The Jolly Miller
It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee;
He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea:
'O Mr. Flea! you have bit' me,
And you shall shorely die!'
So he scrunched his bones against the stones--
And there he let him lie!
Twas then the Jolly Miller he laughed and told his wife,
And _she_ laughed fit to kill her, and dropped her carvin'-knife!--
'O Mr. Flea!' 'Ho-ho!' 'Tee-hee!'
They _both_ laughed fit to kill,
Until the sound did almost drownd
The rumble of the mill!
_'Laugh on, my Jolly Miller! and Missus Miller, too!--
But there's a weeping-willer will soon wave over you!'_
The voice was all so awful small--
So very small and slim!--
He durst' infer that it was her,
Ner her infer 'twas him!
That night the Jolly Miller, says he, 'It's Wifey dear,
That cat o' yourn, I'd kill her!--her actions is so queer,--
She rubbin' 'ginst the grindstone-legs,
And yowlin' at the sky--
And I 'low the moon haint greener
Than the yaller of her eye!'
And as the Jolly Miller went chuckle-un to bed,
Was _Somepin_ jerked his piller from underneath his head!
'O Wife,' says he, on-easi-lee,
'Fetch here that lantern there!'
But _Somepin_ moans in thunder tones,
'_You tetch it ef you dare!_'
'Twas then the Jolly Miller he trimbled and he quailed--
And his wife choked until her breath come back, 'n' she _wailed!_
And '_O!'_ cried she, 'it is _the Flea_,
All white and pale and wann--
He's got you in his clutches, and
_He's bigger than a man!_'
'_Ho! ho! my Jolly Miller,' (fer 'twas the Flea, fer shore!)
'I reckon you'll not rack my bones ner scrunch 'em any more!_'
And then _the Ghost_ he grabbed him clos't,
With many a ghastly smile,
And from the doorstep stooped and hopped
About four hundred mile!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
The Page And The Miller's Daughter
PAGE.
WHERE goest thou? Where?
Miller's daughter so fair!
Thy name, pray?--
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
'Tis Lizzy.
PAGE.
Where goest thou? Where?
With the rake in thy hand?
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Father's meadows and land
To visit, I'm busy.
PAGE.
Dost go there alone?
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
By this rake, sir, 'tis shown
That we're making the hay;
And the pears ripen fast
In the garden at last,
So I'll pick them to-day.
PAGE.
Is't a silent thicket I yonder view?
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Oh, yes! there are two;
There's one on each side.
PAGE.
I'll follow thee soon;
When the sun burns at noon
We'll go there, o'urselves from his rays to hide,
And then in some glade all-verdant and deep--
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Why, people would say--
PAGE.
Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Your pardon, I pray!
Whoever is kiss'd by the miller-maid,
Upon the spot must needs be betray'd.
'Twould give me distress
To cover with white
Your pretty dark dress.
Equal with equal! then all is right!
That's the motto in which I delight.
I am in love with the miller-boy;
He wears nothing that I could destroy.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Jolly Mon
There is a tale that the island people tell
Dont know if it is true but I love it so well
Jolly mon sings for his supper every night
People fed him well cause he treated them so right
Oh oh oh oh jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh make orion ring
Well he always like to go to the islands near and far
He always found his way by orion lucky star
Hed tell them of their joys, hed tell them of their woes
They loved to see him come, theyd hate to see him go
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, make the magic ring
He was makin his way home on a dark and stormy night
When he heard a cry for help, and he saw a passin light
When he reached the other boat, offered them a hand
They said give us all your cargo
As they took a pirate stand
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, give em everything
Jolly mon its over sing your last song very well
They tossed him in the ocean
cause their hearts were made in hell
Came along a dolphin, he said, jolly mon hello!
Ive always loved your singing, climb aboard, dont let go
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, give em everything
The night was filled with magic, they bid the sea goodbye
Swam into the heavens and they stayed up in the sky
And all the island people when they wish upon a star
See the dolphin and the jolly mon
Who tell them where they are
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, give em everything
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, make the magic ring
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh jolly mon sing
Goodbye jolly mon. this is the scariest song of the evening for some people. oooohhhh. especially for any of you people who came here this evening, left somebody at your house to watch aft
Ur things. people with names like snake, johnny d., everlasting moonie. and the last thing the said to you was, dont worry about a thing, well treat it like our own. this could happen to you.&
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jolly Mon Sing
Jolly mon sing
By: jimmy buffett, will jennings, michael utley
1985
There are times in this crazy world when I truly hope that
Somewhere somebody is living this made up life.
