Though I live, though I die, in this honey-comb pie,
By Pope Joan, there's no sense in a bear!"

_Chorus:_ Notes in a nightingale, plums in a pie,
By'r Lakin, no _Sense_ in a _Bear_!

He knew not our anchor was heaved from the mud:
He was growling it over again,
When--a strange sound suddenly froze his blood,
And curdled his big slow brain!--
A marvellous sound, as of great steel claws
Gripping the bark of his tree,
Softly ascended! Like lightning ended
His honey-comb reverie!

_Chorus:_ The honey-comb quivered! The little leaves shivered!
_Something was climbing the tree!_

Something that breathed like a fat sea-cook,
Or a pirate of fourteen ton!
But it clomb like a cat (tho' the whole tree shook)
Stealthily tow'rds the sun,
Till, as Black Bill gapes at the little blue ring
Overhead, which he calls the sky,
It is clean blotted out by a monstrous Thing
Which--_hath larded its nose and its eye._

_Chorus:_ O, well for thee, Bill, that this monstrous Thing
Hath blinkered its little red eye.

Still as a mouse lies Bill with his face
Low down in the dark sweet gold,
While this monster turns round in the leaf-fringed space!
Then--taking a good firm hold,
As the skipper descending the cabin-stair,
Tail-first with a vast slow tread,
Solemnly, softly, cometh this Bear
Straight down o'er the Bo'sun's head.

_Chorus:_ Solemnly--slowly--cometh this Bear,
Tail-first o'er the Bo'sun's head.

Nearer--nearer--then all Bill's breath
Out-bursts in one leap and yell!
And this Bear thinks, "Now am I gripped from beneath
By a roaring devil from hell!"
And madly Bill clutches his brown bow-legs,
And madly this Bear doth hale,
With his little red eyes fear-mad for the skies