{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_76286/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_76286","id":"gutenberg_76286","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76286","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","English poetry","Fairy poetry, English"],"text":"The Canterbury Poets.\n EDITED BY WILLIAM SHARP.\n\n\n\n\n ELFIN MUSIC.\n\n\n\n\n ELFIN MUSIC: AN ANTHOLOGY\n OF ENGLISH FAIRY\n POETRY. SELECTED AND\n ARRANGED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION,\n BY ARTHUR EDWARD\n WAITE.\n\n \u201cO, list the mystic lore sublime\n Of fairy tales of ancient time.\u201d\n\n _The Ettrick Shepherd._\n\n LONDON\n WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE\n NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER\n TORONTO: W. J. GAGE AND CO.\n 1888\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n\n INTRODUCTION\u2014Revival of the Romantic element in modern\n poetry\u2014Origin of the term \u201cFairy\u201d\u2014Fays of early French\n literature\u2014Source of the conceptions at the base of English\n fairy poetry\u2014Huon de Bordeaux\u2014Oberon\u2014Spiritual traditions\n of Gothic and Celtic nations\u2014Lineage of the fairies\u2014Romance\n of Orfeo and Heurodis\u2014Stature of the fairies\u2014Their\n religious faith\u2014The Fairy Queen\u2014Robin Goodfellow\u2014The elfin\n hierarchies\u2014Romaunt of the Knight Launfal\u2014Value of English\n fairy poetry\u2014Plan of the present anthology ix\n\n THE FOREVIEW.\n\n EDGAR ALLAN POE\u2014Fairyland 3\n\n PRELUDE.\n\n FELICIA HEMANS\u2014Fairies\u2019 Recall 7\n\n THE FAIRY FAMILY.\n\n EDMUND SPENSER\u2014The Rolls of Elfin Emperours 11\n\n SIR SIMEON STEWARD\u2014The Faery King 13\n\n BEN JONSON\u2014Queen Mab 15\n\n OLD POEM\u2014The Fairy Queen 16\n\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\u2014Queen Mab; Lullaby for Titania 18, 19\n\n L. E. L.\u2014The Fairy Queen Sleeping 20\n\n OLD POEM\u2014Robin Good-fellow 22\n\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\u2014Puck\u2019s Song 26\n\n ROBERT HERRICK\u2014The Fair Temple; Oberon\u2019s Feast; Oberon\u2019s\n Palace 27, 31, 32\n\n THOMAS HOOD\u2014The Water Lady 36\n\n SAMUEL MINTON PECK\u2014The Pixies 37\n\n ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON\u2014Song of the Water Sprite 38\n\n MARGARET DIXON\u2014A Legend of the Water-Spirit, called Neckan 40\n\n JAMES HOGG\u2014The Mermaid 42\n\n SARAH WILLIAMS\u2014Song of the Water Nixies 46\n\n PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON\u2014Flower Fairies 47\n\n THOMAS LAKE HARRIS\u2014Song of the Twilight Fairies 49\n\n L. E. L.\u2014Fairies on the Sea-shore 50\n\n CHRONICLES OF FAIRYLAND.\n\n MICHAEL DRAYTON\u2014Nymphidia: The Court of Fairy 55\n\n WILLIAM ALLINGHAM\u2014Prince Brightkin 77\n\n J. RODMAN DRAKE\u2014The Culprit Fay 92\n\n TRAVELS IN FAIRYLAND.\n\n SIR WALTER SCOTT\u2014Thomas the Rhymer 115\n\n JAMES HOGG\u2014Kilmeny 126\n\n PHILIP JAMES BAILEY\u2014A Fairy Tale 136\n\n A. MARY F. ROBINSON\u2014The Conquest of Fairyland 149\n\n MEN AND FAIRIES.\n\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\u2014The Approach of Titania 159\n\n THOMAS PARNELL\u2014A Fairy Tale 161\n\n JOHN LEYDEN\u2014The Elfin King 167\n\n OLD BALLAD\u2014The Young Tamlane 175\n\n WILLIAM NICHOLSON\u2014The Brownie of Blednock 185\n\n JOHN KEATS\u2014La Belle Dame Sans Merci 189\n\n THOMAS MOORE\u2014The Mountain Sprite 192\n\n SAMUEL LOVER\u2014The Fairy Boy 193\n\n SAMUEL LOVER\u2014The Fairy Tempter 194\n\n MARY HOWITT\u2014The Fairies of the Caldon-Low 195\n\n CLARENCE MANGAN\u2014The Fairies\u2019 Passage 198\n\n JAMES TEELING\u2014Thubber-na-Shie; or, The Fairy Well 202\n\n SAMUEL LOVER\u2014The Haunted Spring 205\n\n CLARENCE MANGAN\u2014The Romance of the Fairy Cure 207\n\n EDWARD WALSH\u2014The Fairy Nurse 209\n\n SAMUEL FERGUSON\u2014The Fairy Thorn; The Fairy Well of Lagnanay 210, 213\n\n CHARLES MACKAY\u2014Kelpie of Corrievreckan 216\n\n R. H. HORNE\u2014The Elf of the Woodlands 221\n\n WILLIAM ALLINGHAM\u2014Two Fairies in a Garden 239\n\n EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN\u2014Elfin Song 245\n\n GRAHAM R. TOMSON\u2014The Ferlie 248\n\n MISCELLANEOUS.\n\n ROBERT SOUTHEY\u2014The Fountain of the Fairies 253\n\n SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE\u2014Songs of the Pixies 254\n\n FELICIA HEMANS\u2014Fairy Favours; Water Lilies: A Fairy Song 258, 260\n\n L. E. L.\u2014Fantasies 261\n\n ANONYMOUS\u2014The City of Gold 262\n\n WILLIAM ALLINGHAM\u2014The Fairies; The Maids of Elfin Mere 263, 265\n\n EPILOGUE.