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Favourite 'Primary School' Poems

  • 08-06-2011 6:02pm
    #1
    Registered Users Posts: 88 ✭✭


    Hi All,
    I am tryin gto put together some old time favourite pomes for my daughter that we all learned in school and are favourites. Ones I can come up with are

    Robert Frost - Stopping by woods.....
    An Old woman of the Road
    School Bells Ring - by Eleanor Farjoan

    Would love some of your favourites if you have time, Thanks


Comments

  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 169 ✭✭bigsmokewriting


    Also turns up in secondary school but... 'Mid-term Break' by Seamus Heaney

    'First Day of School' by Roger McGough as well!


  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 169 ✭✭bigsmokewriting


    And Pam Ayres's 'I Wish I'd Looked After Me Teeth' - which they love in schools. And indeed dentists' offices. :)


  • Moderators, Education Moderators, Regional South East Moderators Posts: 12,466 Mod ✭✭✭✭byhookorbycrook


    And Pam Ayres's 'I Wish I'd Looked After Me Teeth' - which they love in schools. And indeed dentists' offices. :)
    Used to be in one of the senior class readers in the old Rainbow readers series (home of Anne and Barry)


  • Moderators, Education Moderators, Regional South East Moderators Posts: 12,466 Mod ✭✭✭✭byhookorbycrook


    Ones I taught that I had learned myself.

    Requiem for the Croppies
    by Séamus Heaney



    The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...
    No kitchens on the run, no striking camp...
    We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
    The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp.
    A people hardly marching... on the hike...
    We found new tactics happening each day:
    We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
    And stampede cattle into infantry,
    Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
    Until... on Vinegar Hill... the final conclave.
    Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
    The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
    They buried us without shroud or coffin
    And in August... the barley grew up out of our grave.

    Tangmalangmaloo

    (a great Scór favourite)
    The bishop sat in lordly state and purple cap sublime,
    And galvanized the old bush church at Confirmation time;
    And all the kids were mustered up from fifty miles around,
    With Sunday clothes, and staring eyes, and ignorance profound.
    Now was it fate, or was it grace, whereby they yarded too
    An overgrown two-storey lad from Tangmalangmaloo?

    A hefty son of virgin soil, where nature has had her fling,
    And grows the trefoil three feet high and mats it in the spring;
    Where mighty hills uplift their heads to pierce the welkin's rim,
    And trees sprout up a hundred feet before they shoot a limb;
    There everything is big and grand, and men are giants too -
    But Christian Knowledge wilts, alas, at Tangmalangmaloo.

    The bishop summed the youngsters up, as bishops only can;
    He cast a searching glance around, then fixed upon his man.
    But glum and dumb and undismayed through every bout he sat;
    He seemed to think that he was there, but wasn't sure of that.
    The bishop gave a scornful look, as bishops sometimes do,
    And glared right through the pagan in from Tangmalangmaloo.

    'Come, tell me, boy,' his lordship said, in crushing tones severe,
    'Come, tell me why is Christmas Day the greatest of the year?
    'How is it that around the world we celebrate that day
    'And send a name upon a card to those who're far away?
    'Why is it wandering ones return with smiles and greetings, too?
    A squall of knowledge hit the lad from Tangmalangmaloo.

    He gave a lurch which set a-shake the vases on the shelf,
    He knocked the benches all askew, up-ending of himself.
    And oh, how pleased his lordship was, and how he smiled to say,
    'That's good, my boy. Come, tell me now; and what is Christmas Day?
    The ready answer bared a fact no bishop ever knew -
    'It's the day before the races out at Tangmalangmaloo.
    John O'Brien

    A Ballad of Athlone

    by Aubrey DeVere

    Does any man dream that a Gael can fear?-
    Of a thousand deeds let him learn but one!
    The Shannon swept onward broad and clear,
    Between the leaguers and broad Athlone

    Break down the bridge!"- Six warriors rushed
    Through the storm of shot and the storm of shell:
    With late but certain victory flushed
    The grim Dutch gunners eyed them well

    They wrench’d at the planks’mid a hail of fire:
    They fell in death, their work half done:
    The bridge stood fast; and nigh and nigher
    The foe swarmed darkly, densely on.

    "Oh, who for Erin will strike a stroke?
    Who hurl yon planks where the waters roar?"
    Six warriors forth from their comrades broke,
    And flung them upon that bridge once more


    Again at the rocking planks they dashed;
    And four dropped dead: and two remained:
    The huge beams groaned, and the arch down-crashed;-
    Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained]

    St Ruth is his stirrups stood up and cried,
    "I have seen no deed like that in France!"
    With a toss of his head, Sarsfield replied,
    "They had luck, the dogs! "Twas a merry chance!"

