The Pied Piper of Hamelin Summary & Analysis

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The Full Text of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”

(Written for, and inscribed to, W.M. the Younger)

I.

1Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,

2   By famous Hanover city;

3The river Weser, deep and wide,

4Washes its wall on the southern side;

5A pleasanter spot you never spied;

6   But, when begins my ditty,

7Almost five hundred years ago,

8To see the townsfolk suffer so

9   From vermin, was a pity.

II.

10      Rats!

11They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,

12   And bit the babies in the cradles,

13And eat the cheeses out of the vats,

14   And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,

15Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

16Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,

17And even spoiled the women's chats,

18      By drowning their speaking

19      With shrieking and squeaking

20In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

21At last the people in a body

22   To the Town Hall came flocking:

23'Tis clear, cried they, our Mayor's a noddy;

24   And as for our Corporation — shocking

25To think we buy gowns lined with ermine

26For dolts that can't or won't determine

27What's like to rid us of our vermin!

28Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking

29To find the remedy we're lacking,

30Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!

31   At this the Mayor and Corporation

32   Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

33An hour they sate in council,

34   At length the Mayor broke silence:

35For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;

36   I wish I were a mile hence!

37It's easy to bid one rack one's brain —

38I'm sure my poor head aches again

39I've scratched it so, and all in vain.

40Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!

41Just as he said this, what should hap

42At the chamber door but a gentle tap?

43Bless us, cried the Mayor, what's that?

44(With the Corporation as he sate,

45Looking little though wondrous fat)

46Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?

47Anything like the sound of a rat

48Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!

V.

49Come in! — the Mayor cried, looking bigger:

50And in did come the strangest figure!

51His queer long coat from heel to head

52Was half of yellow and half of red;

53And he himself was tall and thin,

54With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,

55And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,

56No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,

57But lips where smiles went out and in —

58There was no guessing his kith and kin!

59And nobody could enough admire

60The tall man and his quaint attire:

61Quoth one: It's as my great-grandsire,

62Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,

63Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!

VI.

64He advanced to the council-table:

65And, Please your honours, said he, I'm able,

66By means of a secret charm, to draw

67All creatures living beneath the sun,

68That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,

69After me so as you never saw!

70And I chiefly use my charm

71On creatures that do people harm,

72The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper;

73And people call me the Pied Piper.

74(And here they noticed round his neck

75A scarf of red and yellow stripe,

76To match with his coat of the self-same cheque;

77And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;

78And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying

79As if impatient to be playing

80Upon this pipe, as low it dangled

81Over his vesture so old-fangled.)

82Yet, said he, poor piper as I am,

83In Tartary I freed the Cham,

84Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;

85I eased in Asia the Nizam

86Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats:

87And, as for what your brain bewilders,

88If I can rid your town of rats

89Will you give me a thousand guilders?

90One? fifty thousand! — was the exclamation

91Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

VII.

92Into the street the Piper stept,

93   Smiling first a little smile,

94As if he knew what magic slept

95   In his quiet pipe the while;

96Then, like a musical adept,

97To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,

98And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,

99Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;

100And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,

101You heard as if an army muttered;

102And the muttering grew to a grumbling;

103And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;

104And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.

105Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,

106Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,

107Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,

108   Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,

109Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,

110   Families by tens and dozens,

111Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives —

112Followed the Piper for their lives.

113From street to street he piped advancing,

114And step for step they followed dancing,

115Until they came to the river Weser

116Wherein all plunged and perished

117— Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,

118Swam across and lived to carry

119(As he the manuscript he cherished)

120To Rat-land home his commentary,

121Which was, At the first shrill notes of the pipe,

122I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,

123And putting apples, wondrous ripe,

124Into a cider-press's gripe:

125And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,

126And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,

127And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,

128And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks;

129And it seemed as if a voice

130(Sweeter than by harp or by psaltery

131Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice!

132The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

133So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,

134Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

135And just as one bulky sugar-puncheon,

136Ready staved, like a great sun shone

137Glorious scarce an inch before me,

138Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!

139— I found the Weser rolling o'er me.

VIII.

140You should have heard the Hamelin people

141Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;

142Go, cried the Mayor, and get long poles!

143Poke out the nests and block up the holes!

144Consult with carpenters and builders,

145And leave in our town not even a trace

146Of the rats! — when suddenly up the face

147Of the Piper perked in the market-place,

148With a, First, if you please, my thousand guilders!

IX.

149A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;

150So did the Corporation too.

151For council dinners made rare havock

152With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;

153And half the money would replenish

154Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.

155To pay this sum to a wandering fellow

156With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!

157Beside, quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,

158Our business was done at the river's brink;

159We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,

160And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

161So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink

162From the duty of giving you something for drink,

163And a matter of money to put in your poke;

164But, as for the guilders, what we spoke

165Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

166Beside, our losses have made us thrifty;

167A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!

X.

168The Piper's face fell, and he cried,

169No trifling! I can't wait, beside!

170I've promised to visit by dinner time

171Bagdat, and accept the prime

172Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,

173For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,

174Of a nest of scorpions no survivor —

175With him I proved no bargain-driver,

176With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!

177And folks who put me in a passion

178May find me pipe after another fashion.

XI.

179How? cried the Mayor, d'ye think I'll brook

180Being worse treated than a Cook?

181Insulted by a lazy ribald

182With idle pipe and vesture piebald?

183You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,

184Blow your pipe there till you burst!

XII.

185Once more he stept into the street;

186   And to his lips again

187Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;

188   And ere he blew three notes (such sweet

189Soft notes as yet musician's cunning

190   Never gave th' enraptured air)

191There was a rustling, that seem'd like a bustling

192Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,

193Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,

194Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,

195And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,

196Out came the children running.

197All the little boys and girls,

198With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,

199And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,

200Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after

201The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII.

202The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood

203As if they were changed into blocks of wood,

204Unable to move a step, or cry

205To the children merrily skipping by —

206Could only follow with the eye

207That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.

208But how the Mayor was on the rack,

209And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,

210As the Piper turned from the High Street

211To where the Weser rolled its waters

212Right in the way of their sons and daughters!

213However he turned from South to West,

214And to Coppelburg Hill his steps addressed,

215And after him the children pressed;

216Great was the joy in every breast.

217He never can cross that mighty top!

218He's forced to let the piping drop,

219And we shall see our children stop!

220When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side,

221A wondrous portal opened wide,

222As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;

223And the Piper advanced and the children follow'd,

224And when all were in to the very last,

225The door in the mountain side shut fast.

226Did I say, all? No! One was lame,

227And could not dance the whole of the way;

228And in after years, if you would blame

229His sadness, he was used to say, —

230It's dull in our town since my playmates left!

231I can't forget that I'm bereft

232Of all the pleasant sights they see,

233Which the Piper also promised me;

234For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,

235Joining the town and just at hand,

236Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,

237And flowers put forth a fairer hue,

238And every thing was strange and new;

239The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,

240And their dogs outran our fallow deer,

241And honey-bees had lost their stings,

242And horses were born with eagles' wings:

243And just as I felt assured

244My lame foot would be speedily cured,

245The music stopped and I stood still,

246And found myself outside the Hill,

247Left alone against my will,

248To go now limping as before,

249And never hear of that country more!