\n\n RICHARD CORBET\u2014Farewell to the Fairies 269\n\n FELICIA HEMANS\u2014Fairy Song 270\n\n PHILIP DAYRE\u2014An Invocation 271\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nThis volume appears, I trust opportunely, during the initial signs of\na revival of that romantic or supernatural element which is the first\ncharacteristic of primitive song-craft in every nation, and is, by a\nselect section of discriminating literary critics, now welcomed as the\nsalvation of modern poetry. Independently of this fact, there can be\nno need for apology in presenting for the first time to the lovers of\nphantasy an anthology of the fairy poetry which during six centuries has\nmade beautiful by its gracious melody the minor paths of English song. I\npropose in this brief introduction to consider the Elfin mythology in its\nconnection with poetry, without attempting an actually critical estimate\nof the literary value of the fairy flights which follow it; their poetic\nmerit is, for the most part, sufficiently guaranteed by the names which\nare attached to them\u2014Chaucer and Spenser in the aurora or day-spring\nof our literature; Shakespeare, Drayton, Herrick, and other masters of\nmelody in the splendour of its meridian light; Hogg, Horne, and Allingham\nat our own epoch of inspired imaginings.\n\nFrom the days of Casaubon to Keightley, many conflicting derivations of\nthe word fairy have been proposed by rival etymologists. It is now fairly\nestablished that it has come to us from the Latin _fatum_, through the\nRomance languages. A debased Latin verb, _fatere_, to enchant, was common\nin medi\u00e6val times, and was naturalised in Spain, Italy, and Provence.\nThe French form was _faer_, _f\u00e9er_. Of this verb, says Keightley, in his\nmasterly _Fairy Mythology_, the past participle is _fa\u00e9_, _f\u00e9_; hence\nin the romances we continually meet with _les chevaliers fa\u00e9s_, _les\ndames fa\u00e9es_, etc. From the verb _fa\u00e9r_, _f\u00e9er_, to enchant, we are told\nby the same authority that the French made a substantive, _faeri\u00e9_,\n_f\u00e9erie_, illusion, enchantment, a word which was considerably extended\nin its meaning both before and after its assimilation into the English\nlanguage, and which came to be employed, not only for illusion, but for\nthe land which was _par excellence_ the home of all gramary, illusion,\nand _envoutement_, namely, the Land of the Fairies, for the people who\ndwell therein, and for every individual member of the elfin tribe.\n\nIt is also established, and by this etymology itself, that the original\nfairy of Frankish poetry and fiction was simply a female initiated into\nthe mysteries and marvels of magic. Such was the mighty Morgue la Fay,\nthe mystic sister of King Arthur, and such, in unconscious accordance\nwith the original tradition, were those fairies of later French romance\nwho delighted our childhood in the graceful and beautiful stories of\nPerrault and the Countess d\u2019Aulnoy.\n\nThe immediate source of the conceptions which are at the base of English\nfairy poetry must be evidently sought in the romances and legends of\nearly French chivalry, in such delightful, though comparatively unknown,\nstories as that of the Paladin Huon de Bordeaux, who was protected in\ndirest extremity, and assisted in the successful prosecution of an\nalmost impossible quest by the divine child Oberon, and then in a glade\nof dews and sunshine, fenced by the mystic darkness of a Syrian forest,\nwas anointed with supernatural chrism, and instructed in the magical\nsentences which compel the obedience of elf and gnome and _lutin_, and\n\u201ccrowned King of all Fa\u00ebrie.\u201d\n\nOberon himself, it is true, has a Teutonic origin, and is known to the\nearly Germanic folk-lore by the names of Alberich, Alberon, etc., but\nthe original inspiration of English fairy poetry is derived, as I have\nsaid, through the fairy imaginings of the French metrical romancers. By\nthese, the supreme monarch of Elfland, who, despite the supposititious\nsuccession of Huon and his own translation to Paradise, continued to\nspread wide his golden rule as in pre-Proven\u00e7al days, is represented as\na child of four to five years, indescribable in his beauty, sirenian\nin voice and manner, clothed in a robe which sparkled with all manner\nof precious stones, and a\u00ebrially conveyed in a superb, swan-drawn\nchariot. His palace, with its golden roof and diamond spires, seems\nto have followed him in his travels, and thus the Land of Fa\u00ebrie was\nsubstantially and for the time being in that spot wheresoever which was\nthe tarrying-place of the Grand Master of the Elfin World.