There is a tale that the island people tell
Dont care if it is true cause I love it so well
Jolly mon sing for his supper every night
The people fed him well cause he treated them so right
Oh oh oh oh jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh make orion ring
And they wanted him to sing on the island near and far
He always found his way by orion lucky star
Hed tell them of their joys, hed tell them of their woes
They loved to see him come, theyd hate to see him go
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, make the music ring
He was makin his way home on a dark and stormy night
When he heard a cry for help, he saw a flashin light
When he reached the other boat and offered them a hand
They said, give us all your cargo as the took a pirate stand
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, give em everything
Jolly mon its over sing your last song very well
They tossed him in the ocean ause their hearts were made in hell
Came along a dolphin, he said, jolly mon hello!
Ive always loved your singing, climb aboard, dont let go.
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, make the oceans ring
The night was filled with magic, they bid the sea goodbye
They swam into the heavens, they stayed up in the sky
And all the island people when they wish upon a star
See the dolphin and the jolly mon who tell them where they are
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, make the heavens ring
Oh oh oh oh, jolly mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, make the magic ring!
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh jolly mon sing
- notes:
Background vocals: timothy b. schmit, harry stinson
Featuring robert greenidge on steel drums
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lobster For Lunch
His face was like a lobster red,
His legs were white as mayonnaise:
"I've had a jolly lunch," he said,
That Englishman of pleasant ways.
"Thy do us well at our hotel:
In England food is dull these days."
"We had a big langouste for lunch.
I almost ate the whole of it.
And now I'll smoke and read my Punch,
And maybe siesta a bit;
And then I'll plunge into the sea
And get an appetite for tea."
We saw him plunge into the sea,
With jolly laugh, his wife and I.
"George does enjoy his food," said she;
"In Leeds lobsters are hard to buy.
How lucky we to have a chance
To spend our holiday in France!"
And so we watched him swim and swim
So far and far we scarce could see,
Until his balding head grew dim;
And then there came his children three,
And we all waited there for him, -
Ah yes, a little anxiously.
But George, alas! came never back.
Of him they failed to find a trace;
His wife and kids are wearing black,
And miss a lot his jolly face . . .
But oh how all the lobsters laugh,
And write in wrack his epitaph.
poem by Robert William Service
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Old Man's Nursery Rhyme
I.
In the jolly winters
Of the long-ago,
It was not so cold as now--
O! No! No!
Then, as I remember,
Snowballs, to eat,
Were as good as apples now,
And every bit as sweet!
II.
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Bub was warm as summer,
With his red mitts on,--
Just in his little waist-
And-pants all together,
Who ever heard him growl
About cold weather?
III.
In the jolly winters of the long-ago--
Was it _half_ so cold as now?
O! No! No!
Who caught his death o' cold,
Making prints of men
Flat-backed in snow that now's
Twice as cold again?
IV.
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Startin' out rabbit-hunting
Early as the dawn,--
Who ever froze his fingers,
Ears, heels, or toes,--
Or'd a cared if he had?
Nobody knows!
V.
Nights by the kitchen-stove,
Shelling white and red
Corn in the skillet, and
Sleepin' four abed!
Ah! the jolly winters
Of the long-ago!
We were not so old as now--
O! No! No!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Huntsmen
Three jolly gentlemen,
In coats of red,
Rode their horses
Up to bed.
Three jolly gentlemen
Snored till morn,
Their horses champing
The golden corn.