XIV.

250Alas, alas for Hamelin!

251   There came into many a burgher's pate

252   A text which says, that Heaven's Gate

253   Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate

254As the needle's eye takes a camel in!

255The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,

256To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,

257   Wherever it was men's lot to find him,

258Silver and gold to his heart's content,

259If he'd only return the way he went,

260   And bring the children behind him.

261But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,

262And Piper and dancers were gone for ever,

263They made a decree that lawyers never

264   Should think their records dated duly

265If, after the day of the month and year,

266These words did not as well appear,

267"And so long after what happened here

268   "On the Twenty-second of July,

269"Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six:"

270And the better in memory to fix

271The place of the Children's last retreat,

272They called it, The Pied Piper's Street —

273Where any one playing on pipe or tabor

274Was sure for the future to lose his labour.

275Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern

276   To shock with mirth a street so solemn;

277But opposite the place of the cavern

278   They wrote the story on a column,

279And on the Great Church Window painted

280The same, to make the world acquainted

281How their children were stolen away;

282And there it stands to this very day.

283And I must not omit to say

284That in Transylvania there's a tribe

285Of alien people who ascribe

286The outlandish ways and dress

287On which their neighbours lay such stress

288To their fathers and mothers having risen

289Out of some subterraneous prison

290Into which they were trepanned

291Long time ago in a mighty band

292Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,

293But how or why, they don't understand.

XV.

294So, Willy, let you and me be wipers

295Of scores out with all men — especially pipers:

296And, whether they rid us from rats or from mice,

297If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

The Full Text of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”

(Written for, and inscribed to, W.M. the Younger)

I.

1Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,

2   By famous Hanover city;

3The river Weser, deep and wide,

4Washes its wall on the southern side;

5A pleasanter spot you never spied;

6   But, when begins my ditty,

7Almost five hundred years ago,

8To see the townsfolk suffer so

9   From vermin, was a pity.

II.

10      Rats!

11They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,

12   And bit the babies in the cradles,

13And eat the cheeses out of the vats,

14   And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,

15Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

16Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,

17And even spoiled the women's chats,

18      By drowning their speaking

19      With shrieking and squeaking

20In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

21At last the people in a body

22   To the Town Hall came flocking:

23'Tis clear, cried they, our Mayor's a noddy;

24   And as for our Corporation — shocking

25To think we buy gowns lined with ermine

26For dolts that can't or won't determine

27What's like to rid us of our vermin!

28Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking

29To find the remedy we're lacking,

30Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!

31   At this the Mayor and Corporation

32   Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

33An hour they sate in council,

34   At length the Mayor broke silence:

35For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;

36   I wish I were a mile hence!

37It's easy to bid one rack one's brain —

38I'm sure my poor head aches again

39I've scratched it so, and all in vain.

40Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!

41Just as he said this, what should hap

42At the chamber door but a gentle tap?

43Bless us, cried the Mayor, what's that?

44(With the Corporation as he sate,

45Looking little though wondrous fat)

46Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?

47Anything like the sound of a rat

48Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!

V.

49Come in! — the Mayor cried, looking bigger:

50And in did come the strangest figure!

51His queer long coat from heel to head

52Was half of yellow and half of red;

53And he himself was tall and thin,

54With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,

55And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,

56No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,

57But lips where smiles went out and in —

58There was no guessing his kith and kin!

59And nobody could enough admire

60The tall man and his quaint attire:

61Quoth one: It's as my great-grandsire,

62Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,

63Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!

VI.

64He advanced to the council-table:

65And, Please your honours, said he, I'm able,

66By means of a secret charm, to draw

67All creatures living beneath the sun,

68That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,

69After me so as you never saw!

70And I chiefly use my charm

71On creatures that do people harm,

72The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper;

73And people call me the Pied Piper.

74(And here they noticed round his neck

75A scarf of red and yellow stripe,

76To match with his coat of the self-same cheque;

77And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;

78And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying

79As if impatient to be playing

80Upon this pipe, as low it dangled

81Over his vesture so old-fangled.)

82Yet, said he, poor piper as I am,

83In Tartary I freed the Cham,

84Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;

85I eased in Asia the Nizam

86Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats:

87And, as for what your brain bewilders,

88If I can rid your town of rats

89Will you give me a thousand guilders?

90One? fifty thousand! — was the exclamation

91Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

VII.

92Into the street the Piper stept,

93   Smiling first a little smile,

94As if he knew what magic slept

95   In his quiet pipe the while;

96Then, like a musical adept,

97To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,

98And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,

99Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;

100And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,

101You heard as if an army muttered;

102And the muttering grew to a grumbling;

103And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;

104And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.

105Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,

106Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,

107Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,

108   Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,

109Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,

110   Families by tens and dozens,

111Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives —

112Followed the Piper for their lives.

113From street to street he piped advancing,

114And step for step they followed dancing,

115Until they came to the river Weser

116Wherein all plunged and perished

117— Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,

118Swam across and lived to carry

119(As he the manuscript he cherished)

120To Rat-land home his commentary,

121Which was, At the first shrill notes of the pipe,

122I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,

123And putting apples, wondrous ripe,

124Into a cider-press's gripe:

125And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,

126And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,

127And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,

128And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks;

129And it seemed as if a voice

130(Sweeter than by harp or by psaltery

131Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice!

132The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

133So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,

134Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

135And just as one bulky sugar-puncheon,

136Ready staved, like a great sun shone

137Glorious scarce an inch before me,

138Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!

139— I found the Weser rolling o'er me.

VIII.

140You should have heard the Hamelin people

141Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;

142Go, cried the Mayor, and get long poles!

143Poke out the nests and block up the holes!

144Consult with carpenters and builders,

145And leave in our town not even a trace

146Of the rats! — when suddenly up the face

147Of the Piper perked in the market-place,

148With a, First, if you please, my thousand guilders!

IX.

149A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;

150So did the Corporation too.

151For council dinners made rare havock

152With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;

153And half the money would replenish

154Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.

155To pay this sum to a wandering fellow

156With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!

157Beside, quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,

158Our business was done at the river's brink;

159We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,

160And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

161So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink

162From the duty of giving you something for drink,

163And a matter of money to put in your poke;

164But, as for the guilders, what we spoke

165Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

166Beside, our losses have made us thrifty;

167A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!

X.

168The Piper's face fell, and he cried,

169No trifling! I can't wait, beside!

170I've promised to visit by dinner time

171Bagdat, and accept the prime

172Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,

173For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,

174Of a nest of scorpions no survivor —

175With him I proved no bargain-driver,

176With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!

177And folks who put me in a passion

178May find me pipe after another fashion.

XI.

179How? cried the Mayor, d'ye think I'll brook

180Being worse treated than a Cook?

181Insulted by a lazy ribald

182With idle pipe and vesture piebald?

183You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,

184Blow your pipe there till you burst!

XII.