    Many a year, upon Shannon’s side,
    They sang upon moor and they sang upon health,
    Of the twain that breasted that raging tide,
    And the ten that shook bloody hands with Death


    The Ballad Of Father Gilligan
    by William Butler Yeats

    The old priest Peter Gilligan
    Was weary night and day;
    For half his flock were in their beds,
    Or under green sods lay.

    Once, while he nodded on a chair,
    At the moth-hour of eve,
    Another poor man sent for him,
    And he began to grieve.

    'I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
    For people die and die';
    And after cried he, 'God forgive!
    My body spake, not I!'

    He knelt, and leaning on the chair
    He prayed and fell asleep;
    And the moth-hour went from the fields,
    And stars began to peep.

    They slowly into millions grew,
    And leaves shook in the wind;
    And God covered the world with shade,
    And whispered to mankind.

    Upon the time of sparrow-chirp
    When the moths came once more.
    The old priest Peter Gilligan
    Stood upright on the floor.

    'Mavrone, mavrone! the man has died
    While I slept on the chair';
    He roused his horse out of its sleep,
    And rode with little care.

    He rode now as he never rode,
    By rocky lane and fen;
    The sick man's wife opened the door:
    'Father! you come again!'

    'And is the poor man dead?' he cried.
    'He died an hour ago.'
    The old priest Peter Gilligan
    In grief swayed to and fro.

    'When you were gone, he turned and died
    As merry as a bird.'
    The old priest Peter Gilligan
    He knelt him at that word.

    'He Who hath made the night of stars
    For souls who tire and bleed,
    Sent one of His great angels down
    To help me in my need.

    'He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
    With planets in His care,
    Had pity on the least of things
    Asleep upon a chair.'

    Anseo i lár an ghleanna

    Bhí an tAifreann léite is gach rud déanta,
    Bhí pobal Dé ag scaipeadh
    Nuair a chualamar gleo ag teacht 'nár dtreo
    Anseo i lár an ghleanna.

    "Cén gleo é siúd ag teacht 'nár dtreo?"
    "Sin torann cos na gcapall."
    "Seo chugainn saighdiúirí airm an rí
    Anseo i lár an ghleanna."

    Do chas an seanfhear Brian Ó Laoi
    Is shiúil i dtreo an tsagairt,
    Is chuir sé cogar ina chluais
    Anseo i lár an ghleanna.

    "Ó a Athair Seán, Ó a Athair Seán.
    Seo chugainn na cótaí dearga;
    Ní féidir leatsa teitheadh anois
    Anseo i lár an ghleanna."

    "Tá tusa óg, a Athair Séan,
    Táim féin i ndeireadh beatha;
    Déan malairt éadaigh liom anois
    Anseo i lár an ghleanna."

    Do deineadh malairt gan ró-mhoill
    I gcoinne toil an tsagairt,
    Is shíl sé deora móra bróin
    Anseo i lár an ghleanna.

    Do ghaibh na Sasanaigh Brian Ó Laoi,
    Is d'imigh saor an sagart;
    Do chroch siad Brian ar chrann caol ard
    Anseo i lár an ghleanna.

    Ach mairfigh cáil an tsean-fhir áigh
    Fad fhásfaidh féar ar thalamh;
    Beidh a scéal á ríomh ag fearaibh Fáil,
    Is anseo i lár an ghleanna.


  • Moderators, Education Moderators, Regional South East Moderators Posts: 12,466 Mod ✭✭✭✭byhookorbycrook


    As already mentioned:
    Oh, I Wish I’d Looked After Me Teeth
    by Pam Ayres
    Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth,
    And spotted the perils beneath,
    All the toffees I chewed,
    And the sweet sticky food,
    Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth.

    I wish I'd been that much more willin'
    When I had more tooth there than fillin'
    To pass up gobstoppers,
    From respect to me choppers
    And to buy something else with me shillin'.

    When I think of the lollies I licked,
    And the liquorice allsorts I picked,
    Sherbet dabs, big and little,
    All that hard peanut brittle,
    My conscience gets horribly pricked.

    My Mother, she told me no end,
    "If you got a tooth, you got a friend"
    I was young then, and careless,
    My toothbrush was hairless,
    I never had much time to spend.

    Oh I showed them the toothpaste all right,
    I flashed it about late at night,
    But up-and-down brushin'
    And pokin' and fussin'
    Didn't seem worth the time... I could bite!

