Percival Leigh - Jack The Giant Killer

Morning dawned on the ocean blue;
Shrieked the gull and the wild sea-mew;
The donkey brayed, and the grey cock crew;
Jack put to his mouth his good cow-horn,
And a blast therewith did blow.

The Giant heard the note of scorn,
And woke and cried "Hallo!"
He popped out his head with his night-cap on,
To look who his friend might be,
And eke his spectacles did don,
That he mote the better see.

"I'll broil thee for breakfast," he roared amain,
"For breaking my repose."
"Yaa!" valiant Jack returned again,
With his fingers at his nose.

Forward the monster tramps apace,
Like to an elephant running a race;
Like a walking-stick he handles his mace.
Away, too venturous wight, decamp!
In two more strides your skull he smashes; —
One! Gracious goodness! what a stamp!
Two! Ha! the plain beneath him crashes:
Down he goes, full fathoms three.

"How feel ye now," cried Jack, "old chap?
It is plain, I wot, to see
You 're by no means up to trap."
The Giant answered with such a roar,
It was like the Atlantic at war with its shore;
A thousand times worse than the hullaballoo
Of carnivora, fed,
Ere going to bed,
At the Regent's Park, or the Surrey "Zoo."

"So ho! Sir Giant," said Jack, with a bow,
"Of breakfast art thou fain?
For a tit-bit wilt thou broil me now,
An' I let thee out again? "
Gnashing his teeth, and rolling his eyes,
The furious lubber strives to rise.

"Don't you wish you may get it?" our hero cries
And he drives the pickaxe into his skull:
Giving him thus a belly-full,
If the expression is n't a bull.

Old Cormoran dead,
Jack cut off his head,
And hired a boat to transport it home.
On the "bumps" of the brute,
At the Institute,
A lecture was read by a Mr. Combe.

Their Worships, the Justices of the Peace,
Called the death of the monster a "happy release:"
Sent for the champion who had drubbed him,
And "Jack the Giant Killer" dubbed him;
And they gave him a sword, and a baldric, whereon
For all who could read them, these versicles shone: —

'THIS IS YE VALYANT CORNISHE MAN
WHO SLEWE YE GIANT CORMORAN"

Now, as Jack was a lion, and hero of rhymes,
His exploit very soon made a noise in the "Times;"
All over the west
He was fêted , caressed,
And to dinners and soirees eternally pressed:
Though't is true Giants did n't move much in society,
And at "twigging" were slow,
Yet they could n't but know
Of a thing that was matter of such notoriety.

Your Giants were famous for esprit de corps ;
And a huge one, whose name was O'Blunderbore,
From the Emerald Isle, who had waded o'er,
Revenge, "by the pow'rs!" on our hero swore.

Sound beneath a forest oak
Was a beardless warrior dozing,
By a babbling rill, that woke
Echo – not the youth reposing.
What a chance for lady loves
Now to win a "pair of gloves!"

"Wake, champion, wake, be off, be off;
Heard'st thou not that earthquake cough!
That floundering splash,
That thundering crash?
Awake! – oh, no,
It is no go!"
So sang a little woodland fairy;
'T was O'Blunderbore coming
And the blackguard was humming
The tune of "Paddy Carey."

Beholding the sleeper,
He open'd each peeper
To about the size of the crown of your hat;
"Oh, oh!" says he,
"Is it clear I see
Hallo! ye young spalpeen, come out o' that."

So he took him up
As ye mote a pup,
Or an impudent varlet about to "pop" him:
"Wake up, ye young baste;
What's this round your waist?
Och! murder! " – I wonder he did n't drop him.

He might, to be sure, have exclaimed "Oh, Law!"
But then he preferred his own patois ;
And "Murder!" though coarse, was expressive, no doubt,
Inasmuch as the murder was certainly out.

He had pounced upon Jack,
In his cosy bivouack,
And so he made off with him over his back.

Still was Jack in slumber sunk;
Was he Mesmerised or drunk?

I know not in sooth, but he did not awake
Till, borne through a coppice of briar and brake,
He was roused by the brambles that tore his skin,
Then he woke up and found what a mess he was in
He spoke not a word that his fear might shew,
But said to himself – "What a precious go!"

Whither was the hero bound,
Napping by the Ogre caught?
Unto Cambrian Taffy's ground
Where adventures fresh he sought.

They gained the Giant's castle hall,
Which seemed a sort of Guy's museum;
With skulls and bones 'twas crowded all —
You would have blessed yourself to see 'em.

The larder was stored with human hearts,
Quarters, and limbs, and other parts, —
A grisly sight to see;
There Jack the cannibal monster led,

"I lave you there, my lad," he said,
"To larn anatomy! —

I'm partial to this kind of mate,
And hearts with salt and spice to ate
Is just what plases me;
I mane to night on yours to sup,
Stay here until you 're aten up
He spoke, and turned the key.

"A pretty business this!" quoth Jack,
When he was left alone;
"Old Paddy Whack,
I say! come back —
I wonder where he's gone?"

In ghastly moans and sounds of wail,
The castle's cells replied;
Jack, whose high spirits ne'er could quail,
Whistled like blackbird in the vale,
And, "Bravo, Weber!" cried.

When, lo! a dismal voice, in verse,
This pleasant warning did rehearse: —

"Haste!" quoth the hero, "yes, but how?
They come, the brutes! – I hear them now.'
He flew to the window with mickle speed,
There was the pretty pair indeed,
Arm-in-arm in the court below,
O'Blunderbore and his brother O.

"Now then," thought Jack, "I plainly see
I 'm booked for death or liberty; —
Hallo! those cords are 'the jockeys for me.'

Jack was nimble of finger and thumb —
The cords in a moment have halters become

Deft at noosing the speckled trout,
So hath he caught each ill-favoured lout:
He hath tethered the ropes to a rafter tight,
And he tugs and he pulls with all his might,
"Pully-oi! Pully-oi!" till each Yahoo
In the face is black and blue;
Till each Paddy Whack
Is blue and black;
"Now, I think you're done brown ," said courageous Jack.
Down the tight rope he slides,
And his good sword hides
In the hearts of the monsters up to the hilt;
So he settled them each:
O'Blunderbore's speech,
Ere he gave up the ghost was, "Och, murder, I'm kilt!"