Draw Eye Looking Through Glass
Poem origins: Through the Looking-Glass
Select a poem:
- The Garden of Live Flowers (text passage)
- Jabberwocky
- The Walrus and the Carpenter
- Humpty Dumpty, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the Lion and the Unicorn
- The White Knight's Song (with it's range of titles)
- Hush-a-by lady
- To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said…
- A boat beneath a sunny sky
The Garden of Live Flowers
The scene with the talking flowers may have been inspired by a section in Tennyson's 'Maud'. Carroll however does not mention a passion-flower. The passion-flower is a religious symbol; it doesn't refer to human passions but to the Passion of Christ on the Cross. Carroll probably did not want to add a religious reference into his story (Gardner 200).
The Garden of Live Flowers (Carroll)
'Are there any more people in the garden besides me?' Alice said, not choosing to notice the Rose's last remark.
'There's one other flower in the garden that can move about like you,' said the Rose. `I wonder how you do it — ' (`You're always wondering,' said the Tiger-lily), `but she's more bushy than you are.'
'Is she like me?' Alice asked eagerly, for the thought crossed her mind, 'There's another little girl in the garden, somewhere!'
'Well, she has the same awkward shape as you,' the Rose said, `but she's redder — and her petals are shorter, I think.'
'Her petals are done up close, almost like a dahlia,' the Tiger-lily interrupted: `not tumbled about anyhow, like yours.'
`But that's not your fault,' the Rose added kindly: `you're beginning to fade, you know — and then one can't help one's petals getting a little untidy.'
Alice didn't like this idea at all: so, to change the subject, she asked `Does she ever come out here?'
`I daresay you'll see her soon,' said the Rose. `She's one of the thorny kind.'
`Where does she wear the thorns?' Alice asked with some curiosity.
`Why all round her head, of course,' the Rose replied. `I was wondering you hadn't got some too. I thought it was the regular rule.'
`She's coming!' cried the Larkspur. `I hear her footstep, thump, thump, thump, along the gravel-walk!'
Alice looked round eagerly, and found that it was the Red Queen. `She's grown a good deal!' was her first remark.
Maud, section 22 (Tennyson)
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune:
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lordlover, what sighs are those
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
"For ever and ever, mine."
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;
From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewelprint of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.
The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, She is near, she is near;
And the white rose weeps, She is late,
The larkspur listens, I hear, I hear;
And the lily whispers, I wait.
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Where it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed.
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The Walrus and the Carpenter
Carroll only used the metre of 'The Dream of Eugene Aram' for his own poem. Therefore I left out the last stanza's.
Most of the time Carroll gave Tenniel very precise instructions on what and how to draw. However, it appears that sometimes he listened to Tenniel's requests to change his texts. For example, Carroll told Harry Furniss, the illustrator of 'Sylvia and Bruno', that when Tenniel "remonstrated against the walrus and the carpenter as a hopeless combination, and begged to have the 'Carpenter' abolished—I remember offering 'baronet' and 'butterfly'… but he finally chose 'Carpenter'." Each word fitted the rhyme scheme, and apparently Carroll had no preference so far as the nonsense was concerned.
A line from the poem was changed, however, to comply with Tenniel's requests. Originally the lines were: "The Walrus and the Carpenter / Were walking hand-in-hand," which Carroll revised to: "Were walking close at hand". Tenniel probably did not want to illustrate this, because he drew his Walrus with flippers in stead of hands (Hancher).
Demakos (Demakos 18) points out that in this poem, Carroll uses all letters of the alphabet but one – being the letter J. Even with the letter J's low frequency, only one out of every 277 poems of that length would not contain the letter J by chance alone.
The Walrus and the Carpenter (Carroll)
`The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright —
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done —
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying over head —
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
The eldest Oyster looked at him.
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head —
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
But four young oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat —
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more —
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax —
Of cabbages — and kings —
And why the sea is boiling hot —
And whether pigs have wings."
"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed —
Now if you're ready Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue,
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said
"Do you admire the view?
"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf —
I've had to ask you twice!"
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"
"I weep for you," the Walrus said.
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size.
Holding his pocket handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
"O Oysters," said the Carpenter.
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?"
But answer came there none —
And that was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.'
The Dream of Eugene Aram (Thomas Hood)
'Twas in the prime of summer-time
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school:
There were some that ran and some that leapt,
Like troutlets in a pool.
