O! HOP is a sailor used up in the war,
With a single good leg to stand on;
And a face as dingy almost as the tar
He was wont to rest his hand on:
And he grumbles strange oaths in his hairy throat
Whenever he sees a fair vessel afloat,
Especially one with those staring round eyes
(Port-holes, you know)
Whence the hot shot flies
At a quaking foe;
For then his anger, it fizzles up
(Like the sputtering foam in a lager-beer cup),
And he hoarsely cries,
"May witches fly off with that fellow by whom
I'm reduced to the cruel, contemptible doom
Of tottering all day,
In an imbecile way,
'Twixt a single good leg
And this base wooden peg,
Far, far from the spume
Of the gay ocean-spray!
So, seize him, and scorch him, and fry him, I say!"
But Skip is a mincing lady fine;
She never was seen to breakfast or dine;
And how she lives, none knoweth;
Her waist is so very slender and thin,
You fear it must snap, and topple in,
At the first slight wind that bloweth.
Her favorite motion's an airy jerk,
With her eyeballs raised, and her chin a-perk,
And her little red ringlets bobbing,
Bobbing and hobnobbing,
In a friendly fashion, each to each;
And her check is the hue of a delicate peach
(That never a shade can vary);
"Perpetual motion" she's sometimes called,
And really, truly one feels appalled
To view her galvanized skipping,
Her dancing, wriggling, whipping
Of one skirt in and one skirt out,
Her general manner of going about,
Which lies, I ween,
Half pitched between
The twittering, fussy, old-maidish way
Of the restless jay,
And the airs of a sprightly canary!
Jump is a long-limbed sturdy boy,
With such strong muscles to back him,
That I hardly could wish the creature joy
Who should ever dare to attack him;
A four-foot fence he clears in a minute;
And if you bet front the cottage eave
(And a very tall cottage it is in sooth),
With your leave, or without your leave,
That he cannot jump
With a dauntless thump,
And a thundering bump,--
Be sure that he'll quickly win it!
And, to whisper the truth,--the fearful truth,
I believe if whale or dragon,
The one on sea, and t'other on land,
(The biggest that either could brag on),
Came floating, or crawling nigh,
That this marvellous boy,
With a ringing cry
Of fierce, exuberant, reckless joy,
Would, just for the fun of it,
Make a swift run of it
Right down the jaws of whichever dread vermin
The turn of chance or a thought should determine!
So here my song ends,
And ye, charming young friends!
Don't endeavor to pump
My dry fancy again;
'Tis enough I've made plain
As Tommy's big nose
Looming red o'er the snows,
Those impalpable ideas of Hop, Skip, and Jump!
