BABY’S BELLS

DING, Dong, and Dell Went and sat under the bell, Saying, “Bell, bell, bell, What have you got to tell?” And the clapper rose and fell, And the bell rang well Over Ding, Dong, and Dell, As they sat under the bell. Here is pencil, and here is pen, Walk up, ladies and gentlemen! Here are their pictures, as you see, Ding, and Dong, and Dell make three, There they are, and here are we. First there is Ding, a dot of a thing, And, not to go wrong, her brother Dong, A little older and ever so much bolder, And both of them seem ready to sing, And Dell will belong and take part in the song. Now Dell—I am not so sure about Dell— Dell wears a mask, and hides till you ask, And peeps at you from over a screen; But if you must know the truth of it,—well!— I really am not so sure about Dell. So Ding, Dong, and Dell Went and sat under the bell, Saying, “Bell, bell, bell, What have you got to tell?” And the clapper rose and fell, And the bell rang well Over Ding, Dong, and Dell, As they sat under the bell.

Ding and Dong went out a-walking, Ding and Dong were gaily talking: “My eyes are strong, You know,” says Dong, “And once on a time I saw through a wall.” “And so did I,” says little Ding, “I also can do a wonderful thing.” Thus they disputed, and by-and-bye Poor little Ding began to cry. “You didn’t,” says Dong; “it isn’t true——” I did, you didn’t, no more did you, You didn’t, I did, you didn’t, pooh! So they came squabbling to Dell, who said, “You both deserve to be put to bed. When Ding saw through a wall, the wall Was made of glass, and that is all! When Dong saw through a wall, it had A hole in it.” Then both were glad, Ding and Dong, that they thought to ask Dell of the screen, who wore the mask; And Ding and Dong said, “Clever Dell; Who would have thought that Dell could tell?

Ding and Dong, because they find Dell so very clever. Say they have made up their mind To go in masks for ever. Is there wisdom in a mask? They are none the wittier yet; Is there beauty? do not ask! They are none the prettier yet!

The girls and the boys They made such a noise At play, that they frightened away their toys. Dolly, she fled, And went to bed, Because she had caught such a pain in her head! The German bricks, The candlesticks, The elephant, And the cormorant, The ass and the horse, And the rest in their course, (But there was no shark,) Of the Noah’s Ark, The saucers and the cups, And the little woolly pups, (You heard them bark) Belonging to the Ark, Were frightened, like all the rest of the toys, And hid themselves from the dreadful noise: So, if I were you, next time I played, I would not be so loud in the noise that I made!

Sparro, sparrow, Swift as an arrow, What are you doing there in the sun? A hunter am I, And the white butterfly I am chasing to-day in the summer sun.

Sit in the sun Till the day is done, Reading and working and making fun: Then look at the moon, And eat with a spoon A basin of sop that is made from a bun.

What makes the starling so merry? The starling has had a cherry, A cherry as soft as a baby’s cheek, I can see the pulp hanging out of his beak. This is the lass, this is the lad, That like to see the starling glad!

Here is a rug That looks very snug; And here is a cat— What shall we be at? You take off your bonnet, I take off my hat, And let us sit upon it, And talk to the cat— Not upon the hat, you know, But on the little rug— The hat would not come pat, you know, But, oh, the rug is snug! Ding, Dong, Dell, Said “Bell, bell, bell! What have you got to tell?”— And you hear what the bells say From Greenwich up to Chelsea; Ring, ring, ring, About this, and the other thing, These, and those, and that, The cat, and the rug, and the mat, The Noah’s Ark and the sparrow, And the sop as soft as marrow! And whether you live by Bow bells, Or out in a place with no bells, And neither at Greenwich nor at Chelsea, You shall hear what the different bells say From Ding, Dong, and Dell, Who like to sit under the bell.

Said Ding, Dong, and Dell, “Listen to the bell!” Now it was not bell, but bells, For the bells that rang were many,— Bells upon bells; You shall have a silver penny, Or almost anything else, If you can count the bells That are ringing. And what for?— Ding, Dong, and Dell Will explain every bell, That is to say, the bells, Neither less nor more Than the meaning of the Bells.

“Who are you?” Says One to Two; Says Two to One “I’m plenty;” “Think again!” Says little Ten, And, “Think again!” says Twenty.

Lily white, Rose red, Standing in the garden-bed; Wind from the south, wind from the west, Can you tell me which is best?

Johnny has finished his lessons, All in good time; Then in his very resence, The bells set up a chime; All round the school-room The bells began to ring, All round the school-room, “Johnny is a king!”

Now, then, let us tell a tale— Six travellers in a dale, Feeling weak about the knees, Resting under six elm-trees; Six robbers, after them, Draw their swords and say, “Ahem!” Then the travellers, who have not Any weapons with them got, Shake and shiver in their boots, And they play upon their flutes Then the robbers six remark To the travellers, “It is dark.” “No,” say they, “it is not quite.— Every traveller strikes a light! Will you see some conjuring tricks?” “Yes,” say all the robbers six; Then six tigers and six lions Came along and roared defiance, And the thieves and travellers too Could not tell what next to do: “This,” said they, “is very sad!” Then there came an earthquake bad, And the air was very hot, And it swallowed up the lot.

