In Memoriam: The Old Brown Hen
[WHAT reader of the Atlantic has forgotten that story of Captain Hall, ‘Sing: A Song of Sixpence,’ which had for its delectable heroine the old brown hen? — THE EDITOR]
THE bells of Papeari toll;
Chime in the bells of Arué;
Let them, as they can, console
Those who mourn this mournful day:
The old brown hen has passed away.
Chime in the bells of Arué;
Let them, as they can, console
Those who mourn this mournful day:
The old brown hen has passed away.
‘Nonsense!’ you exclaim; ‘Absurd!
Because an old brown hen is dead
Shall bells be rung?’ My friend, one word:
Not ‘an’ but ‘the’ old hen, I said.
Because an old brown hen is dead
Shall bells be rung?’ My friend, one word:
Not ‘an’ but ‘the’ old hen, I said.
The old brown hen: the Skipper’s, mine;
Our friend of twelve or thirteen years.
You, if you wish to, may decline
To mingle with our own your tears;
Our friend of twelve or thirteen years.
You, if you wish to, may decline
To mingle with our own your tears;
But he who gave her length of days,
And he who sang her fame in ‘Sing,’
Their handkerchiefs shall jointly raise,
And, having wet them, jointly wring.
And he who sang her fame in ‘Sing,’
Their handkerchiefs shall jointly raise,
And, having wet them, jointly wring.
If all the eggs that she has laid,
Since twenty-three, were stacked on high,
The topmost egg would cast its shade
Upon the peak of Aorai.
Since twenty-three, were stacked on high,
The topmost egg would cast its shade
Upon the peak of Aorai.
These eggs, in one sole omelet,
Had fed Great Britain’s unemployed;
And when they’d et their fill, there yet
Had been enough to be enjoyed
Had fed Great Britain’s unemployed;
And when they’d et their fill, there yet
Had been enough to be enjoyed
By all the workless, foodless wights
In all the sad United States,
However keen their appetites,
However large and deep their plates.
In all the sad United States,
However keen their appetites,
However large and deep their plates.
But I do wrong to value her
In such a common graphic way,
For she surpassed in character
All the hens that merely lay.
In such a common graphic way,
For she surpassed in character
All the hens that merely lay.
And character is never seen
In better light than at the end.
She died as she had lived, serene,
Brave to the last, our honored friend.
In better light than at the end.
She died as she had lived, serene,
Brave to the last, our honored friend.
Farewell, old, brown, and noble hen!
Peace to thy dust forevermore!
We shall not see thy like again
On Motu Ovini’s sandy shore.
Peace to thy dust forevermore!
We shall not see thy like again
On Motu Ovini’s sandy shore.
JAMES NORMAN HALL