ON TO TICKERLEEN!

Through the beautiful Land of Tockerlore

Went the queer little clock-work train,

Past many a valley fair to see,

And many a mountain chain;

And merrily ticked as it sped along

Through the Precious Moments Plain.

And the echoes answered its chiming bell

From the cliffs and the mountains gray,

Till it seemed as if a thousand clocks

Were ticking the time away;

As if, in the hazy mountain tops,

The hours were all at play.

And now it would traverse some mountain ledge,

As it pleasantly ticked the while,

And now rush through a fairy grove,

Or some gloomy forest aisle;

And the boy, he counted the minute-hands

Which noted each fleeting mile.

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They were placed in the pathway all along

By the side of the little track

Like spectres pointing up at the sky

Or sentinels tall and black;

And soon they arrived at a signal post

And the speed began to slack.

It was nothing more than a pendulum

With its shiny disk in the air,

For they’d wisely placed it upside down

So it shed a dazzling glare;

For life it was precious in Tockerlore

And the roads were run with care.

And now they were travelling on again

With as many as fifty more

Of sturdy and loyal volunteers

With glittering scythes galore,

And now were apparent on every hand

The signs of impending war.

For the woods rang out with the thrilling strains

Which they sang as they sped along,

And the boy joined in the chorus loud

And cheered at each martial song;

And at every village they glided through

Was a mighty cheering throng.

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And the tall, gray trees, as they bowed and bent

In the path of the clock-work train,

Seemed urging them on to fight and save

Their glorious King’s domain,

And never, oh, never, to cease the fight

Till the wretched Duke was slain.

Past the beautiful Lake of Passing Years,

In the region of Speeding-Quick,

Through many a grove and flowered slope

And wilderness, dark and thick,

They sang to the chime of the clock-work train

And its steady, rapid tick.

And, skirting the edge of the Mopish Hills

On a treacherous ledge, they flew

Toward a dark ravine among the cliffs,

Which, rapidly ticking through,

They beheld in the hazy lowlands, fair,

A beautiful distant view.

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For there in the Valley of Sleepitude,

On the river of Tymerlooze,

Rose the traitor’s castle, grim and black,

Near the drowsy town of Snooze;

And here they expected to pause a while

To gather the latest news.

For none of the passengers really knew

From the bulletin board just what

The lazy old Duke had planned to do,

Nor the details of his plot,

But they all were anxious to know the truth

And whether he’d gone or not.

They were all aware of the evil name

Which attached to the town of Snooze,

And they knew full well of the evil wrought

By the Duke’s disgraceful views,

And they knew that time was a thing he’d steal,

But probably never use.

So, ticking along at a dreadful rate,

They went whizzing across the lawn

Of the old Duke’s place, which stood alone

In the tranquil suburb, Yawn;

And were more than amazed at learning there

That the duke had really gone.

157And they heard that his troops were all togged out

And were marching in splendid shape;

That each of them had a night cap on

In place of a soldier’s cape;

That all of them carried hot water bags,

And their war-cry was a gape!

And the little boy caught a passing glimpse

Of the castle, all grim and dark

(The estate was known as Idlewhile,

As he heard the host remark).

And he thought it strange they should run the trains

On the old Duke’s private park.

But the Duke had threatened a hundred times

To compel them to change the route.

He had even sent them notices,

And threatened to prosecute,

But they only laughed as the time went on,

For he never brought the suit.

There wasn’t a sound as the train pulled in

From the hours which moped about,

And nobody waved a handkerchief,

And nobody gave a shout;

And that Snooze supported her wretched Duke

There wasn’t the slightest doubt.

158But nobody tried to attack the train,

And nobody fired a gun,

For the hours of Snooze, they dragged about

Too lazy to fight or run,

Too sluggish and wicked to give three cheers,

Or two—or even one!

They paused but a moment in wicked Snooze

Which appeared to be almost dead,

For most of the hours which hadn’t gone

Were soundly asleep, in bed,

But two of them boarded the clock-work train

And the boy heard what they said.

And this was the tale of the coming fight,

As told by a sleepy Snoozelite:

159“The mighty Duke Procrastinate

Came from his castle grim

While thousands gathered at his gate

To get a look at him.

“‘Now, mark me, fellow countrymen,

For what I’m going to say

I never shall repeat again—

At least, I won’t to-day!