Three jolly gentlemen
At break of day,
Came clitter-clatter down the stairs
And galloped away.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Miller's Angels
Miller's angels in black and white
Welcome everyone in
Children dreaming of wrong and right
Wrapped in grace and in sin
They come out of the blue sky
They come out of the blue
They come out of the blue sky
But you never know where they're gonna go
Hey romeo
Miller's fingers are traveling down the length of her thigh
But Miller's mind is still wandering
Staring up at the sky
They come out of the blue sky
They come out of the blue
They come out of the blue sky
But you never know where they're gonna go
Hey romeo
Don't
song performed by by Counting Crows from Recovering The Satellites
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A May Burden
Though meadow-ways as I did tread,
The corn grew in great lustihead,
And hey! the beeches burgeoned.
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
It is the month, the jolly month,
It is the jolly month of May.
God ripe the wines and corn, I say,
And wenches for the marriage-day,
And boys to teach love's comely play.
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
It is the month, the jolly month,
It is the jolly month of May.
As I went down by lane and lea,
The daisies reddened so, pardie!
'Blushets!' I said, 'I well do see,
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
The thing ye think of in this month,
Heigho! this jolly month of May.'
As down I went by rye and oats,
The blossoms smelt of kisses; throats
Of birds turned kisses into notes;
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
The kiss it is a growing flower,
I trow, this jolly month of May.
God send a mouth to every kiss,
Seeing the blossom of this bliss
By gathering doth grow, certes!
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
Thy brow-garland pushed all aslant
Tells - but I tell not, wanton May!
poem by Francis Thompson
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A Holly Jolly Christmas
Have a holly jolly Christmas
It's the best time of the year
Well I don't know if there'll be snow
But have a cup of cheer
Have a holly jolly Christmas
And when you walk down the street
Say hello to friends you know
And everyone you meet
Ho ho the mistletoe
Hung where you can see
Somebody waits for you
Kiss her once for me
Have a holly jolly Christmas
And in case you didn't hear
Oh bygolly have a holly jolly Christmas
This year
Have a holly jolly Christmas
And when you walk down the street
Say hello to friends you know
And everyone you meet
Bridge
Have a holly jolly Christmas
And in case you didn't hear
Oh bygolly have a holly jolly Christmas
This year
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was born in Boston, Massachusetts on May 16, 1923, the only child of Joel and Sylvia Miller.
quote by Merton Miller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad of Old Clonbroney
The Ballad of Old Clonbroney
One night dark walking along
A lane onto its end,
A neighbour walked up to a house
To call upon a friend.
The neighbour was new, his friends wife too
Had arrived not long ago,
And friendship new as neighbours do
They called on one another each other to know.
And as he approached the house,
He wondered at how strange shadows moves,
It looked as if it were a hearse,
And all of a sudden a sound of hooves,
And a wall through at terrific speed,
Driven by a horseman with no head,
A hearse up through the feilds fleed
To Old Clonbroney with its dead.
Our hero stood there shaking,
Wondered if he imaged was what he had seen,
When the woman opened the door to the house,
Asked where the horses had been?
He raced into the house so fast,
Slammed behind him the door,
Told how the hearse before him passed,
And where it came from before...
That it went up to Old Clonbroney,
After driving through a wall,
But it was not real: twas but a ghost,
For the wall was not damaged at all.
And drinking whiskey strong his nerves setlled down,
Though still great in him was fear,
Though you may mock and you may frown,
You too would shake if the headless horseman did appear...
And in time the husband returned,
A miller he was by trade,
He came to see his wife terrified,
And his neighbour, a man strong, afraid,
They told him of the horseman,
Of the hearse, that the man had no head,
He srugged his shoulder with a sigh,
Declared one of the neighbours dead.
It was like the banshee,
The miller said of the apparition,
When these neighbours died, the spectre youd see,
So was local superstition,
And so all a prayer they said,
For their own and the deceased sake,
Its not told the name of who was dead,
Or if the miller and his neighbour slept or stayed that night awake!
===========================
The story of a man who met a headless horseman when calling on a neighbour after moving into the area.
Apperantly this is actually true, the miller he was calling on was an uncle of mine who lived in Clonbroney, where an old road led up to a disused cemetry, and a new road now led to the village. The old road partly made the lane to his house and mill that used to be on the side of the old road, but the road was blocked of at the rear, where both sides had grown in to form one hedgegrow that went up the fiends to the old cemetry.