185Once more he stept into the street;

186   And to his lips again

187Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;

188   And ere he blew three notes (such sweet

189Soft notes as yet musician's cunning

190   Never gave th' enraptured air)

191There was a rustling, that seem'd like a bustling

192Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,

193Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,

194Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,

195And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,

196Out came the children running.

197All the little boys and girls,

198With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,

199And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,

200Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after

201The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII.

202The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood

203As if they were changed into blocks of wood,

204Unable to move a step, or cry

205To the children merrily skipping by —

206Could only follow with the eye

207That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.

208But how the Mayor was on the rack,

209And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,

210As the Piper turned from the High Street

211To where the Weser rolled its waters

212Right in the way of their sons and daughters!

213However he turned from South to West,

214And to Coppelburg Hill his steps addressed,

215And after him the children pressed;

216Great was the joy in every breast.

217He never can cross that mighty top!

218He's forced to let the piping drop,

219And we shall see our children stop!

220When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side,

221A wondrous portal opened wide,

222As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;

223And the Piper advanced and the children follow'd,

224And when all were in to the very last,

225The door in the mountain side shut fast.

226Did I say, all? No! One was lame,

227And could not dance the whole of the way;

228And in after years, if you would blame

229His sadness, he was used to say, —

230It's dull in our town since my playmates left!

231I can't forget that I'm bereft

232Of all the pleasant sights they see,

233Which the Piper also promised me;

234For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,

235Joining the town and just at hand,

236Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,

237And flowers put forth a fairer hue,

238And every thing was strange and new;

239The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,

240And their dogs outran our fallow deer,

241And honey-bees had lost their stings,

242And horses were born with eagles' wings:

243And just as I felt assured

244My lame foot would be speedily cured,

245The music stopped and I stood still,

246And found myself outside the Hill,

247Left alone against my will,

248To go now limping as before,

249And never hear of that country more!

XIV.

250Alas, alas for Hamelin!

251   There came into many a burgher's pate

252   A text which says, that Heaven's Gate

253   Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate

254As the needle's eye takes a camel in!

255The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,

256To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,

257   Wherever it was men's lot to find him,

258Silver and gold to his heart's content,

259If he'd only return the way he went,

260   And bring the children behind him.

261But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,

262And Piper and dancers were gone for ever,

263They made a decree that lawyers never

264   Should think their records dated duly

265If, after the day of the month and year,

266These words did not as well appear,

267"And so long after what happened here

268   "On the Twenty-second of July,

269"Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six:"

270And the better in memory to fix

271The place of the Children's last retreat,

272They called it, The Pied Piper's Street —

273Where any one playing on pipe or tabor

274Was sure for the future to lose his labour.

275Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern

276   To shock with mirth a street so solemn;

277But opposite the place of the cavern

278   They wrote the story on a column,

279And on the Great Church Window painted

280The same, to make the world acquainted

281How their children were stolen away;

282And there it stands to this very day.

283And I must not omit to say

284That in Transylvania there's a tribe

285Of alien people who ascribe

286The outlandish ways and dress

287On which their neighbours lay such stress

288To their fathers and mothers having risen

289Out of some subterraneous prison

290Into which they were trepanned

291Long time ago in a mighty band

292Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,

293But how or why, they don't understand.

XV.

294So, Willy, let you and me be wipers

295Of scores out with all men — especially pipers:

296And, whether they rid us from rats or from mice,

297If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

  • “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Introduction

    • The Victorian poet Robert Browning wrote "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" to amuse his young friend Willy (the son of his friend William Macready) while he was recovering from an illness. In this retelling of an old legend, a mysterious musician dressed in red-and-yellow check offers to rescue the medieval town of Hamelin from a plague of rats with his magical pipe-playing. He proves as good as his word—but the town's greedy Mayor still tries to cheat him of his agreed fee, and the Piper retaliates by luring the town's children away. The poem thus serves as a cautionary tale against dishonesty. Whatever we commit to, the speaker advises young Willy at the end of the poem, "let us keep our promise." Browning first published this poem in the 1842 collection Dramatic Lyrics; it later became popular as a stand-alone children's book illustrated by Kate Greenaway. We're using the original version of the poem here; there's also a slightly expanded version that includes a few extra lines insulting Hamelin's Mayor.

  • “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Summary

    • The town of Hamelin is in Brunswick, near the famed German city of Hanover. The wide River Weser runs right by its southern wall. You never saw a nicer place! But, at the time my song begins—nearly 500 years ago—you'd have been sad to see how Hamelin's citizens were plagued by vermin.

      Rats! They fought dogs, killed cats, and nipped sleeping babies. They devoured the half-curdled cheese, ate soup right out of the cooks' spoons, broke into the barrels of preserved fish. They nested inside men's best hats and even interrupted the women's conversations with the dreadful, discordant noise of their squeaking.

      Finally fed up, the townspeople marched to the Town Hall, shouting: "Our Mayor is obviously useless! And as for our governing Corporation, it's scandalous that we pay for the elegant fur-lined robes of fools who can't (or won't) figure out how to get rid of these rats! Pull yourselves together, gentlemen! Think hard and find a solution, or we'll most certainly get rid of you." Hearing this, the Mayor and the Corporation shook with worry.

      They sat silently together for an hour. At last, the Mayor spoke up, saying, "I'd give up my official robes for no more than a guilder—I wish I were far away from here! Sure, it's easy to tell a guy to think hard, but my head hurts from trying to come up with an answer, and I have no results. Oh, if only we had a trap!" Just at the moment he said this, what do you think he heard but a quiet knock at the door? "Good gracious," said the Mayor, "what's that sound?" (He said it as he sat there with the Corporation, looking small and timid but making up for it by being astonishingly round.) "Was it just someone cleaning their shoes on the doormat? Anything that sounds even a little bit like a rat makes my heart pound!"

      "Come in!" said the Mayor, pulling himself up tall. In came the most peculiar fellow. He was wearing a strange long coat, half-yellow and half-red. He was tall and thin, with pin-sharp blue eyes, light hair hanging free, and dark skin. He had no beard or moustache, just a secretively smiling mouth. No one could guess where he came from or who he was related to. And no one could stop marveling at him and his peculiar outfit. One member of the Corporation said: "It's as if my great-grandfather, leaping up as the trumpet sounds to mark the end of the world, had come out from beneath his brightly painted gravestone!"

      The strange man came up to the council table and said, "If you please, your honors, I have the power (through a secret spell) to call all living creatures to follow me; it's like nothing you ever saw! I mostly use my powers on unwanted creatures that cause problems: moles, toads, newts, snakes. People call me the Pied Piper." (At that, the council noticed that he was wearing a scarf striped in red and yellow around his neck, matching the colors and patterns of his coat. At the end of that scarf dangled a pipe. They noticed, too, that the Piper's fingers twitched on this pipe as if he were eager to play it, while it swung over his old-fashioned outfit.) "Though I'm only a poor piper," he went on, "last June I rescued the King of Tartary from a plague of biting flies. In Asia, I saved another monarch from a dreadful colony of vampire bats. As for what's troubling you: if I can get rid of your rats, will you pay me a thousand guilders?" "A thousand? We'd give you fifty thousand!" the amazed Mayor and Corporation cried.

