Poetical works of the late F. Sayers to which have been prefixed the connected disquisitions on the rise and progress of English poetry, and on English metres, and also some biographic particulars of the author, supplied by W. Taylor |
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Jack the Giant-killer.
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 | Poetical works of the late F. Sayers |  |
247
Jack the Giant-killer.
A FRAGMENT.
εν πρωτοις ιαχ----
Homeri Ilias.
Homeri Ilias.
251
To whom the giant-killing Jack replied;
“Guest, thou hast spoken right; but ere I enter
Thy ship of heart-of-oak, well-built, swift-sailing,
First let us sup, for so my heart inclines me;
Then let us go to bed; and when the morn,
With rosy fingers, opes the gates of heaven,
We'll spread our sails, and cross the barren ocean.”
He said; and lo! a blue-arm'd, red-fac'd maid,
With apron white, brings in a fresh-wash'd cloth
Of hempen thread well twisted, wove long since
By a skilful weaver; this she swift unfolds,
And on the table, form'd of close-knit oak,
She jerking spreads; then seeks the knives and forks
And clattering plates, and from the cool brick'd pantry
She bears cold pork, which Jack had left at dinner,
And places it before them; quick she brings,
Well fill'd with dark-brown beer, a wooden can
Of curious workmanship, the which to Jack
His friend Tom Thumb had given, and the which
Was given to Thumb by Hickatrift divine,
And Hickatrift had stolen it from the castle
Of mighty Ogre, whom he boldly slew
In dreadful fight, thwacking with knotty staff.
Supper serv'd up, Jack smiling thus began;
“Cheer up, my friend, although thou'rt griev'd in mind
Because thy daughter in the giant's cave
Lies bound in ropen bonds; I'll set her free;
But now attend, and treasure in thy mind
What I shall say; when heart-corroding cares,
And bitter groans, assail thy labouring breast,
Then eat and drink, for I do nothing know
That sooner drives those heart-corroding cares
And bitter groans away, than joyous feasting.”
To whom the white-hair'd traveller replied;
“O giant-killing Jack, thou speak'st most shrewdly:
Although with keenest grief my mind is stor'd,
Yet will I joy awhile in thy repast.”—
He said—and Jack did separate with ease
Two ribs of white-tooth'd hog, and to his guest
Gave them; the old man eats, and from the can
Draws frequent draughts, and soon his soul is gladden'd.
When their dear hearts were satisfied with food,
The giant-killing Jack again bespake him:
“O guest, before we sleep, I'll give to thee
A keep-sake, and do thou return the like.
Take this tobacco-pouch; 't is made of skin
Of mountain-deer, that on the windy top
Of Cheviot play'd; 't was given long ago,
By a Scotch smuggler, to my grandfather;
He left it to his son, and I have now
Succeeded to it, for my father's dead.”
To whom the white-hair'd traveller replied,
“I take thy gift, O host, and give instead
This clasped knife, the blade whereof is steel
Of finest temper, and the haft of horn.”
He said, and rising from their wicker seats,
They haste to bed, and sweet sleep falls upon them;
But when the rosy-finger'd morn was risen,
Jack leaps from bed, and first puts on his breeches;
Then o'er his legs he draws his worsted stockings,
Well darned by his skilful grandmother;
Then buckles on his shoes, and buttons tight
His calf-skin waistcoat; over all he throws
His coat, and cross his brawny shoulders flings
His steely hanger stain'd with giant blood.
Below he meets the traveller, and in haste
They drink a mess of milk, drawn from the cows
That, ever-chewing, range the fruitful meads;
Walking they seek the ship of heart-of-oak,
When close beneath a hedge of flowering thorn,
They spy an aged dame, who slowly stoop'd
To gather sticks; she was a cunning witch,
Of high renown in all the country round;
Much had she told of true; and if of false
Aught had escap'd her, no one dar'd to say so.
The giant-killing Jack address'd her smiling,
“Hail mother! tell me, for full well thou know'st,
If the adventure that I've now begun
Shall prosperous prove—speak, and I'll give thee sixpence.”
“Sixpence! who can resist thee?”—stop! ah stop!
My mother dear, cries Jack—thou'st said enough—
I seize those charmed words as happiest bodings.
The money paid, they quickly climb the ship;
Tugging they hoist the sails; and favouring winds
Bear them across the streams of misty ocean.
The ship runs hissing thro' the frothy waves;
At length they reach the island, where the giant
Dwells in his well-built castle; soon they spy it,
And gaze with admiration on the walls
Of high-pil'd stones, and on the yawning ditch.
