English poem
A Marsh Lyric
by Albert W. Smith (1856–1942)
With humble apologies to the Shade of Edward Lear.
He went to hunt on the marsh, he did; A middle-aged man was he; In spite of all his friends could say, On a foggy morn of a Winter’s day To the mushy marsh went he. And everyone said who saw him go; “O, he’ll surely stick in the slough below, For the mud is deep and the tide is strong And happen what may it’s extremely wrong For a man of forty three.”
Slime and slough, slime and slough, In the marsh where the wild ducks swim; Their heads are green and their bills are blue But there wasn’t a duck for him!
The water came into his boots, it did; The water and mud came in; But he called aloud, “My boots will do To hold my feet and the water too,” As he held his chattering chin. And he found a fish and a soft-shell clam And he said: “How extremely wise I am; Though the marsh is broad and the sloughs are long, I shall never think I was rash or wrong To come where the fog blows in.”
Slime and slough, slime and slough, In the marsh where the wild ducks swim; Their heads are green and their bills are blue But there wasn’t a duck for him!
He went to the shore of the bay, he did To the shore where the tules grow; And he shot at a hawk and a brown marsh-owl, And a rail and a teal and a feathery fowl Whose name he didn’t know. He shot at a snipe and a wild goose gray, And a spoonbill duck that didn’t stay, And a fat mud-hen and a butter-ball; And he shot three times at a heron tall, And a pelican big and slow.
Slime and slough, slime and slough, In the marsh where the wild ducks swim; Their heads are green and their bills are blue But there wasn’t a duck for him!
The birds all laughed out loud, they did; To see the hunter there; And they said: “It’s just no end of fun When a middle-aged man with a great big gun Shoots ragged holes in the air.” And the wild gray goose kept laughing till The tears in streams ran down his bill; For there’s fun so funny, the ducks agree That even the biggest goose can see; But the hunter was unaware.
Slime and slough, slime and slough, In the marsh where the wild ducks swim; Their heads are green and their bills are blue But there wasn’t a duck for him!
Toward night the man came back, he did, With movements sad and slow. And they said: “He’s been to the briny bay; And he wasn’t drowned in the usual way; But he hasn’t a bird to show.” They gave him toast and some tule tea, And drank long life that they couldn’t foresee; And everyone said: “Some other day We too will hunt by the foggy bay Where the slimy sloughs o’erflow.”
Slime and slough, slime and slough, In the marsh where the wild ducks swim; Their heads are green and their bills are blue But there wasn’t a duck for him!