\n\nSide by side with the fays of poetry and chivalrous history there\npersisted, in spite of the general diffusion of Christianity, the old\nspiritual traditions of the Gothic and Celtic nations, concerning the\nElves, Trolls, Brownies, malignant or benevolent dwarfs, gnomes, and\ngenerally diminutive beings gifted with supernatural powers and of an\nother than mortal origin. These two hierarchies of supernal beings were\nconfused in the popular imagination; the magical abilities which could\nonly be painfully acquired by humanity were identified with the magical\nprerogatives which were inherent in the natures of Kelpie, Elf, and\nGhoul, and the mystical combination produced that new, glorious, and\nbeautiful hierarchy of semi-spiritual essences which was governed by the\nelfin Oberon.\n\nThe discrepancies in fairy traditions, as preserved in English poetry,\nmay be partly accounted for by the fact of this confusion. We find the\nmost eminent fairy authorities in distinct disagreement on several\nimportant points. Spenser, the poet of the elfin world _par excellence_,\nin his account of the \u201cRolls of Elfin Emperours,\u201d deduces all Fa\u00ebrie from\nthe man-monster created by Prometheus. Shakespeare, on the other hand,\nrefers them to an Indian origin, and the dictionaries of Fairy Mythology,\nin accordance with this supposition, fix his abode in India, and\nrepresent him nightly crossing the intervening seas with inconceivable\nrapidity to dance in the western moonlight. The oriental origin of magic\nwas generally recognised at a very early period of European gramary;\nthe original fairies of romance received their wisdom from Persia and\nfrom India, and after the transfiguration of the elfin world by the\nconfusion of the several spiritual conceptions already noticed, it is\neasy to see how an eastern source was attributed to the later fairy\nlineage. But on this point it must also be remembered that the Crusades\nwere undoubtedly the means of acquainting western poets with the rich\nfountains of oriental romance, and that the general similarity between\nthe Persian Peri and our own fairy, as well as the substantial identity\nof many supernatural fictions which are popular both in the West and in\nthe East, are a sufficient warrant for attributing a part of this very\ntransformation to the glamorous influence of Arabian imaginations.\n\nThe classical alternative which is offered by the poet-chronicler of\nFairydom has also a base in fact. The Elizabethan age commonly identified\nthe fairies of Gothic superstition with the classic nymphs who attended\nDiana, while the elfin queen was Diana herself, and was called by one\nof the names of that goddess, that is, Titania, which is found in the\nmetamorphoses of Ovid as a title of the uranian queen. The opinion\noriginated with the romance writers. Chaucer identifies the fairies with\nthe inhabitants of the Latin Infernus\u2014\n\n Pluto that is King of fayrie ...\n Proserpine and all her fayrie, etc.\n\nThe tradition spread wildly, and found during the early part of the\nfourteenth century a voice of poetic beauty in the lovely Scotch\nfairy-tale of \u201cOrfeo and Heurodis,\u201d which represents the Greek master\nof mystical song-craft as a \u201cKinge in Inglond, who abode in Traciens, or\nWinchester\u201d\u2014\n\n The King hadde a quen of priis\n That was y cleped dame Herodis,\n That finest leuedi for the nones\n That might gon on bodi and bones,\n Full of love and of godinesse\n Ac no man may tell hir fairnesse.\n\nOn a certain morn of May, Heurodis, Eurodis, or Eurydice repaired with\ntwo of her maidens \u201cto play bi an orchard side,\u201d in the neighbourhood of\nthe palace\u2014\n\n To se the floures sprede and spring,\n And to hear the foules sing.\n\nShe fell asleep on the green, and when she awoke it was in a state of\nfrenzy which frightened her virgins away, and they ran back to alarm the\nwhole palace.\n\nShe was borne from the orchard to her bed by a long train of knights and\nladies, and was visited by the distressed king, whom she informed, amidst\ngreat lamentations, that she must go from him\u2014\n\n As Ich lay this under tide,\n And slepe under an orchard side,\n There come to me to fair knightes\n Wele y armed al to rightes,\n And bad me comen an heighing,\n And speke with her lord the king;\n And Ich answered at wordes bold,\n Y durst nought, no y nold:\n Thai pinkd oghain as thai might driue,\n Ther com her king also bliue,\n With an hundred knightes and mo,\n And damissels an hundred al so;\n Al on snowe white stedes,\n As white as milke were her wedes,\n Y no seighe yete bifore\n So fair creatours y core!\n The king hadde a crown on hed,\n It nas of silver, no of gold red,\n Ac it was of a precious ston;\n As bright as the sonne it schon:\n And as son as he to me cam,\n Wold Ich, nold Ich, he me nam,\n And made me with him ride,\n Opon a palfrey by his side,\n And brought me to his pallays,\n Wele attired in ich ways;\n And schewd me castels and tours,\n Rivers, forestes, frith with flours;\n And his riche stedes ichon,\n And sith then me brought oghain hom,\n Into an owhen orchard,\n And said to me afterward:\n Loke dame! to morowe that av be\n Right here under this ympe tree;\n And than thou schalt with ous go,\n And live with us ever mo,\n And yif thou makest ous y let,\n Where thou be, thou worst y set,\n And to tore thine limes al,\n That nothing help the no schal,\n And thei thou best so torn,\n Yete thou worst with ous y born.