      The Piper walked out into the street, smiling to himself, as if thinking about the magic waiting quietly in his pipe. Then, like a skilled musician, he shaped his lips to play—and his eyes glittered green and blue, like a candle flame does when you sprinkle salt on it. And before he had played even three sharp notes, it sounded as if an army were on the move. A low rumble got louder and louder—until rats came bursting out of all of the houses. There were rats of every shape, size, color, and description. There were solemn old rats, lighthearted young rats, whole generations of rats, raising their tails at a jaunty angle and perking up their whiskers—rat families by the dozen, rat siblings and rat couples—all following the Piper as if their lives depended on it. He went on from street to street, and the rats followed in his footsteps, dancing—until at last they came to the river Weser, where all the rats plummeted into the water and drowned. All that is, except one, who—mighty as a Roman general—swam across the river and survived to carry home his lovingly preserved memoirs to Ratland. He wrote: "When the first high notes of the pipe played, I heard a sound like organ meat being prepared, and like ripe apples being mashed in a cider press—and like the lids being lifted off of pickle barrels, and like cupboards full of preserves being left open, and like the corks of oil bottles being pulled out, and like tubs of butter cracking open. And it seemed that a voice sweeter than angelic music was singing, Celebrate, oh rats! The world has been transformed into a single huge pantry! So eat your fill, every meal of the day! And just as I seemed to see a barrel of sugar broken open, rising before me like a beautiful sun—just as I thought it cried to me, Come, break in and eat your fill!—that's when I found I was struggling in the river."

      Oh, you should have heard the people of Hamelin ringing the bells until the church tower shook. "Go get some long sticks," shouted the Mayor, "poke the rats' nests out of the walls and block the holes off! Hire some handymen to fix things up, and don't leave the slightest sign of the rats in our town!" All of a sudden, the Piper popped up in the town square, saying, "Before you do all that: my thousand-guilder fee, please!"

      A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked unhappy; so did the Corporation. For at their council dinners they used to enjoy the finest wines. Half the money the piper was asking for would be enough to refill the biggest barrel in their cellar with the best Rhenish wine. How could they give such money to an itinerant stranger wearing a motley red-and-yellow coat? "After all," said the Mayor, winking, "the job was done by the riverside: we saw the rats drown, and I don't believe they're going to come back to life! So, Mister Piper: we're certainly not so rude that we won't give you a drink and a little cash. But the thousand guilders we discussed—of course, that was a joke, as you must know. Besides, having all our goods devoured by rats has made us rather budget-conscious. A thousand guilders! That's ridiculous—come on, take fifty instead."

      The Piper stopped smiling. He said, "Don't play around. I have no time to lose: I promised to be in Baghdad by dinnertime, where the Head Cook will feed me a fine dinner—in reward for my having exterminated the scorpions infesting the Caliph's kitchen. I didn't back down on my deal with him—and don't think I'll back down with you either, not by a penny! And those who make me angry may discover that I play a different tune."

      "What's that?" shouted the Mayor. "Do you think I'll put up with being treated worse than a lowly Cook is? Insulted by a lounger playing a lazy pipe and wearing a jester's clothing? You're threatening us? Go on then: you can play your pipe until you pop."

      Once again, the Piper walked out into the street. Once more, he brought his pipe to his lips. And before he'd played three notes—three notes sweeter than any brilliant musician had ever yet conjured up—there came a sound like that of a playful, happy crowd. Little feet in wooden shoes clattered along; little hands clapped, and little tongues spoke. Like chickens in the barnyard when it's feeding time, all Hamelin's children came running out. All the little rosy-cheeked, fair-haired, bright-eyed, pearly-smiled children skipped cheerfully after the Piper, following his song, laughing and shouting.

      The Mayor was struck silent, and the Council stood frozen in place, unable even to move or to call out to the children. They could only watch as the happy crowd followed the Piper. But the Mayor was in agony, and the Council's hearts beat hard as the Piper led the children away from the main road and toward where the Weser flowed. But then he changed direction, heading toward Coppelburg Hill instead, with the children at his back. The Mayor and Council were deeply relieved, thinking: "He'll never cross those mountains! He'll have to give up his piping, and the children will stop!" But as they reached the mountainside, a magical door opened up in it, as if a cave had hollowed itself out all of a sudden. The Piper went in, and the children followed him. When all of them had gone into the mountain, the magic door shut tight. "All of them," did I say? Not quite: one had an injured foot, and couldn't make it in. If, in the years that followed, you chided him for his sadness, he'd explain: "It's boring here since all my friends left! I can't stop thinking about everything I missed out on—all the amazing things the Piper promised us. He told us he was taking us to a glorious place not far from the town, where rivers ran, fruit trees grew, the colors of the flowers were more beautiful, and everything was wondrous. The sparrows in that land were more brilliant than peacocks, their dogs ran faster than our deer do, honeybees didn't sting, and horses had wings like eagles. Just when I was sure that my injured foot would be healed there, the music ended, and I found myself alone outside the Hill, abandoned in spite of all my hopes—left to limp along like I always have, and never again hearing of that wonderful country."

      What a tragedy for Hamelin! Many of the wealthy townspeople thought, then, of a verse from the Bible that says that wealth makes it awfully hard to get into Heaven. The Mayor sent out messages in every direction offering the Piper whatever he wanted if he'd come back and bring the children. But when, at last, the people understood that they'd never find the Piper and the children again, they proclaimed that said all future legal documents should record, not just the year and the date, but how long it had been since the children disappeared on July 22, 1376. To memorialize the day further, they renamed the street the children went down "The Pied Piper's Street," and forbade anyone from playing the pipe or the drum there. Pubs weren't allowed to operate on that sad street, either. Beside the place on the hill where the children disappeared, they put up a monument. They memorialized the incident in the stained glass of their church window, too, to let the world know how their children were taken. That window is there to this day. I shouldn't forget to add that, in Transylvania, there's a town of strange people who say that their peculiar customs and clothing (which their neighbors are so startled by) came from their parents, who emerged from an underground prison that they were locked into once long ago after being taken from Hamelin—but they can't explain how that happened.

      So, my little friend Willy, let's be sure we settle our debts with everyone—pipers in particular. And whether they save us from rats or mice, whatever we've promised them, let's keep our promises.

  • “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Themes

    • Theme Honesty and Trustworthiness

      Honesty and Trustworthiness

      Robert Browning's poem retells the old legend of the Pied Piper: a strange musician in multicolored clothing who saves the town of Hamelin from a plague of rats with his enchanting pipe-playing. But when the Corporation (the governing body) of Hamelin refuses to pay the Piper for his exterminator services, he exacts his revenge by luring the town's children away with magic music just as he lured the rats. Browning's poem spells out one of the tale's lessons plainly: when we make a bargain, "let us keep our promise." Reneging on a deal, in this poem, has unexpected and awful consequences—so one had better be honest.