The poem is to be edited later to make sure the information is correct, but this is the first draft.
poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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Jolly Jack
When fierce political debate
Throughout the isle was storming,
And Rads attacked the throne and state,
And Tories the reforming,
To calm the furious rage of each,
And right the land demented,
Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach
The way to be contented.
Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft,
His chair, a three-legged stool;
His broken jug was emptied oft,
Yet, somehow, always full.
His mistress' portrait decked the wall,
His mirror had a crack;
Yet, gay and glad, though this was all
His wealth, lived Jolly Jack.
To give advice to avarice,
Teach pride its mean condition,
And preach good sense to dull pretence,
Was honest Jack's high mission.
Our simple statesman found his rule
Of moral in the flagon,
And held his philosophic school
Beneath the 'George and Dragon.'
When village Solons cursed the Lords,
And called the malt-tax sinful,
Jack heeded not their angry words,
But smiled and drank his skinful.
And when men wasted health and life,
In search of rank and riches,
Jack marked aloof the paltry strife,
And wore his threadbare breeches.
'I enter not the church,' he said,
But I'll not seek to rob it;'
So worthy Jack Joe Miller read,
While others studied Cobbett.
His talk it was of feast and fun;
His guide the Almanack;
From youth to age thus gayly run
The life of Jolly Jack.
And when Jack prayed, as oft he would,
He humbly thanked his Maker;
'I am,' said he, 'O Father good!
Nor Catholic nor Quaker:
Give each his creed, let each proclaim
His catalogue of curses;
I trust in Thee, and not in them,
In Thee, and in Thy mercies!
'Forgive me if, midst all Thy works,
No hint I see of damning;
And think there's faith among the Turks,
And hope for e'en the Brahmin.
Harmless my mind is, and my mirth,
And kindly is my laughter:
I cannot see the smiling earth,
And think there's hell hereafter.'
Jack died; he left no legacy,
Save that his story teaches:—
Content to peevish poverty;
Humility to riches.
Ye scornful great, ye envious small,
Come follow in his track;
We all were happier, if we all
Would copy JOLLY JACK.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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What Had He Done?
I saw the farmer, when the day was done,
And the proud sun had sought his crimson bed,
And the mild stars came forward one by one-
I saw the sturdy farmer, and I said:
'What have you done to-day,
O farmer! say?'
'Oh! I have sown the wheat in yonder field,
And pruned my orchard to increase its yield,
And turned the furrow for a patch of corn:
This have I done, with other things, since morn.'
I saw the blacksmith in his smithy-door,
When day had vanished and the west grew red,
And all the busy noise and strife were o'er-
I saw the kingly blacksmith, and I said:
'What have you done to-day,
O blacksmith! say?
'Oh! I have made two plough-shares all complete,
And nailed the shoes on many horses' feet;
And-O my friend! I cannot tell you half,'
The man of muscle answered, with a laugh.
I saw the miller, when the day had gone,
And all the sunlight from the hills had fled,
And tender shadows crept across the lawn-
I saw the trusty miller, and I said:
'What have you done to-day,
O miller gray?'
'Oh! I have watched my mill from morn to night,
And never saw yon flour so snowy white.
And many are the mouths to-day I've fed,
I ween,' the merry miller laughed and said.
I saw another, when the night grew nigh,
And turned each daily toiler from his task,
When gold and crimson banners decked the sky-
I saw another, and I paused to ask:
'What have you done to-day,
Rumseller, say?'
But the rumseller turned with dropping head,
And not a single word in answer said.
What had he done? His work he knew full well
Was plunging human souls in deepest hell.
Alas! rumseller, on that awful day,
When death shall call you, and your race is run,
How can you answer? What can you hope to say?
When God shall ask you, 'What have you done?'
How can you meet the eye
Of the Most High?
When night approaches and the day grows late,
Think you to find the way to heaven's gate?
Think you to dwell with souls of righteous men?
Think you to enter in? If not, what then?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Vanishing Red
He is said to have been the last Red man
In Action. And the Miller is said to have laughed--
If you like to call such a sound a laugh.
But he gave no one else a laugher's license.
For he turned suddenly grave as if to say,
'Whose business,--if I take it on myself,
Whose business--but why talk round the barn?--
When it's just that I hold with getting a thing done with.'
