Grasshoppers four a-fiddling went, Heigh-ho! never be still! They earned but little towards their rent But all day long with their elbows bent They fiddled a tune called Rilloby-rilloby, Fiddled a tune called Rilloby-rill. Grasshoppers soon on Fairies came, Heigh-ho! never be still! Fairies asked with a manner of blame, "Where do you come from, what is your name? What do you want with your Rilloby-rilloby, What do you want with your Rilloby-rill?" "Madam, you see before you stand, Heigh-ho! never be still! The Old Original Favourite Grand Grasshopper's Green Herbarian Band, And the tune we play is Rilloby-rilloby, Madam, the tune is Rilloby-rill." {205} Fairies hadn't a word to say, Heigh-ho! never be still! Fairies seldom are sweet by day, But the Grasshoppers merrily fiddled away, O but they played with a willoby-rilloby, O but they played with a willoby-will! Fairies slumber and sulk at noon, Heigh-ho! never be still! But at last the kind old motherly moon Brought them dew in a silver spoon, And they turned to ask for Rilloby-rilloby, One more round of Rilloby-rill. Ah! but nobody now replied, Heigh-ho! never be still! When day went down the music died, Grasshoppers four lay side by side, And there was an end of their Rilloby-rilloby, There was an end of their Rilloby-rill. {206} _Pereunt Et Imputantur_ (AFTER MARTIAL) Bernard, if to you and me Fortune all at once should give Years to spend secure and free, With the choice of how to live, Tell me, what should we proclaim Life deserving of the name? Winning some one else's case? Saving some one else's seat? Hearing with a solemn face People of importance bleat? No, I think we should not still Waste our time at others' will. Summer noons beneath the limes, Summer rides at evening cool, Winter's tales and home-made rhymes, Figures on the frozen pool-- These would we for labours take, And of these our business make. {207} Ah! but neither you nor I Dare in earnest venture so; Still we let the good days die And to swell the reckoning go. What are those that know the way, Yet to walk therein delay? {208} _Felix Antonius_ (AFTER MARTIAL) To-day, my friend is seventy-five; He tells his tale with no regret, His brave old eyes are steadfast yet, His heart the lightest heart alive. He sees behind him green and wide The pathway of his pilgrim years; He sees the shore, and dreadless hears The whisper of the creeping tide. For out of all his days, not one Has passed and left its unlaid ghost To seek a light for ever lost, Or wail a deed for ever done. So for reward of life-long truth He lives again, as good men can, Redoubling his allotted span With memories of a stainless youth.