\n\nThe power of the Fairy King over the royal lady of earth appears to have\nbeen given him in virtue of her slumber beneath an elvish tree, which,\nthough growing in her husband\u2019s orchard, made the surrounding grass-plot\nthe property of the elvish world. Orfeo repaired on the morrow to the\n\u201cympe-tree,\u201d accompanied by a thousand knights, resolved one and all to\ndie, if it were necessary, ere the queen should go from home; but on\nreaching the fay-bound place Heurodis, in the midst of the whole company,\nwas spirited suddenly away. The king in his misery vowed never again\nto look upon the face of a woman, and retired into the wilderness with\nhis harp, which subdued by its magical melody the fierce beasts that\nabounded on every side. This wilderness eventually proves to be a summer\nresort of the Fairy King, where Orfeo beholds distant visions of elfin\nhunters, elfin knights, and ladies at the dance, and then on a certain\nday of supreme election he falls into the hands of a joyous bevy of elfin\ndamsels, among whom he recognises his own Heurodis. Their mutual emotion\nbetrays him, and she is carried swiftly away by her companions. Orfeo\npursues the bright band with lyre and lamentations; a rock opens before\nthem; he follows them into it, and thus reaches Fairy Land.\n\n He com into a fair countray,\n As bright soonne somers day,\n Smothe and plain and al grene,\n Hill no dale was none ysene.\n Amiddle the lond a castel he seighe,\n Rich and reale and wonder heighe;\n Al the utmust wal\n Was cler and schine of cristal;\n An hundred tours ther were about,\n Degiselich and bataild stout;\n The butrass come out of the diche\n Of rede gold y arched riche;\n The housour was anowed al,\n Of ich maner divers animal;\n Within there wer wide wones\n Al of precious stones,\n The worss piles on to biholde,\n Was al of burnist gold:\n Al that lond was ever light,\n For when it schuld be therk and night,\n The riche stonnes light gonne,\n Bright as doth at none the sonne:\n No man may tel no thenke in thought\n The riche werk that ther was wrought.\n\nThis description corresponds on the whole with the general drift of\nlegend, which represents the Land of Fa\u00ebrie to be situated beneath the\nground, so that the true elfin court is a subterranean pageantry\u2014a point\nwhich is commonly ignored by modern fanciful writers.\n\nThe castle which Orfeo entered appears to have been a general receptacle\nfor things and persons who had been spirited away from earth, or had in\nany way suddenly disappeared.\n\n Ther he seize his owhen wiif,\n Dame Heurodis, his liif liif,\n Slepe under an ympe-tree;\n Bi her clothes he knewe that it was sche.\n\nHe did not, however, at once claim his bride, but repaired to the royal\nhall where the king and queen of fairyland were seated in a bright and\nblissful tabernacle, their crowns and vestures almost blinding him by\ntheir splendour. Orfeo performs in their presence on his harp, and wins\nsuch admiration from the king, that, with Herodian prodigality, he is\npromised whatever he may demand. The restitution of Heurodis is, of\ncourse, the favour in question, and the musician-monarch returns out of\nFairyland with a wife beautified more than ever by the gramary of the\nelfin atmosphere, and, unlike the classical hero, successfully closes his\nquest by resuming his royal authority.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe entrance of several elements all foreign to each other into the\nlater conception of Fairyland has assisted in the creation of other\nconfusions besides the conflicting accounts of the elfin lineage. \u201cMost\nspirits,\u201d says a writer in _Chambers\u2019s Journal_, \u201ccould contract and\ndiminish their bulk at will, but the fairy alone seems to have been\nregarded as essentially small in size. The majority of other spirits,\nsuch as dwarfs, genii, etc., are represented as deformed creatures,\nwhereas the fairy has almost uniformly been described as a beautiful\nminiature of the human being, perfect in face and form.