Strait to the gate they go, and knock aloud—
The Ogre o'er the buttress rears his head—
They tremble-when the mighty giant calls,
With brazen lungs, as if a hundred bulls
Bellow'd at once, “Whence are you? why this uproar?
Say, are you trading mariners, who sail
On business thro' the seas, or at the risque
Of your own lives, seize ye on others' goods?”
To whom, with words deceitful, Jack replied:
“We're trading mariners, our well-built ship
Is stranded on your coast, and of the crew
We only have escap'd.”—The Ogre thus;
“Enter my castle.”—Slow the heavy gates
Turn'd creaking on their hinges—in they pass;
But when the giant stood before their eyes,
Monstrous to see, Jack, in an under voice,
Thus spake—“O venerable, white-hair'd guest,
Never can I by force of arms destroy
This mountain of a man; but by my tricks
And wise deceit, I'll strive to do his business,
And leave his corse a prey to dogs and crows.”
This said, the giant calls them to his meal;
High on the table stood a wooden bowl,
Well fill'd with hasty pudding—this espied,
Jack, in his mind discreet, quick form'd a plan
To kill the giant, and to free the maid.
While, on the pudding quite intent, the Ogre,
Cramm'd his huge belly, Jack, between his shirt
And dark-brown skin, slipp'd down a leathern bag
Of many folds, then join'd in the repast;
He not into his stomach threw the food,
But with a dext'rous hand he fill'd the bag,
Prepar'd with cunning mind—at length he cries,
“O host, thy glory shoots above the stars,
Vast are thy jaw-bones, and thou eat'st with ease
More than would satisfy a hundred men
Of modern days; but see me do a deed
Thy mighty soul dares not.” “What's that?” cried he.
“Thus from my stomach do I loose the food
That's therein pil'd.” He said, and with his knife
Open'd the bag, and forth the pudding flow'd;
The giant saw it; and with foolish mind,
Struck a bold blow, and fairly pierc'd his paunch.
As mountain streams descending join in one,
And dash impetuous in a white cascade,
While shepherds gazing shudder at the sight,
So gush'd the pudding from the monster's maw;
He falls—the vaulted castle rocks around—
His armour clangs—he roars aloud for aid,
And echo, from a thousand caverns, sends
His roars again—when with his axe of steel,
The wood-cutter, with frequent strokes, cuts down
The lofty pine, it tumbles creaking, crashing;
So fell the giant—as the mountain lion,
Stung by sharp hunger, leaps into the fold,
Where by the shepherd's spear transfix'd he lies,
Lashing his sides, and darting fiery looks,
Even in death; so dreadful look'd the giant;
Jack smiling cries—
“Guest, thou hast spoken right; but ere I enter
Thy ship of heart-of-oak, well-built, swift-sailing,
First let us sup, for so my heart inclines me;
Then let us go to bed; and when the morn,
With rosy fingers, opes the gates of heaven,
We'll spread our sails, and cross the barren ocean.”
He said; and lo! a blue-arm'd, red-fac'd maid,
With apron white, brings in a fresh-wash'd cloth
Of hempen thread well twisted, wove long since
By a skilful weaver; this she swift unfolds,
And on the table, form'd of close-knit oak,
She jerking spreads; then seeks the knives and forks
And clattering plates, and from the cool brick'd pantry
She bears cold pork, which Jack had left at dinner,
And places it before them; quick she brings,
Well fill'd with dark-brown beer, a wooden can
Of curious workmanship, the which to Jack
252
Was given to Thumb by Hickatrift divine,
And Hickatrift had stolen it from the castle
Of mighty Ogre, whom he boldly slew
In dreadful fight, thwacking with knotty staff.
Supper serv'd up, Jack smiling thus began;
“Cheer up, my friend, although thou'rt griev'd in mind
Because thy daughter in the giant's cave
Lies bound in ropen bonds; I'll set her free;
But now attend, and treasure in thy mind
What I shall say; when heart-corroding cares,
And bitter groans, assail thy labouring breast,
Then eat and drink, for I do nothing know
That sooner drives those heart-corroding cares
And bitter groans away, than joyous feasting.”
To whom the white-hair'd traveller replied;
“O giant-killing Jack, thou speak'st most shrewdly:
Although with keenest grief my mind is stor'd,
Yet will I joy awhile in thy repast.”—
He said—and Jack did separate with ease
Two ribs of white-tooth'd hog, and to his guest
Gave them; the old man eats, and from the can
Draws frequent draughts, and soon his soul is gladden'd.
