"Indeed!" replied the Giant Killer;
"Old fellow, you 're a monstrous miller!"
Disclosing his form to Mac Thundel's sight,
Who foamed at the mouth with fury outright.
"Are ye the traitor loon," he cried,
"By wham my twa bauld brithers died?
Then 'a will tear thee wi' my fangs,
And quaff thy bluid to quit thy wrangs!"
"You must catch me first, old stupid ass!"
Said Jack—he quoted Mrs. Glass;
And he scampers away in his nimble shoes:
Like a walking Ben Lomond, Mac Thundel pursues.
In and out,
Round about,
Jack dodges the Giant apace,
Round the castle wall,
That the guests may all
Enjoy the stirring chase.
O'er the drawbridge he courses, mid shouts of laughter
Mac Thundel heavily flounders after,
Whirling his mace around his head:—
The drawbridge groans beneath his tread—
It creaks—it crashes—he tumbles in,
Very nearly up to his chin,
Amid the assembled company's jeers,
Who hail his fall with "ironical cheers."
He roars, rolls, splashes, and behaves
Much like some monster of the waves,
When "sleeping on the Norway foam,"
The barbéd harpoon strikes him home.
By the side of the moat Jack, standing safe,
Begins the Giant thus to chafe;—
"Just now, old chap, I thought you said
You'd grind my bones to make your bread."
Mac Thundel plunged from side to side,
But he could n't get out although he tried;
Sooth to say, he was thoroughly done—
"Now," said Jack, "we 'll end the fun.
Yon cart rope bring,
Ay—that's the thing!"
And he cast it o'er the heads so big;
A team was at hand,
And he drew him to land,
While all the spectators cried, "That's the rig!"
His falchion gleams aloft in air,
It falls; the monster's heads, I ween,
Are off as quick as Frenchmen's e'er
Were severed by the guillotine.
With shouts of joy the castle rang,
And they hied them again to the festal cheer
Long life to brave Sir Jack they sang,
And they drank his health in floods of beer.
XVII.
Awhile the hero now reposes,
In knightly hall an honoured guest;
His brow by beauty crowned with roses,
And filled his belly with the best.
But soon the life of idlesse palls,
For daring deeds his heart is "game;"
"Farewell," he cries, "ye lordly walls!"
And starts anew in quest of fame.
Over hill and dale he wends;
Fate no fresh adventure sends
To reward him for his pains,
Till a mountain's foot he gains.
Underneath that hill prodigious
Dwelt an anchorite religious:
He batter'd the door with divers knocks;
He didn't make a little din;
And the hermit old, with his hoary locks,
Came forth at the summons to let him in
"Reverend sire," cried Jack, "I say,
Can you lodge a chap who has lost his way?
The grey-beard eremite answered "Yea—
That is if thou cans't take 'pot luck.'"
"I rather think I can, old buck!"
The hero answer made, and went
To supper with no small content.
XX.
When Jack had eaten all he could,
Bespoke him thus the hermit good,-
"My son, I think I 'twig' the man
Who 'slew the Giant Cormoran.'
On yonder hill-top a regular bad 'un
Dwells in a castle just like Haddon
(Haddon!—thou know'st its time-worn towers,
Drawn by ascertain friend of 'ours');
That Giant's name is Catawampus;
And much I fear he soon will swamp us,
Unless that arm—" Cried Jack "Enow;
He dies!" The hermit said, "Allow
Me to remark—you wo n't be daunted—
But know his castle is enchanted;
Him aids a sorcerer of might
Slockdollagos the villain's hight;
They crossed the main from western climes;
And here, confederate in crimes
(They term them 'notion's'), play their tricks;
Bold knights (to use their slang) they 'fix,'
Transforming them, at treacherous feasts,
With stuff called 'julep,' into beasts.
They served a duke's fair daughter so,
Whom they transmuted to a doe;
Hither they brought the maid forlorn,
On car by fiery dragons borne;
To free her, champions not a few
Have tried, but found it would n't do;