      The Mayor and Corporation of Hamelin are at their wits' end about a terrible plague of rats that has descended on their town. So helpless are they in the face of the rodent onslaught that when a mysterious stranger who calls himself the Pied Piper turns up and promises to get rid of the rats in exchange for the substantial sum of a "thousand guilders," they say they'd be happy to pay fifty times that if only he can do it.

      The Piper, true to his word, enchants the rats by playing a magical tune on his pipe that makes them follow him anywhere—even right into the river, where they all drown. The Corporation is deeply relieved, but not so happy when the Piper comes to collect his paycheck. Reasoning that the Piper can't bring back the rats he removed—"what's dead can't come back to life, I think," says the scheming Mayor—they refuse him the thousand guilders they promised him and offer a paltry fifty instead.

      Such selfishness and untrustworthiness, the poem suggests, invites well-deserved punishment. In retaliation for being cheated, the Piper plays another enchanted tune—this one calling to the children of the town, who follow him into a mysterious mountain cavern and disappear forever. Don't worry, it's not too sinister: the poem suggests they don't die, but emerge on the other side of the mountains and found a new town of their own. Regardless, they're lost to their parents for good.

      One trick thus invites another. Behave dishonestly, the poem's narrator warns, and others will be tempted to treat you in just the same way, perhaps doing you worse harm than you bargained for.

    • Theme Class, Wealth, and Greed

      Class, Wealth, and Greed

      Robert Browning inserts some sharp Victorian class commentary into his retelling of the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin (the musical rat exterminator who exacts revenge on the non-paying town of Hamelin by stealing its children). The wealthy town council that hires the Pied Piper greedily refuses to pay him, looking down on him as a lowly outsider with no real power. They realize their fatal mistake when he takes his revenge. Snobbery and greed, the poem suggests, backfire on the snobbish and greedy.

      The Mayor and Corporation of Hamelin, the town leaders, are a pretty fancy lot. Dressed in "ermine" and drinking the fanciest wines—"Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock"—they treat themselves to the finer things in life (though their fellow townspeople enjoy no such pleasures). Rather than satisfying the Corporation, wealth makes them greedier: though they have more than enough, they’re unwilling to pay the Pied Piper because his agreed fee of a "thousand guilders" would eat into their wine budget.

      Besides being selfish, the wealthy governors of Hamelin are snobbish. They don't merely cheat the Pied Piper because they want to keep their money to themselves, but because they look down on him as a wanderer with no wealth of his own and no fixed place in society. Because he's not part of their powerful circle, he has no recourse against them if they decide to pay him a mere fraction of the agreed price—or so they believe.

      When the Piper leads their children away into a mysterious cavern in the mountains, however, the wealthy townspeople realize their terrible mistake. As these wealthy men watch their children disappear, the poem's narrator observes, they suddenly remember a famous Bible passage that says "that Heaven’s Gate / Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate / As the needle's eye takes a camel in!" In other words, clinging to wealth leads to hellish consequences.

      Through this unflattering portrait of a greedy, snobbish upper class, Browning suggests that such people aren't merely unpleasant, but shortsighted—and cruising for a fall.

    • Theme The Role of the Artist

      The Role of the Artist

      The Pied Piper, a strange figure in a red-and-yellow cloak who leads vermin to their doom with the music of his magic pipe, is an uncanny and slightly sinister fellow, a stranger with his own mysterious purposes. He's also enchanting, literally: his music has a persuasive power like nothing else on earth. Always on the outskirts, charming but deceptive, the Piper can be read as a figure for artists in general, his tale painting a picture of the role artists play in society (for better and for worse).

      A stranger and an outsider, the Pied Piper doesn't fit into Hamelin’s mainstream. His bright, harlequin-like red-and-yellow clothing marks him as a "queer" figure—something like a court jester. In his strangeness, he might even be a bit eerie: a member of the ruling Corporation of Hamelin sees him as a ghost newly emerged from under "his painted tombstone."

      The poem firmly connects the clothes that mark the Piper as an outsider to the instrument that marks him as an artist. The strap that holds his magical pipe is patterned in the "self-same cheque" as his motley coat: being a piper is part and parcel of what makes him peculiar. Being an artist, these images suggest, means standing out and standing apart, not belonging to the ordinary world.

      Living this way, the artist gains a great power: the ability to conjure up enchanted imaginary worlds. Through his magical music, the Piper speaks to rats and children alike of paradise, tempting the rats with dreams of endless food ("munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon / Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!") and the children with promises of "a joyous land" where "every thing was strange and new." In other words, the eerie beauty of the Piper's music conjures up heavenly illusions—and thus gives him the power to sway those who hear him.

      This power is both creative and dangerous. Though the Piper can weave alluring visions of paradise, he can also use those visions to deceive. The Piper's song promises endless food and marvelous adventure but leads only to drowning and entombment.

      This poem's vision of the artist’s powers thus feels pretty ambivalent. Being an artist might mean having the power to weave beautiful visions. But it also means being an eternal outsider and, potentially, a trickster and deceiver (not to mention never getting paid what you're owed).

  • Line-by-Line Explanation & Analysis of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”

    • Lines 1-9

      Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
         By famous Hanover city;
      The river Weser, deep and wide,
      Washes its wall on the southern side;
      A pleasanter spot you never spied;
         But, when begins my ditty,
      Almost five hundred years ago,
      To see the townsfolk suffer so
         From vermin, was a pity.

      "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" begins with a little scene-setting. This poem, the narrator informs us, takes place in the German town of Hamelin, on the banks of the river Weser (pronounced somewhere between "Veeser" and "Weeser"). It's a charming place with old stone walls; "a pleasanter spot you never spied," the narrator says. But "almost five hundred years ago," it wasn't so pleasant at all: back then, Hamelin suffered from a terrible plague of "vermin."

      All these details might ring a bell for readers who know their folklore. This poem will retell the old story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, the magical musician who rid a medieval town of its rat infestation.

      As the poem's inscription reveals, this poem was written for one "W.M. the Younger"—that is, Willy Macready, the young son of Robert Browning's friend William Macready. Browning wrote this poem to entertain Willy while the boy was stuck in bed recovering from an illness. Just like a good uncle telling a bedtime story, the poem's narrator speaks in an engaging, personable voice.

      That sparky voice rests on the poem's accentual meter. Rather than using any particular pattern of metrical feet (like iambs or trochees), the poem measures lines in beats. Listen to the rhythm of the first few lines of the poem, for example:

      Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
      By famous Hanover city;
      The river Weser, deep and wide,
      Washes its wall on the southern side;
      A pleasanter spot you never spied;

      The poem hops between lines with three beats and lines with four, scattering those beats wherever it likes within the lines to create a pattering, chatty rhythm.

      The rhymes are just as lively. Rather than keeping to a set rhyme scheme here, Browning throws rhymes around for dramatic effect, sometimes stringing as many as six rhyming lines together.

