How The Babes In The Wood Showed They Couldn't Be Beaten

A man of kind and noble mind Was H. Gustavus Hyde. ’T would be amiss to add to this At present, for he died, In full possession of his senses, The day before my tale commences. One half his gold his four-year-old Son Paul was known to win, And Beatrix, whose age was six, For all the rest came in, Perceiving which, their Uncle Ben did A thing that people said was splendid. For by the hand he took them, and Remarked in accents smooth: “One thing I ask. Be mine the task These stricken babes to soothe! My country home is really charming: I’ll teach them all the joys of farming.” One halcyon week they fished his creek, And watched him do the chores, In haylofts hid, and, shouting, slid Down sloping cellar doors: — Because this life to bliss was equal The more distressing is the sequel. Concealing guile beneath a smile, He took them to a wood, And, with severe and most austere Injunctions to be good, He left them seated on a gateway, And took his own departure straightway. Though much afraid, the children stayed From ten till nearly eight; At times they wept, at times they slept, But never left the gate: Until the swift suspicion crossed them That Uncle Benjamin had lost them. Then, quite unnerved, young Paul observed: “It’s like a dreadful dream, And Uncle Ben has fallen ten Per cent, in my esteem. Not only did he first usurp us, But now he’s left us here on purpose!” *            *            *            *            * For countless years their childish fears Have made the reader pale, For countless years the public’s tears Have started at the tale, For countless years much detestation Has been expressed for their relation. So draw a veil across the dale Where stood that ghastly gate. No need to tell. You know full well What was their touching fate, And how with leaves each little dead breast Was covered by a Robin Redbreast! But when they found them on the ground, Although their life had ceased, Quite near to Paul there lay a small White paper, neatly creased. “Because of lack of any merit, B. Hyde,” it ran, “we disinherit!” The Moral: If you deeply long To punish one who’s done you wrong, Though in your lifetime fail you may, Where there’s a will, there is a way!