CANTO I

          Seventeen Ganders,
          Hailing from Flanders,
Are taking a voyage together.
          How the saucy brig flies,
          Under Southern skies,
Enjoying most beautiful weather.

          The cage of these Ganders,
          Imported from Flanders,
Is lashed to the forward deck.
          Quite close to the life boat,
          That can't sink, it must float.
So handy in case of wreck.

          The Mate Jimmy Sankey.
          Rheumatic and cranky.
Brought up on the bottle and rope.
          Quite spavined with hard knocks.
          Unsightly, he stops clocks.
He walks with a droop in his slope.

          Jim don't like these Ganders,
          Imported from Flanders.
He thinks it Tommy rot.
          He feels that he's all right,
          Then waits for a dark night,
To carry out his plot.

          At last all is ready.
          One shove, quick and steady.
There, overboard, Hi! a great lark.
The cagefull of Ganders,
          Imported from Flanders,
          Goes floating away in the dark.

INTR'ACTE.

          On the Texas coast,
          On a hickory post,
Straight as a crooked arrow.
          Like a twisted bat.
          All hunched up sat,
One narrow minded sparrow.

The sparrow winked,
Then cutely blinked.
          See that speck on the ocean!
          He craned his neck.
          Now clickety Cleck!
There comes a great commotion.

          The Penguin bright,
          With head upright,
Clawed at the Petrel Blinker.
          The Dodo dropped,
          Yes down he flopped.
The Magpie piped, "The clinker."

          The bipeds agree,
          The speck on the sea,
Is nearing the shore. The sage,
          Doctor Owl says it is,
          Don't you see it means biz.
A regular floating cage.

          The cage takes a ride.
          The incoming tide,
Sweeps up on the rocks with a dash.
          One thump and a roar,
          One bump on the shore.
The cage opens wide with a crash.

          No gang plank required:
          Bedraggled and tired.
The passengers land, very fine.
          The seventeen Ganders,
          Imported from Flanders,
March up on the rocks in a line.

          Plain truth is so rare.
          The wise men declare.
This is a recorded fact.
          The feathered bystanders,
          Stood watching these Ganders.
And now for the second act.

CANTO 2

Illustration: Grifin and his tame Vinegerones

          Up high in a crack,
          Of a rock murky black:
Comes music like rattling bones.
          Where lively and dappy,
          All peaceful and happy,
Live seventeen Vinegerones.

          The poor hungry Ganders,
          So lately from Flanders;
They walked with a limp and a moan.
          They pricked up their ears.
          They heard, oh poor dears.
The squeak of the Vinegerone.

          Eager and pert.
          Ever alert;
The Ganders have groans in their quacks.
          Over the stones:
          Vinegerones,
Are taking a stroll, oh how lax!

          The Vinegerones,
          The Ganders all bones,
Confront one another with squeaks and quacked groans.
          The Ganders breathe deep,
          Then make a big leap,
And instantly swallow the Vinegerones.

          They swallow them whole.
          Each one a hot coal:
A burning hot coal, Oh the sting!
          The bugs still alive,
          In each crop, they strive.
The poisonous bugs have their fling.

          That night on the rocks.
          A strange paradox.
Oh poor little birds, such a fix.
          The seventeen Ganders.
          The pride of old Flanders;
Are safe in the land of the Styx.

          Oh the drones, Oh the groans,
          Of the Vinegerones.
The stars looked down on the graves of the Ganders.
          The whiz of a bat,
          The squeal of a rat,
Is all the dirge sung o'er the birdies from Flanders.

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