\u201d This statement,\nhowever, is not even generally correct; it is contradicted continually\nin legends and poetry alike. It is evident, for instance, that the\n\u201cQueene of Faire Elfland,\u201d with whom the immortal Rhymer of \u201cbonny\nErcildoune\u201d performed his \u201cmirk night\u201d journey into Fairyland, was a\nspirit, at any rate, approaching the common stature of humanity. Such\nalso were the elfin emperors of Spenser, and such the fay ladies whom\nDryden celebrates in his magnificent modernised version of Chaucer\u2019s\n\u201cFlower and the Leaf,\u201d and who were simply departed human beings in\na certain state of bondage. The inhabitants of the Elfin World, and\ngenerally all classes of nature-spirits, are poetically depicted in all\nforms and sizes at the will of the bard or romancer, and are sometimes\nidentical with the original human fairy of the Arthurian and Charlemagne\ncycles, sometimes with the diminutive good people of Gothic lore. These\nformal discrepancies originated in time a harmonising tradition which\nwell enters into the spirit of fairy mythology. In the fine ballad of\n\u201cThe Young Tamlane,\u201d that elfin knight, who had passed from mortality\ninto fairyhood, informs his mistress that he can quit his body when he\npleases, and inhabit either earth or air.\n\n Our shapes and size we can convert\n To either large or small;\n An old nut-shell\u2019s the same to us\n As is the lofty hall.\n\nThe religion professed in the elfin world is another debated point.\nAccording to Chaucer, the book, and bell, and holy water, the matins and\nother prayers of monks and limitours, had, even in his day, thoroughly\nexorcised the fairies, and improved them off the face of the earth, a\nstatement which may be true enough in the case of the trolls and the\nbrownies, and other survivals of heathen times.\n\n In olde dayes of the King Artour,\n Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,\n All was this lond fulfilled of faerie;\n The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie\n Danced ful oft in many a grene mede.\n This was the old opinion as I rede;\n I speke of many hundred yeres ago;\n But now can no man see non elves mo,\n For now the grete charitee and prayeres\n Of limitoures and other holy freres,\n That serchen every land and every streme,\n As thikke as motes in the sonne beme,\n Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,\n Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures,\n Shropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,\n This maketh that ther ben no faeries:\n For ther as wont to walken was an elf,\n Ther walketh now the limitour himself,\n In undermeles and in morweninges,\n And sayth his matines and his holy thinges,\n As he goth in his limitatioun.\n Women may now go safely up and doun,\n In every bush, and under every tree,\n Ther is non other incubus but he,\n And he ne will don hern no dishonour.\n\nBut Bishop Corbet, writing in the days of the Restoration, testified that\nthe fairies \u201cwere of the old religion,\u201d and that since the advent of\nProtestantism and Elizabethan glories they had departed hence. Herrick,\nhowever, adopts a middle course.\n\n Now, this the fairies would have known,\n Theirs is a mixed religion:\n And some have heard the elves it call\n Part Pagan, part Papisticall.\n\nIntimately associated with the reigning Potentate of Fairyland, the\nmonarch Oberon, and a person of, in some respects, more considerable\nimportance, was the moonlight queen of elves, who is more or less\nidentified by Chaucer, Shakespeare, and the romance of \u201cOrfeo and\nHeurodis\u201d with the queen of the classical Avernus, Prosperine, but who\nis distinguished by Drayton from that goddess in his poetic romance of\n\u201cNymphidia,\u201d and who, as a matter of actual fact, is a combination of\nseveral mythological elements.\n\nIn the most ancient traditions we have glimpses of a time when this fair\nand glorious lady alone occupied the fa\u00ebry throne, and, as in the case\nof Sire Thopas, was occasionally sought by human lovers. Shakespeare\ngives her the classical name of Titania, who is commonly identified\nwith Mab, but their characters are sufficiently distinct. The latter,\naccording to Keightley, has completely dethroned Titania, a statement\nwhich is scarcely borne out by the facts, for Mab was a person of general\ncelebrity long before the appearance of the \u201cMidsummer Night\u2019s Dream,\u201d\nwhich contains the first mention of the rival sovereign. The herald and\nmessenger of the royal pair was the tricksy sprite indifferently known\nas Puck, Hobgoblin, and Robin Goodfellow, and who must also perhaps be\nidentified with \u201cthe illusory candle-holder,\u201d Jack o\u2019 Lantern, or Will\no\u2019 the Wisp, whose fatal phosphorescent light is, in \u201cParadise Lost,\u201d\ndescribed as\n\n A wandering fire,\n Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night\n Condenses, and the cold environs round,\n Kindled through agitation to a flame,\n Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends,\n Hovering and blazing with delusive light,\n Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way\n To bogs, and mires, and oft through pond and pool,\n\n _Book the Ninth._\n\nThe different hierarchies of fairy spirits who are supposed to be in\nrelation with man may be grouped broadly into three general divisions:\u20141.