When Ding and Dong, Had finished a song, One day, they went to Dell, And to him or her Said, “We should prefer That you should do something as well,— Something amusing Of your own choosing.”— “And so I will,” says Dell. There goes a bell, Ding, dong, dell, A cracked old bell, A shaky old bell, A quavering old bell,— Can anybody tell What the cracked old bell is saying? “Yes, I can tell,” says Dell, “Without measuring or weighing, And this is what it is saying; Ding, dong, dell! Goes the cracked old bell; And this is what it is saying: “There is an old woman whose name it is Gray, Lives in an old town in an old-fashioned way; You cross an old bridge, and go up an old road, And down an old lane, to find out her abode. “She wears an old cap that stands ever so high; She looks through old goggles as round as the sky; She keeps an old dog, and a very old cat; She sits in an arm-chair much older than that. “She crosses her old arms; she shakes her old pate; She only hears half of the tale you relate; She puts her old ear-trumpet up, and cries ‘What?’ And when you say ‘Freezing!’ she thinks you say ‘Hot!’

‘She thinks as she sits that she hears a bell ring, As even and slow as a rook on the wing; It booms in her old ear; she shakes her old head; That old bell says, Put out the lights and to bed!”

Ding, dong, dell, Bell, bell, bell! What have you got to tell? What is it the bells say, From Greenwich up to Chelsea,— The bells of wandering fancies, Up and down By sea and town Like knights in old romances? What is it that the bells say? What is it you hear Dell say? Explaining what the bells say? An August day: an August night; A morning in September; A lily red; a jasmine white; What more do you remember? A harvest-moon, a hunter’s moon; A partridge on the moorland; A stack of wheat; an afternoon In a yacht out by the Foreland. A foxglove faded, a brook to be waded, Apples and pears grown redder; And the ways of the birds, which, without any words, Say, “Come let us consider!”

Then those bells stop, The bells of wandering fancies And Autumn and Summer chances; And a bell rings with a flop, A sort of heavy drop, A distant blunt bark, As if it was made in the dark, And lived underground like a mole, And the rope was as black as a coal. O bell, what a comical voice! What a stupid sort of noise! Do you call it ringing or drumming? And who is it that is coming? It must be a bogie of some sort, A blunt, black, stupid, dumb sort! Hark! what do we hear this bell say? And what do you hear Dell say? “This is the King of the Blackaways, And very black is he, So black you cannot see his face,— Not you! No more can we! Black, black, Breast and back; Teeth and eyes, Lips likewise; Just like a blot Tied in a knot! And oh, the land of the Blackaways, Where this King reigns, is a very black place. The grass is black, and so are the trees, The chalk is black, and so are the geese; The milk, the eggs, the flour, and the cheese; The sheets and the shirts; for it all agrees!” Get you gone, Blackaway King, if you please! And dine off black bread, and flesh of black geese, Where the grass grows black on the Blackaway leas!

What sort of bell is this? A wisdom bell, Or a nonsense bell? What sort of bell is this? “Bell, bell, how high do you hang?” I said to the bell as it rang, as it rang, And “Never you mind!” a goblin sang, One who did dwell Within the bell! Wibbling-wobbling Went the bell, And what had the goblin Got to tell? Why, ill said or well said, This is what the bell said; Wisdom bell Or nonsense bell, This is what the bell said: Betsy Bounce—her taste was such— Of her bonnet thought too much; Strutting up and down she went, (People wondered what she meant). In the villages and towns Folks said, “Look how Betsy Bounce Takes her walks around the nation!” She thought this was admiration. “Oh, that all the world,” says she, “Could my lovely bonnet see, See my bonnet, but without All this walking round about!” For in truth the girl got tired, Though her bonnet was admired, Of this walking round the nation After people’s admiration. Now observe what came to pass— One fine day this foolish lass Found her bonnet growing, growing On her head like flowers a-blowing! Higher still, and higher piled Grew the bonnet on the child, Farther back and farther out, Farther down and round about! Rivers sprawling to the sea Both the strings appeared to be, Till the bow beneath her chin Shut her up and shut her in. Oh, how foreigners did stare When her bonnet filled the air, Russian, Turk, and Mexican, Folks in India and Japan! Betsy Bounce has her desire: All the world can now admire! Yet perhaps she will not pout When the bonnet is worn out. But her parents, being poor, Cannot, for a time, procure Betsy Bounce another hat, So she must keep on with that.

You cannot count the bluebells That are upon the heath,— The ferns stand tall and stately, The bells hang underneath; But I can count the tassels As big as flowers of clover That hang on baby’s curtain, The curtain that hangs over; And when I rock the cradle The tassels swing and swing, And they make fairy music, And baby hears them ring; Ding-dong in the morning, And in the evening too, Rhime, chime, in fairy time, Baby, dear, for you!

When the moon was on the wane, Ding was looking through the window-pane, Dong was counting drops of rain, And Dell was thinking with might and main; But all of them listened to the bell again, A wisdom bell, Or a nonsense bell? And the goblin said, “Let Dell explain, She knows what the bells say From Greenwich up to Chelsea, She will explain what the bells say!”

O have you heard of Reuben Rammer, The little fellow that would stammer? He talked at such a headlong rate That at last he got through Stuttering Gate. If fellows will talk madly fast, They come to Stuttering Gate at last; Some boys take warning and they pause,— Not thus with Reuben Rammer ’twas. He made a plunge, dashed past the bar. He went on stuttering fast and far; And what was the result? Why, now He speaks no better than a cow! He has been trying,—how absurd!— For several months to speak a word; His mouth works open like a door, His arm goes like a semaphore! He strives to say what he desires; His jaws jolt up like jaws on wires; But Reuben Rammer could not speak When last I saw him this day week! How awkward to be driven to use A pencil to express your views, Try to say, “Hallo, Johnny Brown!” And yet be forced to write it down!

When the bell sounds Over land and sea, And the wind, in its rounds, Blowing fresh and free, Carries the ringing Far out of sight, There where the clinging Sails are white, White on the sea; And over the hills. How far does the sound Of the sweet bell go? Over the round Where the waters flow, And up to the bound Where the winds can blow. Is it lost, is it found, Is it gone, do you know?