Away they sped with gamesome minds,
And souls untouched by sin;
To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.
Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,–
Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can;
But the Usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!
His hat was off, his vest apart,
To catch heaven's blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease:
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read
The book upon his knees!
Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er
Nor ever glanced aside,
For the peace of his soul he read that book
In the golden eventide:
Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.
At last he shut the pond'rous tome,
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,
And fixed the brazen hasp;
"Oh, God! could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp!"
Then leaping on his feet upright,
Some moody turns he took,–
Now up the mead, then down the mead,
And past a shady nook,–
And lo! he saw a little boy
That pored upon a book.
"My gentle lad, what is't you read —
Romance or fairy fable?
Or is it some historic page,
Of kings and crowns unstable?"
The young boy gave an upward glance,–
"It is 'The Death of Abel.'"
The Usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain, —
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;
And down he sat beside the lad,
And talked with him of Cain;
And, long since then, of bloody men,
Whose deeds tradition saves;
Of lonely folks cut off unseen,
And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,
And murders done in caves;
And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod. —
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod:
And unknown facts of guilty acts
Are seen in dreams from God!
He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain, —
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain:
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!
"And well," quoth he, "I know for truth,
Their pangs must be extreme, —
Woe, woe, unutterable woe, —
Who spill life's sacred stream!
For why, Methought last night I wrought
A murder, in a dream!
One that had never done me wrong —
A feeble man and old;
I led him to a lonely field,
The moon shone clear and cold:
Now here, said I, this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!
"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife, —
And then the deed was done:
There was nothing lying at my foot
But lifeless flesh and bone!
"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;
And yet I feared him all the more,
For lying there so still:
There was a manhood in his look,
That murder could not kill!"
"And lo! the universal air
Seemed lit with ghastly flame;
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame:
I took the dead man by his hand,
And called upon his name!
"O God! it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain!
But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gushed out amain!
For every clot, a burning spot
Was scorching in my brain!
[…] (it continues with 18 more stanza's of the same sort)
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Humpty Dumpty, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the Lion and the Unicorn
Carroll based several characters from Through the Looking Glass on rhymes from Mother Goose, like 'Humpty Dumpty', 'The Lion and the Unicorn' and 'Tweedledee and Tweedledum'. When Alice encounters these characters, she recites the rhymes. Most of them appear in several slightly different versions.
'Humpty Dumpty' appeared in "Pictorial Humpty Dumpty" (1843). The poem originally ended: "Cannot put Humpty Dumpty together again.", but usually it ends: "Couldn't put Humpty together again".
The Lion and the Unicorn are heraldic figures, where the lion stands for England and the unicorn for Scotland. The nursery rhyme records the traditional legend of enmity between the two.
"The words 'Tweedle-dum' and 'Tweedle-dee' make their first known appearance in print in the early eighteenth century, in John Byrom's verse 'On the Feuds between Handel and Bononcini'. The verse refers to the rivalry between the composers George Fredrick Handel and Giovanni Battista Bononcini. The verse ends:
Strange all this Difference should be
'Twixt Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee
The words seem originally to have signified a contrast between low and high pitched musical sounds, but Byrom uses them to indicate that, in the view of many, there was no discernible difference in talent of achievement between the composers.
The names also appear in the well-known nursery rhyme. According to Martin Gardner, "No one knows whether the nursery rhyme about the Tweedle Brothers originally had reference to this famous musical battle, or whether it was an older rhyme from which Byrom borrowed his last line of his doggerel".
However, there is a third possibility: that Byrom simply borrowed onomatopoeic words in current use, and that these later became fully personified in the anonymous nursery rhyme. "[The names] came to be applied to any two people or things that were indistinguishable in some significant respect." (Lockwood)
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The White Knight's song
Carroll's poem in Through the Looking Glass was based on a shorter poem, which he had published anonymously under the title "Upon the Lonely Moor" in 1856.
Carroll's opening lines ("I'll tell thee everything I can; There's little to relate") ridicule William Wordsworth's poem 'Resolution and Independence', which is long and discursive. They also reflect the title of the song "I give thee all, I can no more", to the tune of which the White Knight sings about the aged man (Gardner 307-311).