      Notice all the musical alliteration in these first lines, too:

      Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
      By famous Hanover city;
      The river Weser, deep and wide,
      Washes its wall on the southern side;
      A pleasanter spot you never spied;

      All those jaunty matching sounds make the poem sound a little bit magical, different from ordinary speech: this is a storyteller's voice.

      In its sounds, its rhythms, and its language alike, this will be a playful poem, a distracting treat for a bored kid. But it will also offer some sly social commentary, winking at adult readers with its remarks on greed, shortsighted conventionality, and just how hard it is for an artist to get paid what he's owed.

    • Lines 10-20

            Rats!
      They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
         And bit the babies in the cradles,
      And eat the cheeses out of the vats,
         And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,
      Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
      Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
      And even spoiled the women's chats,
            By drowning their speaking
            With shrieking and squeaking
      In fifty different sharps and flats.

    • Lines 21-32

      At last the people in a body
         To the Town Hall came flocking:
      'Tis clear, cried they, our Mayor's a noddy;
         And as for our Corporation — shocking
      To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
      For dolts that can't or won't determine
      What's like to rid us of our vermin!
      Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking
      To find the remedy we're lacking,
      Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!
         At this the Mayor and Corporation
         Quaked with a mighty consternation.

    • Lines 33-48

      An hour they sate in council,
         At length the Mayor broke silence:
      For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;
         I wish I were a mile hence!
      It's easy to bid one rack one's brain —
      I'm sure my poor head aches again
      I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
      Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!
      Just as he said this, what should hap
      At the chamber door but a gentle tap?
      Bless us, cried the Mayor, what's that?
      (With the Corporation as he sate,
      Looking little though wondrous fat)
      Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?
      Anything like the sound of a rat
      Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!

    • Lines 49-63

      Come in! — the Mayor cried, looking bigger:
      And in did come the strangest figure!
      His queer long coat from heel to head
      Was half of yellow and half of red;
      And he himself was tall and thin,
      With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
      And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
      No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
      But lips where smiles went out and in —
      There was no guessing his kith and kin!
      And nobody could enough admire
      The tall man and his quaint attire:
      Quoth one: It's as my great-grandsire,
      Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,
      Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!

    • Lines 64-81

      He advanced to the council-table:
      And, Please your honours, said he, I'm able,
      By means of a secret charm, to draw
      All creatures living beneath the sun,
      That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,
      After me so as you never saw!
      And I chiefly use my charm
      On creatures that do people harm,
      The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper;
      And people call me the Pied Piper.
      (And here they noticed round his neck
      A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
      To match with his coat of the self-same cheque;
      And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
      And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
      As if impatient to be playing
      Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
      Over his vesture so old-fangled.)

    • Lines 82-91

      Yet, said he, poor piper as I am,
      In Tartary I freed the Cham,
      Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;
      I eased in Asia the Nizam
      Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats:
      And, as for what your brain bewilders,
      If I can rid your town of rats
      Will you give me a thousand guilders?
      One? fifty thousand! — was the exclamation
      Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

    • Lines 92-104

      Into the street the Piper stept,
         Smiling first a little smile,
      As if he knew what magic slept
         In his quiet pipe the while;
      Then, like a musical adept,
      To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
      And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
      Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;
      And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
      You heard as if an army muttered;
      And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
      And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
      And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.

    • Lines 105-112

      Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
      Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,
      Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
         Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
      Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
         Families by tens and dozens,
      Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives —
      Followed the Piper for their lives.

    • Lines 113-120

      From street to street he piped advancing,
      And step for step they followed dancing,
      Until they came to the river Weser
      Wherein all plunged and perished
      — Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,
      Swam across and lived to carry
      (As he the manuscript he cherished)
      To Rat-land home his commentary,

    • Lines 121-139

      Which was, At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
      I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
      And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
      Into a cider-press's gripe:
      And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,
      And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,
      And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,
      And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks;
      And it seemed as if a voice
      (Sweeter than by harp or by psaltery
      Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice!
      The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
      So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
      Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!
      And just as one bulky sugar-puncheon,
      Ready staved, like a great sun shone
      Glorious scarce an inch before me,
      Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!
      — I found the Weser rolling o'er me.

    • Lines 140-148

      You should have heard the Hamelin people
      Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;
      Go, cried the Mayor, and get long poles!
      Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
      Consult with carpenters and builders,
      And leave in our town not even a trace
      Of the rats! — when suddenly up the face
      Of the Piper perked in the market-place,
      With a, First, if you please, my thousand guilders!

    • Lines 149-160

      A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;
      So did the Corporation too.
      For council dinners made rare havock
      With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
      And half the money would replenish
      Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.
      To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
      With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!
      Beside, quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,
      Our business was done at the river's brink;
      We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
      And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

    • Lines 161-167

      So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
      From the duty of giving you something for drink,
      And a matter of money to put in your poke;
      But, as for the guilders, what we spoke
      Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
      Beside, our losses have made us thrifty;
      A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!

    • Lines 168-178, Between Lines 178-179, Lines 179-184

      The Piper's face fell, and he cried,
      No trifling! I can't wait, beside!
      I've promised to visit by dinner time
      Bagdat, and accept the prime
      Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,
      For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,
      Of a nest of scorpions no survivor —
      With him I proved no bargain-driver,
      With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!
      And folks who put me in a passion
      May find me pipe after another fashion.
      XI.
      How? cried the Mayor, d'ye think I'll brook
      Being worse treated than a Cook?
      Insulted by a lazy ribald
      With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
      You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
      Blow your pipe there till you burst!

    • Lines 185-201

      Once more he stept into the street;
         And to his lips again
      Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
         And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
      Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
         Never gave th' enraptured air)
      There was a rustling, that seem'd like a bustling
      Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
      Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
      Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,
      And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
      Out came the children running.
      All the little boys and girls,
      With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
      And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
      Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
      The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

    • Lines 202-219

      The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
      As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
      Unable to move a step, or cry
      To the children merrily skipping by —
      Could only follow with the eye
      That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
      But how the Mayor was on the rack,
      And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
      As the Piper turned from the High Street
      To where the Weser rolled its waters
      Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
      However he turned from South to West,
      And to Coppelburg Hill his steps addressed,
      And after him the children pressed;
      Great was the joy in every breast.
      He never can cross that mighty top!
      He's forced to let the piping drop,
      And we shall see our children stop!

    • Lines 220-225

      When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side,
      A wondrous portal opened wide,
      As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
      And the Piper advanced and the children follow'd,
      And when all were in to the very last,
      The door in the mountain side shut fast.

    • Lines 226-249

      Did I say, all? No! One was lame,
      And could not dance the whole of the way;
      And in after years, if you would blame
      His sadness, he was used to say, —
      It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
      I can't forget that I'm bereft
      Of all the pleasant sights they see,
      Which the Piper also promised me;
      For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
      Joining the town and just at hand,
      Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
      And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
      And every thing was strange and new;
      The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
      And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
      And honey-bees had lost their stings,
      And horses were born with eagles' wings:
      And just as I felt assured
      My lame foot would be speedily cured,
      The music stopped and I stood still,
      And found myself outside the Hill,
      Left alone against my will,
      To go now limping as before,
      And never hear of that country more!

