And cheese! No alien it, sir, That's brought across the sea,-- No Dutch antique, nor Switzer, Nor glutinous de Brie; There's nothing I abhor so As mawmets of this ilk-- Give _me_ the harmless morceau That's made of true-blue milk! No matter what conditions Dyspeptic come to feaze, The best of all physicians Is apple-pie and cheese! Though ribalds may decry 'em, For these twin boons we stand, Partaking thrice per diem Of their fulness out of hand; No enervating fashion Shall cheat us of our right To gratify our passion With a mouthful at a bite! We'll cut it square or bias, Or any way we please, And faith shall justify us When we carve our pie and cheese! De gustibus, 't is stated, Non disputandum est. Which meaneth, when translated, That all is for the best. So let the foolish choose 'em The vapid sweets of sin, I will not disabuse 'em Of the heresy they're in; But I, when I undress me Each night, upon my knees Will ask the Lord to bless me With apple-pie and cheese! KRINKEN Krinken was a little child,-- It was summer when he smiled. Oft the hoary sea and grim Stretched its white arms out to him, Calling, "Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!" But the child heard not the sea, Calling, yearning evermore For the summer on the shore. Krinken on the beach one day Saw a maiden Nis at play; On the pebbly beach she played In the summer Krinken made. Fair, and very fair, was she, Just a little child was he. "Krinken," said the maiden Nis, "Let me have a little kiss, Just a kiss, and go with me To the summer-lands that be Down within the silver sea." Krinken was a little child-- By the maiden Nis beguiled, Hand in hand with her went he, And 'twas summer in the sea. And the hoary sea and grim To its bosom folded him-- Clasped and kissed the little form, And the ocean's heart was warm. Now the sea calls out no more; It is winter on the shore,-- Winter where that little child Made sweet summer when he smiled; Though 'tis summer on the sea Where with maiden Nis went he,-- Summer, summer evermore,-- It is winter on the shore, Winter, winter evermore. Of the summer on the deep Come sweet visions in my sleep: _His_ fair face lifts from the sea, _His_ dear voice calls out to me,-- These my dreams of summer be. Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled; Oft the hoary sea and grim Reached its longing arms to him, Crying, "Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!" But the sea calls out no more; It is winter on the shore,-- Winter, cold and dark and wild; Krinken was a little child,-- It was summer when he smiled; Down he went into the sea, And the winter bides with me. Just a little child was he. BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" I There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, Pay you no heed unto my sorrow: But feast to-day while yet you may,-- Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! II