    If I'd known I was paving the way,
    To cavities, caps and decay,
    The murder of fillin's
    Injections and drillin's
    I'd have thrown all me sherbet away.

    So I lay in the old dentist's chair,
    And I gaze up his nose in despair,
    And his drill it do whine,
    In these molars of mine,
    "Two amalgum," he'll say, "for in there."

    How I laughed at my Mother's false teeth,
    As they foamed in the waters beneath,
    But now comes the reckonin'
    It's me they are beckonin'
    Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth.


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  • Registered Users Posts: 2,766 ✭✭✭squeakyduck


    Night Train by W. H. Auden - the craic we had reciting/reading it in class to the sound of a train! :)

    Mid Term Break by Seamus Heaney. We learned this in wintertime so bleak, it just stays with me. The idea of the paleness and innocence of youth reminds me of snow for some reason. :(


  • Registered Users Posts: 4,219 ✭✭✭tipptom


    And miles to go before i sleep,or is this stopping at woods,always nearly brings tears at the loneliness at night time,often reminds me when i was younger and thumbing home from a dance in freezing weather and no lift and looking in at lit warm houses and wishing i had that.daffodils,wordworth.And death the leveller.


  • Closed Accounts Posts: 4,740 ✭✭✭Asphyxia


    Antigonish by Hughes Mearns

    Yesterday, upon the stair,
    I met a man who wasn’t there
    He wasn’t there again today
    I wish, I wish he’d go away...

    When I came home last night at three
    The man was waiting there for me
    But when I looked around the hall
    I couldn’t see him there at all!
    Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
    Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door... (slam!)

    Last night I saw upon the stair
    A little man who wasn’t there
    He wasn’t there again today
    Oh, how I wish he’d go away

    I always remembered this one there's just something about it!


  • Registered Users Posts: 88 ✭✭Classact


    Some good suggestions there. I like that poem Antigonish. As for Robert Frost, I love that poem stopping by woods....miles to go before I sleep... always associate it around christmas time... Love it


  • Registered Users Posts: 1,186 ✭✭✭Niles


    Recall Mid Term Break coming up as part of primary school religion for some reason.

    Wordsworth's Daffodils is a nice poem for primary students I think, can't actually remember if we did it then though!


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  • Registered Users Posts: 1,241 ✭✭✭baalthor


    I remember a poem called 'Inspector of Holes'
    It started with:'My Dad is an Inspector of Holes' and the chorus went 'A hole is a wonderful thing, nobody knows what a hole might bring'
    The class found this poem hilarious, I doubt it's still on the curriculum
    Others I remember:
    'I see his blood upon the rose'
    'Oft in the stilly night'
    'The minstrel boy'
    'Hiawatha'
    'I must go down to the sea ...'
    Some of these were in History class rather than English. Nearly all the Irish poems were by Gabriel Rosenstock.


  • Registered Users Posts: 88 ✭✭Classact


    That poem Inspector of Holes sounds very light hearted and one kids would enjoy reciting. Does anyone have the full poem? Who wrote that poem?

    I like the poems that were easy to learn off.....


  • Registered Users Posts: 1,084 ✭✭✭Kalimah


    Two little kittens one stormy night
    Began to quarrel and then to fight.
    I'll have the mouse the little one said....

    Here's a link to some old ones.
    http://www.storyit.com/Classics/JustPoems/classicpoems.htm

    I saw the Autumn Greeting one on a poster in my daughter's classroom and looked it up!


  • Registered Users Posts: 131 ✭✭mojopolo


    I learnt this one off by heart in P5 (age 8/9). I'd forgotten about it until this thread. Thanks for the memory.

    All along the backwater,
    Through the rushes tall,
    Ducks are a-dabbling,
    Up tails all.

    Ducks’ tails, drake’s tails,
    Yellow feet a-quiver,
    Yellow bills all out of sight,
    Busy in the river!

    Slushy green undergrowth
    Where the roach swim -
    Here we keep our larder,
    Cool and full and dim.

    Everyone for what he likes!
    We like to be
    Heads down, tails up,
    Dabbling free!

    High in the blue above
    Swifts whirl and call -
    We are down a-dabbling,
    Up tails all.

    (Kenneth Grahame – from ‘The Wind in the Willows’)


  • Registered Users Posts: 650 ✭✭✭Gordon Gecko


    Can't believe Walter de la Mare's "The Listeners" has yet to be mentioned!