    • Lines 250-262

      Alas, alas for Hamelin!
         There came into many a burgher's pate
         A text which says, that Heaven's Gate
         Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate
      As the needle's eye takes a camel in!
      The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,
      To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,
         Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
      Silver and gold to his heart's content,
      If he'd only return the way he went,
         And bring the children behind him.
      But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,
      And Piper and dancers were gone for ever,

    • Lines 263-282

      They made a decree that lawyers never
         Should think their records dated duly
      If, after the day of the month and year,
      These words did not as well appear,
      "And so long after what happened here
         "On the Twenty-second of July,
      "Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six:"
      And the better in memory to fix
      The place of the Children's last retreat,
      They called it, The Pied Piper's Street —
      Where any one playing on pipe or tabor
      Was sure for the future to lose his labour.
      Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern
         To shock with mirth a street so solemn;
      But opposite the place of the cavern
         They wrote the story on a column,
      And on the Great Church Window painted
      The same, to make the world acquainted
      How their children were stolen away;
      And there it stands to this very day.

    • Lines 283-293

      And I must not omit to say
      That in Transylvania there's a tribe
      Of alien people who ascribe
      The outlandish ways and dress
      On which their neighbours lay such stress
      To their fathers and mothers having risen
      Out of some subterraneous prison
      Into which they were trepanned
      Long time ago in a mighty band
      Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
      But how or why, they don't understand.

    • Lines 294-297

      So, Willy, let you and me be wipers
      Of scores out with all men — especially pipers:
      And, whether they rid us from rats or from mice,
      If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

  • “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Symbols

    • Symbol The Pied Piper

      The Pied Piper

      As an outsider, an enchanter, and a deceiver, the Pied Piper might symbolize artists in general.

      A strange, solitary figure, the Piper can play music so enchanting that it puts heavenly visions into the heads of whoever hears it, be they child or rat. He uses these powers to make his living, but also to get his revenge when the Mayor and Corporation of Hamelin refuse to pay him what they owe him.

      The poem hints that beautiful art can attract and enchant, but also deceive—and that gifted artists like the Piper are thus both wizards and tricksters. The Piper uses his astonishing powers to serve his own purposes, and his music is as treacherous as it is beautiful.

      Though the poem is ambivalent about the Piper, the narrator also admires his music and seems sympathetic to his difficulties in getting paid (a problem for artists since time immemorial).

  • “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Poetic Devices & Figurative Language

    • Imagery

      Bright imagery brings this story to life. Browning wrote this poem to amuse a young friend who was sick in bed, and the vivid pictures he paints seem designed to take a kid out of his uncomfortable situation and into a folktale.

      For instance, Browning puts portraits of the Mayor and the Pied Piper right next to each other, creating pictures of the two men not just through description but through their contrast with each other. When readers meet him, the Mayor is sitting at his council table "looking little though wondrous fat," short but majestically round. The Piper, on the other hand, is:

      [...] the strangest figure!
      His queer long coat from heel to head
      Was half of yellow and half of red;
      And he himself was tall and thin,
      With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
      And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
      No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
      But lips where smiles went out and in —

      These two men have a kind of Laurel-and-Hardy difference in physique, a comical contrast. Notice, too, how long the narrator spends describing the Piper compared to how long he spends describing the Mayor. The Mayor is just an everyday well-fed bureaucrat; the Piper, on the other hand, is a strange fellow like no one in this town has ever seen, and he gets described in as much detail as a newly discovered species of parrot. The image of his "lips where smiles went out and in," in particular, suggests he's a mysterious, cagey sort of guy: the smiles that go in sound like private smiles, smiles he doesn't share with the world at large.

      There's a similar sense of mystery and magic in the lines where the Piper begins to play:

      To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
      And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
      Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;

      Besides evoking an eerie, unexpected sparkle, this image suggests there's something a little dangerous about this man and his fiery look.

      His piping produces this astonishing result:

      And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
      You heard as if an army muttered;
      And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
      And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
      And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.
      Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
      Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,

      In this theatrical moment, the townspeople (and the readers) hear the rat stampede before they see it. When the rats finally put in an appearance, the description of their many shapes, sizes, and colors works alongside intense parallelism to suggest that there's every kind of rat here—but they're all still rats, zillions and zillions of rats, unified in their rattiness.

      A similar movement from sound to sight also conjures up the moment when the Piper pipes again, this time in revenge:

      There was a rustling, that seem'd like a bustling
      Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
      Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
      Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,
      And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
      Out came the children running.
      All the little boys and girls,
      With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
      And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,

      Once more, a sound—this time, that of happy scrambling—arrives, ominously, before the children come into sight. When the kids finally appear, the speaker's imagery stresses their beauty and sweetness: they're all rosy-cheeked treasures, the worst thing in the world for their parents to lose.

    • Simile

    • Repetition

    • Allusion

    • Juxtaposition

    • Alliteration

  • "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" Vocabulary

    Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.

    • Ditty
    • Salted sprats
    • Noddy
    • Corporation
    • Ermine
    • Dolts
    • Like
    • Quaked with a mighty consternation
    • Sate
    • Hence
    • Bid one
    • Hap
    • Wondrous
    • Queer
    • Swarthy
    • Kith and kin
    • Admire
    • Quaint
    • Quoth
    • Great-grandsire
    • The Trump of Doom's tone
    • Pied
    • His vesture so old-fangled
    • Cham, Nizam
    • Adept
    • Ere
    • Gay
    • Friskers
    • Wherein
    • Gripe
    • Pickle-tub-boards
    • Conserve-cupboards
    • Train-oil-flasks
    • Psaltery
    • Drysaltery
    • Nuncheon
    • Sugar-puncheon
    • Ready staved
    • Bore
    • O'er
    • Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock
    • Butt
    • Rhenish
    • Poke
    • Trifling
    • Pottage
    • Bate a stiver
    • Passion
    • D'ye think I'll brook
    • Ribald
    • Piebald
    • Th' enraptured air
    • Justling at pitching and hustling
    • Flaxen
    • On the rack
    • Bosoms
    • Fast
    • Bereft
    • Many a burgher's pate
    • Opes
    • Tabor
    • Suffered
    • Hostelry
    • Mirth
    • Ascribe
    • Subterraneous
    • Trepanned
    • Aught
    • A little song.

  • Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”

    • Form

      "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" uses a rollicking, unpredictable form. Across its 15 irregular stanzas, there's no standard meter or rhyme scheme (though there's plenty of rhythmic accentual meter and rhyme). Instead, the narrator changes line lengths and stanza shapes for dramatic effect. The plague of rats, for instance, makes its first appearance in a one-word line: "Rats!"

      At the end of the poem, readers discover that, all along, the narrator has had a specific audience in mind: a little boy named Willy. Browning wrote this poem for a friend's son who was sick in bed, and the poem’s mixture of magic, humor, and sinister mystery seems calculated to keep a bored kid entertained.