“‘Upon the throne in Tickerleen

You’ll probably admit,

There sit an ancient king and queen

Who think that they are It!’

“He scanned his mighty legion o’er

And said, ‘My soldiers, I

Will take the throne of Tockerlore

Or know the reason why!’

“The throng which cheered him as they heard

Each daring and courageous word

Responded, ‘We will try.’

“And as the tumult slowly ceased,

A few said, ‘If we don’t, at least,

We’ll know the reason why!’

160“‘The slur those monarchs hurl at me

I’ve borne from ancient days,

And what they say has come to be

A rather hackneyed phrase.

“‘Within these walls, I’d like to state,

I’ve known each royal scoff,

Intending to retaliate,

But always put it off.

“‘And so these insults to my name

Have always been condoned,

And my attempts to check the same

Incessantly postponed.

“‘But now, with confidence serene,

To-morrow morning, I

Will lead you into Tickerleen

With banners waving high!’

“And as the echo died away,

He heard his loyal soldiers say,

‘My lord, you mean we’ll try.

“‘And if they put us to the rout,

Why, then, my lord, without a doubt,

We’ll know the reason why!’”

161“‘For though defeat we can’t conceal,

Though failure may attend our zeal,

We’re well repaid if we can feel

We know the reason why!’”

Now out of the slothful and sluggish town

Did the little train tick away

Toward the live and dazzling Tickerleen,

With its soldiers staunch and gay;

And above them floated the Tockish flag—

A scythe, with the word, “To-day.”

162And so, toward the beautiful Tickerleen,

Did the little train tick along,

With its load of rural volunteers,

A hundred and fifty strong,

And the hills re-echoed the martial strains

As they sang this stirring song:

“Ye Hours of Tockerlore,

Know ye the crime

That a villain hath planned

Against old Father Time?

“How the Duke of Procrastinate

Published his views

To a gathering crowd

At his castle in Snooze?

“How he tempted and lured them,

To quiet their fears,

Till the heavens were shocked

At their treacherous cheers?

“How he offered them places,

With salaries, at court?

How he promised them favours

To win their support?

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“How they stood there and listened

Without a rebuke

To the claims of the lazy

And sluggish old duke?

“Then, Hours of Tockerlore,

Rise in your might

And put the old duke

And his rebels to flight!

“Was time made for wasting,

Or is it to use?

Then down with the sleepy

Old sluggard of Snooze!

“Down, down with the wretch

Till he wriggles and writhes

’Neath the glittering blades

Of our national scythes!

“Till he’s swept from the land

In a manner sublime

By the beautiful whiskers

Of good Father Time!

“Then, Hours of Tockerlore,

Rise up and say,

‘No time like the present;

We’ll do it to-day!’

164“Was time made for wasting?

No, rather to use,

Then down with the sleepy

Old sluggard of Snooze!”

When lo! mid the strains of this noble song

The host extended his arm.

“See there,” said he as he looked afar,

“Tis the old Dark Ages farm

And rising beyond those barren fields

The towering Mount Alarm.

“Now see!” he said, as he pointed again,

“Do you notice upon the side

Of the mighty hill, a narrow path—

A sort of a mountain slide?”

And everyone looked as the host observed,

“’Twas there that the Wollerp died.”

165And now they went ticking through Dickery town,

And skirted the beautiful green

Surrounding a castle fair and high

Where the Tockish flag was seen;

’Twas the beautiful palace, Succotash,

Of the faithful Limabean.

And now through the outskirts of Tickerleen

They rushed at a terrible rate,

Till, ringing the clock-work bell like mad,

The queer little train went straight

Through the beautiful Passing Hours Park,

By the Fleeting Moments Gate.

Then, speeding through Almanac Place, they flew

Through the Calendar Row, and down

The beautiful Keyhole Boulevard

To the palace of the Crown,

Through the beautiful Square of Golden Days

To the very heart of town.

And the boy required no friendly voice

To answer his wondering stare,

For the sights he saw on every side

Assured him that they were there!

For where but in glittering Tickerleen

Could be witnessed sights so rare?

166’Twas the mighty city of Father Time

And his beautiful lively queen,

The glorious, gorgeous, dazzling,

Magical, mystical Tickerleen,

Renowned for its billions of famous hours

And the wondrous things they’d seen!

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