In a letter, Carroll wrote: "'Sitting on a Gate' is a parody, though not as to style or metre – but its plot is borrowed from Wordsworth's 'Resolution and Independence,' a poem that has always amused me a good deal (though it is by no means a comic poem) by the absurd way in which the poet goes on questioning the poor old leech-gatherer, making him tell his history over and over again, and never attending to what he says. Wordsworth ends with a moral – an example I have not followed." (Cohen and Green)
Lewis Carroll identified himself with the 'aged aged man': he often referred to himself like this in letters to child-friends.
The White Knight's Song (Carroll)
I'll tell thee everything I can:
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
"Who are you, aged man?" I said.
"And how is it you live?"
And his answer trickled through my head,
Like water through a sieve.
He said "I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them into the street.
I sell them unto men," he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread–
A trifle, if you please."
But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
I cried "Come, tell me how you live!"
And thumped him on the head.
His accents mild took up the tale:
He said "I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar-Oil–
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil."
But I was thinking of a way
To feed oneself on batter,
And so go on from day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue:
"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,
"And what it is you do!"
He said "I hunt for haddocks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.
"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs:
I sometimes search the grassy knolls
For wheels of Hansom-cabs.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
"By which I get my wealth–
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's noble health."
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.
And now, if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know–
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo–
That summer evening long ago,
A-sitting on a gate
Resolution and Independence (Wordsworth)
There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;–on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
I was a Traveler then upon the moor;
I saw the hare that raced about with joy;
I heard the woods and distant waters roar;
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy:
The pleasant season did my heart employ:
My old remembrances when from me wholly;
And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.
But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
Of joy in minds that can no further go,
As high as we have mounted in delight
In our dejection do we sink as low;
To me that morning did it happen so;
And fears and fancies thick upon me came;
Dim sadness–and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.
I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful hare:
Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
But there may come another day to me–
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,
As if life's business were a summer mood;
As if all needful things would come unsought
To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
But how can He expect that others should
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
I thought of Chatterton, the marvelous Boy,
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride;
Of Him who walked in glory and in joy
Following his plough, along the mountain-side:
By our own spirits are we deified:
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
A leading from above, a something given,
Yet it befell that, in this lonely place,
When I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven
I saw a Man before me unawares:
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie
Couched on the bald top of an eminence;
Wonder to all who do the same espy,
By what means it could thither come, and whence;
So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;
Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead,
Nor all asleep–in his extreme old age:
His body was bent double, feet and head
Coming together in life's pilgrimage;
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face,
Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood:
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace,
Upon the margin of that moorish flood
Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood,
That heareth not the loud winds when they call:
And moveth all together, if it move at all.
At length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conned,
As if he had been reading a book:
And no a stranger's privilege I took;
And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
"This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."
A gentle answer did the old Man make,
In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
And him with further words I thus bespake,
"What occupation do you there pursue?
This is a lonesome place for one like you."
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes.
His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
But each in solemn order followed each,
With something of a lofty utterance drest–
Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach
Of ordinary men; a stately speech;
Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.
He told, that to these waters he had come
To gather leeches, being old and poor:
Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And he had many hardships to endure:
From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor;
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance;
And in this way he gained an honest maintenance.
The old Man still stood talking by my side;
But now his voice to me was like a stream
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
And the whole body of the Man did seem
Like one whom I had met with in a dream;
Or like a man from some far region sent,
To give me human strength, by apt admonishment.
My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;
And hope that is unwilling to be fed;
Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;
And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
–Perplexed, and longing to be comforted,
My question eagerly did I renew,
"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"
He with a smile did then his words repeat;
And said that, gathering leeches, far and wide
He traveled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the pools where they abide.
"Once I could meet with them on every side;
But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."
While he was talking thus the lonely place,
The old Man's shape, and speech–all troubled me:
In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace
About the weary moors continually,
Wandering about alone and silently.
While I these thoughts within myself pursued,
He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.
And soon with this he other matter blended,
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind,
But stately in the main; and, when he ended,
I could have laughed myself to scorn to find
In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!"
Upon the lonely moor (Carroll's earlier poem)
I met an aged, aged man
Upon the lonely moor:
I knew I was a gentleman,
And he was but a boor.
So I stopped and roughly questionned him,
"Come, tell me how you live!"
But his words impressed my ear no more
Than if it were a sieve.