  • Closed Accounts Posts: 4,740 ✭✭✭Asphyxia


    Also loved this one

    Greedy Dog

    This dog will eat anything.
    Apple cores and bacon fat.
    Milk you poured out for the cat.
    He likes the string that ties the roast
    And relishes hot buttered toast.
    Hide your chocolates! He’s a thief,
    He’ll even eat your handkerchief.
    And if you don’t like sudden shocks,
    Carefully conceal your socks.
    Leave some soup without a lid,
    And you’ll wish you never did.
    When you think he must be full,
    You find gobbling bits of wool,
    Orange peel or paper bags,
    Dusters and old cleaning rags.
    This dog will eat anything,
    Except for mushrooms and cumber.
    Now what is wrong those, I wonder?


  • Registered Users Posts: 656 ✭✭✭Bearhunter


    Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl’s feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.

    There's more but I forget it.


  • Registered Users Posts: 578 ✭✭✭Caros


    Bearhunter wrote: »
    Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl’s feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.

    There's more but I forget it.

    I was just going to say the above poem was a memory shaker for me from the very distant past and here it is!
    This thread has brought back a who;e lot of memories - good ones !

    Or here's another that has stuck with me - "The lament for Kilcash" as gaeilge

    Cad a dhéanfaimid feasta gan adhmad?
    Tá deireadh na gcoillte ar lár;
    níl trácht ar Chill Chais ná ar a teaghlach
    is ní bainfear a cling go bráth.
    An áit úd a gcónaíodh an deighbhean
    fuair gradam is meidhir thar mhnáibh,
    bhíodh iarlaí ag tarraingt tar toinn ann
    is an t-aifreann binn á rá.



  • Registered Users Posts: 1,204 ✭✭✭eskimocat


    I am not sure if i heard this one in primary or secondary but love it and intend to live it... ;)

    Warning

    When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
    With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
    And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
    And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
    I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
    And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
    And run my stick along the public railings
    And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
    I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
    And pick flowers in other people's gardens
    And learn to spit.

    You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
    And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
    Or only bread and pickle for a week
    And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

    But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
    And pay our rent and not swear in the street
    And set a good example for the children.
    We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

    But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
    So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
    When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

    By Jenny Joseph


  • Closed Accounts Posts: 7,162 ✭✭✭Kiva.D


    My Primary School faves were mentioned by Asphyxia: Antigonish by Hughes Mearns
    And Classact: Stopping by the Woods by Robert Frost

    But the one I remember the most, and the first I memorized was:

    Trees By Joyce Kilmer

    I think that I shall never see
    A poem lovely as a tree.
    A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
    Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
    A tree that looks at God all day,
    And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
    A tree that may in Summer wear
    A nest of robins in her hair;
    Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
    Who intimately lives with rain.
    Poems are made by fools like me,
    But only God can make a tree.


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  • Registered Users Posts: 4,219 ✭✭✭tipptom


    eskimocat wrote: »
    I am not sure if i heard this one in primary or secondary but love it and intend to live it... ;)

    Warning

    When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
    With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
    And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
    And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
    I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
    And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
    And run my stick along the public railings
    And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
    I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
    And pick flowers in other people's gardens
    And learn to spit.

    You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
    And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
    Or only bread and pickle for a week
    And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

    But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
    And pay our rent and not swear in the street
    And set a good example for the children.
    We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

    But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
    So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
    When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

    By Jenny Joseph
    Hope the purple is a while away for you yet,sounds like the old woman in the ad over dinner who informs the young kid with"hes not your dad" to much embarresment to the rest of the dinner table,and when she is being steered out of the room gives the piano a good old thump as a last defiant gesture


  • Registered Users Posts: 578 ✭✭✭Caros


    Kiva.D wrote: »
    My Primary School faves were mentioned by Asphyxia: Antigonish by Hughes Mearns
    And Classact: Stopping by the Woods by Robert Frost

    But the one I remember the most, and the first I memorized was:

    Trees By Joyce Kilmer

    I think that I shall never see
    A poem lovely as a tree.
    A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
    Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
    A tree that looks at God all day,
    And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
    A tree that may in Summer wear
    A nest of robins in her hair;
    Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
    Who intimately lives with rain.
    Poems are made by fools like me,
    But only God can make a tree.


    Oh I had forgotten this - I'm going to print out some of the poems here as a tribute to my past! Fabulous thread!


  • Registered Users Posts: 1,672 ✭✭✭An Riabhach


    "I think mice are rather nice,
    Their tails are long,their faces small,
    They don't have any chins at all,
    Their ears are pink,their teeth are white,
    They run around the house at night,
    They chew on things they should not touch,
    And people do not like them much,
    But I think mice are rather nice."