\nLand Fairies. 2. Sea Fairies. 3. Elfin dwellers of the underworld. In\nthe first class will be included such inhabitants of grove and forest\nas the lovely Korrigan of Brittany, the Moss Folk of Germany, and the\nElves proper of English traditional poetry. It will include the fairies\nof field and meadow such as the Lutin of Normandy, the Little Monk\nof Neapolitan legends, the Good Neighbours of Scottish lore. It will\ncomprise the domestic fairies who, under the name of Pixies, haunt our\nCornish farms and homesteads, the Caledonian Brownie, the Germanic\nKobold, and the Niss of Scandinavian legend. The Neckan and Merman\nare familiar instances of the nature-spirits included in the second\ndivision. The elves of the underworld\u2014the trolls, dwarfs, wild-women, and\nstill-folk of Germany, Scandinavia, and Switzerland\u2014are unrepresented\nin English tradition and poetry, though in most of our early romances\nthe Land of Faerie is supposed to be underground. Modern imagination\nhas added many supernatural characters to those of ancient legend. Some\nof its most graceful conceptions\u2014its flower fairies, and sprites of the\ntwilight\u2014are included in this volume.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBesides the story of Orfeo and Heurodis, there are several ancient\nEnglish metrical romances which are concerned with adventurous quests\nand travels into Fairyland. Their archaic form and considerable length\nnaturally exclude them from a popular anthology, but this introduction\nmay fitly close with an abstract of one which is singularly beautiful\nin conception and in high repute among discerning students of our early\npoetical literature.\n\nThe \u201cRomaunt of the Knight Launfal,\u201d by Thomas Chestre, is an amplified\nversion of an antique Lay by Marie de France, a Norman poetess, who\nflourished in the thirteenth century. It is concerned with a \u201cbacheler\u201d\nnamed Launfal, who for generosity and _largesse_ was made steward at the\ncourt of King Arthur, and was chosen by Merlin to bring home the king\u2019s\nbride, Gwennere. The mission was undertaken by the knight\u2014\n\n But syr Launfal lyked her noght....\n For the lady bar bos of swych word,\n That sche hadde lemannys under her lord,\n So fele there was noon ende.\n\nAfter the marriage of Arthur, Launfal took leave of the court and\nrepaired with two knights to Karlyoun, where he tarried, making good\ncheer for a year\u2019s space, till he came to the end of his resources. His\nboon companions then forsook him, and he fell into great poverty. In this\nstrait he borrowed a saddle and bridle from the mayor\u2019s daughter, and\nrode away westward.\n\nThe weather was hot; he dismounted in a fair forest, and sat in the\nshadow of a tree, covering his worn garments with his mantle. After a\nspace, two \u201cgentyll maydenes,\u201d wearing kirtles of Indian sandel and green\nmantles bordered with gold, appeared before him.\n\n Har faces wer whyt as snow on downe,\n Har rode was red, hern ey were browne,\n I sawe never non swyche;\n That oon bar of gold a basyn,\n That other a towayle whyt and fyn,\n Of selk that was good and ryche.\n\nThey came to him over the heath; he greeted them in all gentleness, while\non the part of their lady, dame Tryamour, they returned his salutation,\nand invited him to follow them and speak with her. He courteously\nconsented, and was conducted to an honourable pavilion, enriched with\ngold and crystal, as well as radiant carbuncles.\n\n He fond yn the pavyloun\n The Kynges doughter of Olyroun,\n Dame Tryamour that hyghte,\n Her fadyr was Kyng of fayrye,\n Of occient fer and nyghe,\n A man of mochell myghte.\n In the pavyloun he fond a bed of prys\n Theled with purpur bys,\n That semyl\u00e9 was of syghte\n Therinne lay that lady gent,\n That after Syr Launfal hadde ysent,\n That lessome lemede bryght.\n For hete her clothes down sche dede,\n Almest to her gerdyl stede,\n Than lay sche uncovert,\n She was as whyt as lylye yn May,\n Or snow that sneweth yn wynterys day,\n He seyght never non so pert.\n The rede rose, whan sche ys newe,\n Ayens her rode nes naught of hewe,\n I dare well say yn fert.\n Her here schon as gold wyre,\n May no man rede her attyre,\n Ne naught well thenke yn hert.\n\nThis fay lady informed Launfal that there was no man in all \u201cChristent\u00e9,\u201d\nbe he king or emperor, whom she loved as much as himself, at which words\nthe knight was inflamed with reciprocal passion,\n\n And kiste that swete flour;\n And sat adoun her bysyde,\n And seyde, Swetyng, what so betyde,\n I am to thyn honour.