He said, "I look for soap-bubbles,
That lie among the wheat,
And bake them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men," he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread –
A trifle, if you please."
But I was thinking of a way
To multiply by ten,
And always, in the answer, get
The question back again.
I did not hear a word he said,
But kicked that old man calm,
And said, "Come, tell me how you live!"
And pinched him in the arm.
His accents mild took up the tale:
He said, "I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze.
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar Oil;
But fourpence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil."
But I was thinking of a plan
To paint one's gaiters green,
So much the color of the grass
That they could ne'er be seen.
I gave his ear a sudden box,
And questioned him again,
And tweaked his grey and reverend locks,
And put him into pain.
He said, "I hunt fo haddock's eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat-buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold,
Or coin or silver-mine,
But for a copper-halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.
"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search the flowery knolls
For wheels of hansom cabs.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
"I get my living here,
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's health in beer."
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I duly thanked him, ere I went,
For all his stories queer,
But chiefly for his kind intent
To drink my health in beer.
And now if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe;
Or if a statement I aver
Of which I am not sure,
I think of what strange wanderer
Upon the lonely moor.
My Heart and Lute (Thomas Moore)
I give thee all – I can no more –
Though poor the off'ring be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute who's gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.
Though love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life's clouds away,
At least 'twill make them lighter pass
Or gild them if they stay.
And ev'n if Care, at moments, flings
A discord o'er life's happy strain,
Let love but gently touch the strings,
'Twill all be sweet again!
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Hush-a-by lady
Hush-a-by lady (Carroll)
Hush-a-by lady, in Alice's lap!
Till the feast's ready, we've time for a nap:
When the feast's over, we'll go to the ball —
Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!
Hush-a-by baby (Mother Goose)
Hush-a-by Baby, on the tree top,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
Down tumbles baby, cradle, and all.
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To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said
To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said… (Carroll)
To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said
"I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head.
Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be
Come dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen and Me!
"Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,
And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran:
Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea–
And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!"
O Looking-Glass creatures," quoth Alice, "draw near!
'Tis and honour to see me, a favour to ear:
'Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea
Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and Me!"
Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,
Or anything else that is pleasant to drink:
Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine–
And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!
Bonnie Dundee (a song from the play 'The Doom of Devorgoil') (Sir Walter Scott)
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,
'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the Bonnet of Bonny Dundee.'
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,
And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!
'Dundee he is mounted; he rides up the street,
The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;
But the Provost, douce man, said "Just e'en let him be,
The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee!'
Come fill up my cup etc.
As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Ild carline was flyting and shaking her pow;
But the young plants of grace they look'd couthie and slee,
Thinking, "Luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!"
Come fill up my cup etc.
With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was cramm'd
As if half the West had set tryst to be hang'd;
There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e,
As they watch'd for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup etc.
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavliers;
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup etc.
He spurr'd to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;
"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three,
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee."
Come fill up my cup etc.
The Gordon demands of him which way he goes–
"Wher'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.
"There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth,
If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;
There are wild Duniewassals, three thousand times three,
Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.
"There's brass on the target of barken'd bull-hide;
There's steel in the scabbard that dagles beside;
The brass shall be burnish'd, the steel shall flash free,
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.
"Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks–
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your gless,
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!"
Come fill up my cup, etc.
He waned his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,
The kettle-drums clash'd and the horsemen rode on,
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee,
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle the horses and call up the men,
Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!
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A boat beneath a sunny sky
The poem "A boat beneath a sunny sky" is no parody. I was made up by Carroll himself. Noteworthy about the poem is that it is an acrostic: the first letters of the lines together spell "Alice Pleasance Liddell".
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Works cited
Cohen, Morton and Roger Lancelyn Green. The Letters of Lewis Carroll. Oxford University Press, 1979.
Demakos, Matthew. "To seek it with thimbles: a brief essay on Lewis Carroll". Knight Letter, volume II, issue 9, no. 79, winter 2017.
Gardner, Martin. The Annotated Alice. Wings Books, 1998.
Hancher, Michael. The Tenniel illustrations to the 'Alice' books. The Ohio State Press, 1985.
Lockwood, D., "Pictorial Puzzles from Alice". The Carrolian, no. 14, autumn 2004.
Draw Eye Looking Through Glass
Source: https://www.alice-in-wonderland.net/resources/analysis/poem-origins/through-the-looking-glass/