    • Meter

      This poem is written in accentual meter. That means that lines are measured not in regular metrical feet (like the iamb or the trochee) but by the number of stressed beats per line. The Pied Piper's first speech in lines 64-69, for instance, uses four-beat lines, but doesn’t put the stresses in any predictable place:

      He advanced to the council-table:
      And, Please your honours, said he, I'm able,
      By means of a secret charm, to draw
      All creatures living beneath the sun,
      That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,
      After me so as you never saw!

      This kind of meter is flexible and somewhat open to interpretation. It also often turns up in nursery rhymes, so it feels especially fitting for a children's poem.

      Browning doesn't just stick to one line length throughout, however. Though most lines are three or four beats long, the narrator sometimes throws in a little variation or surprise. For instance, take a look at what happens when the rats first appear in line 10:

      Rats!
      They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
      And bit the babies in the cradles,

      A one-word line introduces the rats with dramatic flair. Then, the poem moves into a quick, pattering description of the vermin's shameless behavior. The longer lines here even fall briefly into iambic tetrameter (that is, they take on a steady da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM rhythm), sweeping the reader along at a snappy pace.

      All in all, the poem's meter feels brisk, flexible, and energetic. Even in its darker moments, the poem never sounds anything less than gleeful.

    • Rhyme Scheme

      “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” is laden with rhyme—but it doesn't use anything so orderly as a rhyme scheme. Instead, Browning slings rhymes wherever he likes for dramatic effect.

      For example, take a look at the pattern of rhymes in the first stanza:

      ABCCCBDDB

      The B rhyme that threads through this passage holds the stanza in shape, while the strings of C and D rhymes feel jaunty and bouncy.

      Now, listen to what happens in the second stanza:

      AABABAAACCA

      These lines keep on returning to words that rhyme with the stanza's first punchy one-word line: "Rats!" That inescapable A rhyme suggests an overwhelming tide of vermin—and also feels stylized, goofy, and funny, even as the poem describes a dreadful infestation.

      Perhaps what's most notable and most satisfying about this poem's rhymes, though, is how witty and surprising they often are. When Browning rhymes "ermine" with "vermin," "river Weser" with "Julius Caesar," or "ribald" with "piebald," it's hard not to share his glee in the endless, ridiculous possibilities of the English language.

  • “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Speaker

    • The poem's speaker is a storyteller—a third-person narrator standing at a distance from the action. At least, he is until the end of the poem, when he suddenly addresses "Willy," the little boy he's been telling this tale to. In this moment, it becomes clear that the speaker is a voice for Browning himself. Browning wrote this tale to entertain his friend's son Willy when the boy was recovering from an illness. His conspiratorial tone at the end of the poem, where he tells Willy "let you and me be wipers / Of scores out with all men" makes him sound like the best kind of uncle: a guy who respects his young friend and is just as caught up in the story he's telling as Willy is.

      The poem's tone, too, gives readers a glimpse of the speaker's personality. The speaker mingles humor and a relish of rhyme with sharp-eyed social commentary: unimpressed by greedy rich men, amused by human foibles, and ambivalent about the mysterious, ever-so-slightly sinister Piper, he comes across as equal parts sardonic and humane.

  • “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Setting

    • The poem is set in medieval Hamelin, a town in Brunswick (a former state in Germany) beside the river Weser. More than that, the poem gives a particular date. Its events take place "almost five hundred years" before the narrator tells the story:

      On the Twenty-second of July,
      Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six [...]

      In other words, the tale is being told in the mid-1800s, but it's set in the middle ages.

      Browning draws some of these details from real-life events. The town of Hamelin once had a stained-glass window much like the one described toward the end of the poem—a window thought to commemorate the death of many of the town's children, perhaps by plague. (That would make sense of the rodent portion of the story: the bubonic plague was spread by fleas carried on rats.) The Piper himself seems like pure legend; the generation of lost children might not be.

      Mostly, though, the Hamelin of this poem is a fairy tale village: a once-prosperous little town with sturdy medieval city walls, invaded from within by what almost feels like a biblical plague of rats. The poem's events don't feel historical, but folkloric, telling a cautionary tale.

  • Literary and Historical Context of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”

    • Literary Context

      The English poet Robert Browning (1812-1889) was most famous in his time for not sounding much like a poet. His contemporaries were confused by his most distinctive works: dramatic monologues in which Browning inhabited a character like an actor playing a part. Even Oscar Wilde, a big Browning fan, famously said that "[George] Meredith is a prose Browning, and so is Browning." The Victorian literary world was much more at ease with the melancholy lyricism of Tennyson or the elegance of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Browning's wife, and a much more famous poet) than with the novelistic storytelling of Browning's work.

      But it's on his earthy, vibrant dramatic monologues that Browning's enduring reputation rests. His most famous poems form a veritable rogues' gallery, with narrators from a corrupt bishop to a murderous Italian duke to an equally murderous lover. By allowing these hideous men to speak for themselves, Browning explored the darkest corners of human nature—and took a particular interest in the ways that people justify their terrible deeds. Villains, Browning's monologues suggest, don't tend to think that they're villains. Browning's poetry wasn't all theatrical murder and greed, though; he also wrote tenderly about heroism, homesickness, and heartbreak.

      While "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" similarly casts a jaded eye on greedy humanity, it's no dramatic monologue but rather a piece of pure storytelling, with Browning himself as narrator. Browning wrote this poem for his friend William Macready's son Willy (whom he directly addresses in the last stanza, encouraging the boy to take a moral from the story and keep his promises). He later published the poem in his 1842 book Dramatic Lyrics, the third in an eight-volume series of his works collectively titled Bells and Pomegranates. This collection would deeply influence 20th-century modernist poets like Ezra Pound. Browning still moves readers to this day: for instance, his life and work inspired contemporary writer A.S. Byatt to write her acclaimed novel Possession.

      Historical Context

      While this poem is meant to be a light, amusing tale for a sick kid, it also incorporates some pointed criticism of the wealthy and powerful burghers of Hamelin, whose riches only make them greedier. Browning, an astute social critic, was not particularly a fan of the wealthy and powerful of his own era, either—of whom there were many.

      The Victorian age in England was marked by a huge divide between a wealthy upper class and an impoverished lower class, and by a belief that England's upper classes should rightfully rule the world because of some innate superiority. Under the reign of Queen Victoria, Britain became a massive world power; it was often proverbially said that the "sun never set on the British Empire." With colonial footholds across the globe, that Empire saw itself as a force for good, spreading cultural and scientific advances. The colonized countries, understandably, took a very different perspective on the matter, and the period was marked not only by prosperity in Britain but by discord pretty much everywhere else.

      Browning's poetry often pointed out the greed, hypocrisy, and self-deceptions of those who feel they have a right to hoard and to rule. Here, the Piper's dire punishment falls on those townspeople who only remember too late:

      A text which says, that Heaven's Gate
      Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate
      As the needle's eye takes a camel in!

  • More “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” Resources