You can't get back and see it as he saw it.
It's too long a story to go into now.
You'd have to have been there and lived it.
They you wouldn't have looked on it as just a matter
Of who began it between the two races.
Some guttural exclamation of surprise
The Red man gave in poking about the mill
Over the great big thumping shuffling millstone
Disgusted the Miller physically as coming
From one who had no right to be heard from.
'Come, John,' he said, 'you want to see the wheel-pint?'
He took him down below a cramping rafter,
And showed him, through a manhole in the floor,
The water in desperate straits like frantic fish,
Salmon and sturgeon, lashing with their tails.
The he shut down the trap door with a ring in it
That jangled even above the general noise,
And came upstairs alone--and gave that laugh,
And said something to a man with a meal-sack
That the man with the meal-sack didn't catch--then.
Oh, yes, he showed John the wheel-pit all right.
poem by Robert Frost
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Henry Miller wrote novels, but he calls his protagonist Henry, often Henry Miller, and his books are in this gray area between memoir and novel.
quote by Leslie Fiedler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell
Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river
And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever;
Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters;
Farewell to the miller's brook and his three bonny daughters;
Farewell to them all while in prison I lie--
In the prison a thrall sees naught but the sky.
Shut out are the green fields and birds in the bushes;
In the prison yard nothing builds, blackbirds or thrushes.
Farewell to the old mill and dash of waters,
To the miller and, dearer still, to his three bonny daughters.
In the nook, the larger burdock grows near the green willow;
In the flood, round the moor-cock dashes under the billow;
To the old mill farewell, to the lock, pens, and waters,
To the miller himsel', and his three bonny daughters.
poem by John Clare
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When a miller fights with a chimney sweep, the miller gets black and the chimney sweep gets white.
Jap Miller
Jap Miller down at Martinsville's the blamedest feller yit!
When _he_ starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit!--
'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuz n't made fer nuthin' else
But jes' to argify 'em down and gether in their pelts:
He'll talk you down on tariff; er he'll talk you down on tax,
And prove the pore man pays 'em all--and them's about the fac's!--
Religen, law, er politics, prize-fightin', er base-ball--
Jes' tetch Jap up a little and he'll post you 'bout 'em all.
And the comicalist feller ever tilted back a cheer
And tuck a chaw tobacker kind o' like he did n't keer.--
There's where the feller's strength lays,--he's so
common-like and plain,--
They haint no dude about old Jap, you bet you--nary grain!
They 'lected him to Council and it never turned his head,
And did n't make no differunce what anybody said,--
He didn't dress no finer, ner rag out in fancy clothes;
But his voice in Council-meetin's is a turrer to his foes.
He's fer the pore man ever' time! And in the last campaign
He stumped old Morgan County, through the sunshine and the rain,
And helt the banner up'ards from a-trailin' in the dust,
And cut loose on monopolies and cuss'd and cuss'd and cuss'd!
He'd tell some funny story ever' now and then, you know,
Tel, blame it! it wuz better 'n a jack-o'-lantern show!
And I'd go furder, yit, to-day, to hear old Jap norate
Than any high-toned orator 'at ever stumped the State!
W'y, that-air blame Jap Miller, with his keen sircastic fun,
Has got more friends than ary candidate 'at ever run!
Do n't matter what _his_ views is, when he states the same to you,
They allus coincide with your'n, the same as two and two:
You _can't_ take issue with him--er, at least, they haint no sense
In startin' in to down him, so you better not commence.--
The best way's jes' to listen, like your humble servant does,
And jes' concede Jap Miller is the best man ever wuz!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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I was probably just trying to be Dennis Miller, but without the vocabulary to actually be Dennis Miller. I guess I was just less interesting than I am now, if I am interesting at all.
quote by Todd Barry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Flea
A flea that bit you had bitten me too.
The two bloods mingled for single blood.
The flea’s body is our marriage lobby.
Neither shame nor sin would accrue since than.
Nor would you have grown any weaker too.
By yielding to me and getting my blood
You would shed no grace nor honour either.
You will make me than the flea happier.
Your yielding to me will not do more harm
Than what the flea has done to you, dear.
[the verse of John Donne, The Flea, rewritten]
20.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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