested,
Bravely she faced the long campaign;
She worked, she nursed, she never rested,
Soothing the soldiers in their pain.
Often at night, the sick men turning
To ease their hot and heavy heads,
Would see her, with her dim lamp burning,
Silently walk between their beds.

Her name through every English city
Rang louder than the Russian gun-
The name this lady's care and pity
From the dry lips of soldiers won:
For when, her vigil still unended,
She cooled their brows with fever damp,
The men she nightly watched and tended
Named her the Lady of the Lamp.

Buffalo Bill


SAY what a thrill!
Here's Buffalo Bill,
The King of the Cowboys in valour and skill,
With his fringes of leather, his cowpuncher's hat,
His lasso and pistols and boots and all that!
Stout-hearted and hairy,
With confidence airy
He slew the wild buffalo roaming the prairie,
And played the chief part in exciting events
Enacted around the Red Indian tents,
And when the news came,
As part of the game,
That the Redskins had set his log-cabin aflame,
He rode without pause
To put down the cause
--'Mid the yelling of braves and the squawking of squaws.
He fought a lot more
As Scoutmaster for
The troops of the North in the Great Civil War,
And America's mail through the land was conveyed
By his Pony Express ere the railway was made.
And I say! what a thrill
When Buffalo Bill,
Who, agog for adventure, could never keep still,
Got up a fine circus, to show every one
How the Redskin-and-buffalo business was done!
What glee and what glory
To see his life-story,
Presented in episodes pleasantly gory,
With whips and with scalps that were cracked with a will
By breakneck, unbeatable Buffalo Bill!

_ _

Emmeline Pankhurst


MILITANT, vigorous,
Rampant and rigorous,
Emmeline Pankhurst cried, 'Britain! take note!
Votes, Votes for Women! I
Won't rest, by Jiminy,
Till, like my husband, I'm given a Vote!
Are men superior?
Women inferior?
Suffragettes, come! pass your days and your nights
Hatching up critical
Crises political,
Fearlessly planned to procure us our Rights !'

Then with her following,
Hooting and hollowing,
Emmeline shouted when Ministers spoke;
Windows they battered in;
Acid they scattered in
Pillar-posts, setting the letters a-smoke;
Next, from the putting-green
They started cutting green
Pieces of turf twice as big as your hand-
Thus her tenacity,
Backed by audacity,
Made Mrs. Pankhurst the scorn of the land.

Statesmen detested her,
Policemen arrested her,
Colonels in clubs became pink at her name,
Newspapers sneered at her,
Little boys jeered at her,
Still Mrs. Pankhurst went on with the game,
Till her ability
Vanquished hostility-
Now women vote, for a vote they have got-
And since her victory,
No contradictory
Candidate dares to suggest they should not!



T HIS is the saga of Nansen, pioneer of the North,
The saga of Fridtjof Nansen and the Fram that bore him forth.
Tall was he as a viking, kindly and strong was he,
The blood of his roving fathers drove him from sea to sea.
Blue were the eyes of Nansen, keener than ice or fire,
Fixed as the star they gazed on, the Pole Star of his desire.
Better than fields of flowers the ice-fields Nansen loved,
Where man's endurance was tested, and his faith in God was proved.
Better than grass in the valleys he loved the snow on the heights,
Where the fierce white Arctic called him, flashing her northern lights.
Steering the Fram to the ice-pack that ever did northward shift,
He let her drift with the ice-floe as far as the floe would drift.
When the Fram could fare no farther, locked in the icy jam,
With his dogs, his sleds and his snowshoes, Nansen quitted the Fram.
The white whale blew in the channels, the white bear prowled the snows,
Like fiery quartz the drift-ice glowed in the sunset's rose.
The walrus barked in the waters, the great auk skimmed the ice,
The Aurora Borealis turned heaven to paradise.
The leaping fox, the crested seal, scampered and hid from sight,
Three white fountains of moonlight sprang on the deep blue night.
Three years, three years absent, his fate three yeais unknown,
The rover under the Pole Star was lost in the frozen zone.

Three years, three years wandering under the blind white spell,
Home he came to, Norway with a marvellous tale to tell.
The saga of Fridtjof Nansen, who, questing the Pole, went forth,
And left the Fram abandoned to silence in the North.

I FI 'a


j821 F
Far.jeon, 9648i;
Heroes and heroines

Two Weeks Book
1. A fine of two cents will be charged on each book loi
every day beyond lad date stamped.
2. Two weeks books may be renewed for one week.
One week books cannot be renewed.
3. City borrowers may take one seven day book and two
or more "two weeks" books. Depositors are limited to three
4. Please presehl card when drawing out books. A small
fee is charged to duplicate lost card.
5. Each borrower is held responsible for all books drawn
on his card and for all fines accruing on the same.

SAlbertson Public Library
Orlando, Florida


University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs