Охота на Снарка. Пища для ума

And solemnly tolled on his bell.

He was black in the face, and they scarcely could trace
The least likeness to what he had been:
While so great was his fright that his waistcoat turned
white —
A wonderful thing to be seen!

To the horror of all who were present that day,
He uprose in full evening dress,
And with senseless grimaces endeavoured to say
What his tongue could no longer express.

Down he sank in a chair – ran his hands through his
hair —
And chanted in mimsiest tones
Words whose utter inanity proved his insanity,
While he rattled a couple of bones.

“Leave him here to his fate – it is getting so late!”
The Bellman exclaimed in a fright.
“We have lost half the day. Any further delay,
And we sha’n’t catch a Snark before night!”

Fit the Eighth

The Vanishing

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.

They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the Beaver, excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was nearly past.

“There is Thingumbob shouting!” the Bellman said.
“He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!”

They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
“He was always a desperate wag!”
They beheld him – their Baker – their hero unnamed —
On the top of a neighbouring crag,

Erect and sublime, for one moment of time.
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.

“It’s a Snark!” was the sound that first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words “It’s a Boo-”

Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
That sounded like “-jum!” but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.

They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.

In the midst of the word he was trying to say,
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away —
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.

Охота на Cнарка

Агония в восьми воплях

Вопль первый

Высадка на берег

«Вот где водится Снарк! – возгласил Балабон. —
Его логово тут, среди гор!»
И матросов на берег вытаскивал он,
За ушко?, а кого – за вихор.

«Вот где водится Снарк! Не боясь, повторю:
Вам отваги придаст эта весть.
Вот где водится Снарк! В третий раз говорю.
То, что трижды сказал, то и есть».

Был отряд на подбор! Первым шел Билетер,
Вслед за ним – с полотенцами Банщик,
Барахольщик с багром, чтоб следить за добром,
И козы отставной Барабанщик.

Биллиардный маэстро – отменный игрок —
Мог любого обчистить до нитки;
Но Банкир всю наличность убрал под замок,
Чтобы как-то уменьшить убытки.