Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,
Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while
It swayed and it sagged this and that way, and presently
Chest after chest, and pile after pile,
Of the little folks' goods began tossing and rolling,
And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling.
O Mab! if the hubbub were great before,
It was now some two or three million times more.
Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks
Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;
And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries:
"Take care"--"See there"--"O, dear, my eyes!"
"I am killed!"--"I am drowned!"--with groans and sighs,
Till to land they drew.
"Yeo-ho! Pull to
Tiller-rope thro' and thro'!"
And all's right anew.
"Now, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities.
(Eh, what is this? . . . where are they, at all?
Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?
Well, as I live" . . .) He looks blank as a wall,
Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes,
But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes
Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone,
And he stands alone,
Like a statue of stone,
In a doldrum of wonder.
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