    "I wonder why the grass is green and why the wind is never seen,
    Who taught the birds to build a nest and told the trees to take a rest,
    And when the moon is not quite round where can the missing bit be found.....
    ?????????????????????????????????????
    Why is it do you suppose that Dad wont tell me if he knows?"

    "Áthas ar na páistí,spóirt ina gcroí,
    Calòga boga bána ag damhsa ins an ghaoth,
    Liathróidí sneachta ag eitilt san aer,
    Gáire agus glaoch ó na páistí go léir,
    Nach deas é an tuath lena chóta bhog bán,
    Ina chodladh go sámh sa sneachta geal glan."

    "Tá Tír Na nÓg ar chúl an tí,tír álainn trína chéile,
    Lucht ceithre chos ag siúl an slí gan bróga orthu nó léinte,
    Gan Gaeilge acu nó Béarla.
    ???????????????????????"

    "Oh woman with three cows,hurrah...
    Don't let your tongue thus rattle,
    Now don't be snobby,don't be stiff because you may have cattle.....
    ?????????????????????????"


  • Registered Users Posts: 1,672 ✭✭✭An Riabhach


    "I think mice are rather nice,
    Their tails are long,their faces small,
    They don't have any chins at all,
    Their ears are pink,their teeth are white,
    They run around the house at night,
    They chew on things they should not touch,
    And people do not like them much,
    But I think mice are rather nice."

    "I wonder why the grass is green and why the wind is never seen,
    Who taught the birds to build a nest and told the trees to take a rest,
    And when the moon is not quite round where can the missing bit be found.....
    ?????????????????????????????????????
    Why is it do you suppose that Dad wont tell me if he knows?"

    "Áthas ar na páistí,spóirt ina gcroí,
    Calòga boga bána ag damhsa ins an ghaoth,
    Liathróidí sneachta ag eitilt san aer,
    Gáire agus glaoch ó na páistí go léir,
    Nach deas é an tuath lena chóta bhog bán,
    Ina chodladh go sámh sa sneachta geal glan."

    "Tá Tír Na nÓg ar chúl an tí,tír álainn trína chéile,
    Lucht ceithre chos ag siúl an slí gan bróga orthu nó léinte,
    Gan Gaeilge acu nó Béarla.
    ???????????????????????"

    "Oh woman with three cows,hurrah...
    Don't let your tongue thus rattle,
    Now don't be snobby,don't be stiff because you may have cattle.....
    ?????????????????????????"


  • Registered Users Posts: 331 ✭✭cookiecakes


    Oh these are bringing back so many memories.

    My two favourites were :

    Cats Sleep Anywhere by Eleanor Farjeon
    Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.
    Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.
    Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody’s lap will do.
    Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.
    Anywhere! They don’t care! Cats sleep anywhere.

    and Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth Toast by Charles Causley
    Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth-Toast
    Bought an old castle complete with a ghost,
    But someone or other forgot to declare
    To Colonel Fazak that the spectre was there.

    On the very first evening, while waiting to dine,
    The Colonel was taking a fine sherry wine,
    When the ghost, with a furious flash and a flare,
    Shot out of the chimney and shivered, 'Beware!'

    Colonel Fazackerley put down his glass
    And said, 'My dear fellow, that's really first class!
    I just can't conceive how you do it at all.
    I imagine you're going to a Fancy Dress Ball?'

    At this, the dread ghost made a withering cry.
    Said the Colonel (his monocle firm in his eye),
    'Now just how you do it, I wish I could think.
    Do sit down and tell me, and please have a drink.'

    The ghost in his phosphorous cloak gave a roar
    And floated about between ceiling and floor.
    He walked through a wall and returned through a pane
    And backed up the chimney and came down again.

    Said the Colonel, 'With laughter I'm feeling quite weak!'
    (As trickles of merriment ran down his cheek).
    'My house-warming party I hope you won't spurn.
    You MUST say you'll come and you'll give us a turn!'

    At this, the poor spectre - quite out of his wits -
    Proceeded to shake himself almost to bits.
    He rattled his chains and he clattered his bones
    And he filled the whole castle with mumbles and moans.

    But Colonel Fazackerley, just as before,
    Was simply delighted and called out, 'Encore!'
    At which the ghost vanished, his efforts in vain,
    And never was seen at the castle again.

    'Oh dear, what a pity!' said Colonel Fazak.
    'I don't know his name, so I can't call him back.'
    And then with a smile that was hard to define,
    Colonel Fazackerley went in to dine.


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