\n\nShe tells him that she is acquainted with his present distress, and that\nif he will truly forsake all women for love of her, she will enrich him\ninexhaustibly\u2014\n\n I wyll the yeve an alner,\n Imad of sylk and of gold cler,\n Wyth fayre ymages thre;\n As oft thou puttest the hond therinne,\n A mark of gold thou schalt wynne,\n In wat place that thou be.\n\nShe also promises him her steed Blaunchard and her squire Gyfre, with the\nadditional advantage of her protection by magic art from dangers of war\nor tournament.\n\nSir Launfal entered into the agreement; they supped and slept together,\nand in the morning she dismissed him, warning him not to boast of his\nconquest if he wished to retain her love. He returned to Karlyoun, and\nwas presently waited on by ten men, riding upon sumpters, and bearing\ngold, silver, rich garments, and bright armour. Once more he kept great\ncheer, but this time it was the poor and unfortunate whom he entertained.\nHis reputation became so great that a tournament was cried in the town\nto do him honour. The knight closed it with a rich and royal feast which\nlasted a fortnight. During all this time he was visited nightly by his\nelfin mistress, but was destined now to be divided from her by the\nchallenge of a chevalier in Lombardy, who sent messengers praying him\nto cross the sea and take jousts with him for the honour of his lady.\nThe challenge was accepted by Launfal, who repaired with his steed and\nhis squire to Lombardy, and achieved so brilliant a victory that he was\nenvied by \u201call the lords of Atalye,\u201d who vowed revenge for the defeat\nof their comrade, but were themselves slain in great numbers, and the\nhero returned into Britain. The reputation of Launfal reached the ears\nof King Arthur, who sent for him. A feast of forty days took place,\nduring which the queen took occasion to avow the passion that had long\nconsumed her for the handsome cavalier who had conducted her to her\nbridal home; but the knight Launfal, faithful to his fairy mistress,\nrepelled her advances, and the unexpected indignity, changing love into\nhatred, impelled the false wife to denounce Launfal to her husband\nas her attempted seducer. The infuriated monarch vowed his immediate\ndeath, and the unfounded accusation prompted the knight to boast for the\nfirst time of that mysterious mistress whose supernatural beauties he\ndeclared did utterly transcend and eclipse those of the royal lady. On\nthe intervention of certain illustrious knights\u2014Gawain and Percivall\u2014a\nrespite of a twelvemonth and a fortnight was granted Launfal in order\nthat he might produce his mistress, when, if his assertions were seen to\nbe obviously true with regard to her wonderful charms, he should receive\nhis pardon. But the unfortunate lover had broken his compact, he had\nboasted of his elfin lady, his horse and squire had vanished, the time\nmentioned drew rapidly to its close; in truth, the day came when Launfal\nmust pay with his life the forfeit of his supposed crime, and Triamour\napparently had left him to his fate.\n\nThe knights of the round table, who knew well the character of their\nqueen, began plotting his rescue, and arranging for his flight across\nthe sea, when \u201cten maydens bright of ble\u201d came to the royal castle, the\n_avant coureures_ of a lady against whose arrival King Arthur courteously\nappointed his fairest chamber, and then summoned his barons\n\n For to yeve judgment\n Upon that traytour full of pryde.\n\nOther ten maidens at this juncture rode up and, speaking apart with the\nmonarch, announced the approach of the Lady Triamour. The queen, coming\nforward, urged her spouse to avenge her on Launfal; but\n\n As the quene spak to the kyng,\n The baronns seygh come rydynge\n A damesele alone,\n Upon a whyt comely palfrey,\n They saw never non so gay\n Upon the grounde gone.\n As rose on rip her rode was red,\n The her schon upon her hed,\n As gold wyre that schyneth bryght;\n Sche hadde a cronne upon her molde,\n Of ryche stones and of golde,\n That lossom lemede lyght.\n The lady was clad yn purpere palle,\n With gentyll body and myddyll small,\n That semely was of syght,\n Her mantyll was furryth with whyt ermyn,\n Ireversyd jolyf and fyn,\n No rychere be ne myght.\n And when Launfal sawe that lady,\n To alle the folk he gon crye an hy,\n Both to yonge and olde,\n Her, he seyd, comyth my lemman swete,\n Sche myghte me of my balys bete,\n Yf that lady wold.\n\nThe lady rode into the hall, into the presence of the King, his queen,\nand her damsels. The maidens who had heralded her approach crowded round,\nassisting her to dismount. Arthur greeted her, and she returned his\nsalutation with sweet words. She informed the monarch of her mission,\n\n To shere Launfal the knyght,\n That he never, yn no folye,\n Besofte the quene of no drurye,\n By dayes ne by nyght....