They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with
care;
They pursued it
with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a
railway-share;
They
charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the
chase might fail,
And
the Beaver, excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its
tail,
For the daylight
was nearly past.
“There is Thingumbob shouting!” the Bellman
said,
“He is shouting
like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his
head,
He has certainly
found a Snark!”
They gazed in delight, while the Butcher
exclaimed
“He was
always a desperate wag!”
They beheld him—their Baker—their hero
unnamed—
On the top of
a neighbouring crag.
Erect and sublime, for one moment of
time.
In the next, that
wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a
chasm,
While they
waited and listened in awe.
“It’s a Snark!” was the sound that
first came to their
ears,
And seemed almost
too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and
cheers:
Then the
ominous words “It’s a Boo—”
Then, silence. Some fancied they heard
in the air
A weary and
wandering sigh
That sounded like “—jum!” but the others
declare
It was only a
breeze that went by.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they
found
Not a button, or
feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the
ground
Where the Baker
had met with the Snark.
In the midst of the word he was trying to
say,
In the midst of
his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished
away—
For the Snark
was a Boojum, you see. |
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