When their dear hearts were satisfied with food,
The giant-killing Jack again bespake him:
“O guest, before we sleep, I'll give to thee
253
Take this tobacco-pouch; 't is made of skin
Of mountain-deer, that on the windy top
Of Cheviot play'd; 't was given long ago,
By a Scotch smuggler, to my grandfather;
He left it to his son, and I have now
Succeeded to it, for my father's dead.”
To whom the white-hair'd traveller replied,
“I take thy gift, O host, and give instead
This clasped knife, the blade whereof is steel
Of finest temper, and the haft of horn.”
He said, and rising from their wicker seats,
They haste to bed, and sweet sleep falls upon them;
But when the rosy-finger'd morn was risen,
Jack leaps from bed, and first puts on his breeches;
Then o'er his legs he draws his worsted stockings,
Well darned by his skilful grandmother;
Then buckles on his shoes, and buttons tight
His calf-skin waistcoat; over all he throws
His coat, and cross his brawny shoulders flings
His steely hanger stain'd with giant blood.
Below he meets the traveller, and in haste
They drink a mess of milk, drawn from the cows
That, ever-chewing, range the fruitful meads;
Walking they seek the ship of heart-of-oak,
When close beneath a hedge of flowering thorn,
254
To gather sticks; she was a cunning witch,
Of high renown in all the country round;
Much had she told of true; and if of false
Aught had escap'd her, no one dar'd to say so.
The giant-killing Jack address'd her smiling,
“Hail mother! tell me, for full well thou know'st,
If the adventure that I've now begun
Shall prosperous prove—speak, and I'll give thee sixpence.”
“Sixpence! who can resist thee?”—stop! ah stop!
My mother dear, cries Jack—thou'st said enough—
I seize those charmed words as happiest bodings.
The money paid, they quickly climb the ship;
Tugging they hoist the sails; and favouring winds
Bear them across the streams of misty ocean.
The ship runs hissing thro' the frothy waves;
At length they reach the island, where the giant
Dwells in his well-built castle; soon they spy it,
And gaze with admiration on the walls
Of high-pil'd stones, and on the yawning ditch.
Strait to the gate they go, and knock aloud—
The Ogre o'er the buttress rears his head—
They tremble-when the mighty giant calls,
With brazen lungs, as if a hundred bulls
Bellow'd at once, “Whence are you? why this uproar?
255
On business thro' the seas, or at the risque
Of your own lives, seize ye on others' goods?”
To whom, with words deceitful, Jack replied:
“We're trading mariners, our well-built ship
Is stranded on your coast, and of the crew
We only have escap'd.”—The Ogre thus;
“Enter my castle.”—Slow the heavy gates
Turn'd creaking on their hinges—in they pass;
But when the giant stood before their eyes,
Monstrous to see, Jack, in an under voice,
Thus spake—“O venerable, white-hair'd guest,
Never can I by force of arms destroy
This mountain of a man; but by my tricks
And wise deceit, I'll strive to do his business,
And leave his corse a prey to dogs and crows.”
This said, the giant calls them to his meal;
High on the table stood a wooden bowl,
Well fill'd with hasty pudding—this espied,
Jack, in his mind discreet, quick form'd a plan
To kill the giant, and to free the maid.
While, on the pudding quite intent, the Ogre,
Cramm'd his huge belly, Jack, between his shirt
And dark-brown skin, slipp'd down a leathern bag
Of many folds, then join'd in the repast;
He not into his stomach threw the food,
But with a dext'rous hand he fill'd the bag,
256
“O host, thy glory shoots above the stars,
Vast are thy jaw-bones, and thou eat'st with ease
More than would satisfy a hundred men
Of modern days; but see me do a deed
Thy mighty soul dares not.” “What's that?” cried he.
“Thus from my stomach do I loose the food
That's therein pil'd.” He said, and with his knife
Open'd the bag, and forth the pudding flow'd;
The giant saw it; and with foolish mind,
Struck a bold blow, and fairly pierc'd his paunch.
As mountain streams descending join in one,
And dash impetuous in a white cascade,
While shepherds gazing shudder at the sight,
So gush'd the pudding from the monster's maw;
He falls—the vaulted castle rocks around—
His armour clangs—he roars aloud for aid,
And echo, from a thousand caverns, sends
His roars again—when with his axe of steel,
The wood-cutter, with frequent strokes, cuts down
The lofty pine, it tumbles creaking, crashing;
So fell the giant—as the mountain lion,
Stung by sharp hunger, leaps into the fold,
Where by the shepherd's spear transfix'd he lies,
Lashing his sides, and darting fiery looks,
Even in death; so dreadful look'd the giant;
Jack smiling cries—
| Poetical works of the late F. Sayers | |