\n He bad naght her, but sche bad hym,\n Here lemman for to be.\n\nThe king having confessed that she was fairer and brighter than his wife\u2014\n\n Wyth that dame Tryamour to the quene geth,\n And blew on her swych a breth,\n That never eft myght sche se.\n The lady lep on hyr palfrey\n And bade hem alle have good day,\n Sche nolde no longere abyde;\n Wyth that came Gyfre al so prest,\n Wyth Launfal\u2019s stede out of the forest,\n And stod Launfal besyde.\n The knyght to horse began to sprynge,\n Anoon without any lettynge,\n Wyth hys lemman away to ryde;\n The lady took her maydenys achon,\n And went the way that sche hadde er gon,\n Wyth solas and wyth pryde.\n\nShe carried her lover to a \u201cjolyf ile,\u201d called Olyroun; and on a certain\nday in every year you may still see the horse of the knight Launfal, and\nhear his loud neighing, as he goes wearily seeking his master, who, in\nall truth, was taken into fairy-land, and\n\n Seththe saw hym yn thys loud no man,\n Ne no more of hym tells y ne can,\n For sothe, wythout lye,\n\nas Thomas Chestre avers in his valedictory lines.\n\nThis little volume is devoted to a sweet and delightful section of poetic\nfancy, and not to the lofty flights of inspired imagination. It is full\nof felicity and beauty, and though not a tabernacle enshrining the\nrarest gems, it is a storehouse of dainty devices. If individual poems\nare occasionally found to fall below the general level of their writers,\nas perhaps in the case of Herrick, an explanation will possibly be seen\nin the unserious spirit with which the subject has been too frequently\napproached by our English poets, who have generally represented a class\nsuperior to the superstitions and sometimes to the faiths of the time.\nIn such cases as that of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, for whom the\ndoctrine of spiritual essences was still true, for whom those elemental\nintelligences\n\n Which have their haunts in dale and piny mountain,\n Or forests, by slow stream or tingling brook,\n\nstill survived in the \u201cfaith of reason,\u201d we find the concentrated\nstrength of a vivid and mature imagination devoted to the production of a\ntrue fairy poem which is \u201cnot for an age but for all time.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nA word, in conclusion, must be said on the arrangement of this anthology.\nThe absence of a sufficiently harmonious development of fairy fancy as\nit is found in our English poetry does not warrant a simple chronological\nplan; I have adopted another, which I trust will contribute towards the\nattractiveness and literary value of the book. It opens with a foreview,\nor bird\u2019s-eye prospect of the fairy country, as it might be beheld by the\ntraveller from without. A prelude follows, which implores the return of\nits inhabitants into the world of humanity. Then, in the first division\nthere is a particular account of the court, country, and people of\nFairyland, of its temples, palaces, and festivals. The second division\ncontains the Chronicles of Fairyland, a series of pleasing poetic\nromances, where the scene is laid in the Fairy country and the actors are\nexclusively elfin folk. A third division is devoted to those wonderful\nand mystical travels or spiritual pilgrimages into Fairyland, which have\nbeen occasionally undertaken by favoured and adventurous mortals. The\nsection entitled Men and Fairies comprises those poems and romances in\nwhich the different orders of elfin spirits enter into communication with\nman and mingle in the life of earth, dispensing supernatural benevolence,\nor working unheard-of woe, according to their various dispositions. Some\npoems which cannot be included in the foregoing divisions, but deserve\nby their merits a place in this elfin anthology, are comprised in a\nmiscellaneous section. The work closes with an epilogue, which shows why\nthe fairies have departed, and what are the conditions of their return.\n\nMy best thanks are due to Mr. William Allingham for his permission\nto insert several graceful poems; to Mr. Philip James Bailey for the\nuse of his mystical \u201cFairy Tale;\u201d to Dr. Charles Mackay for similar\nkindness in respect of his \u201cKelpie of Corrievreckan,\u201d and to a number of\nrecent writers who have generously contributed to the adornment of this\ncollection. The omission of several poems by illustrious contemporary\npoets, whose copyrights are vigilantly reserved by their publishers, will\nbe viewed by indulgent readers as a matter of necessity, however much it\nmay be regretted.\n\n ARTHUR EDWARD WAITE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Foreview.\n\n\nFAIRYLAND.\n\n Dim vales, and shadowy floods,\n And cloudy-looking woods;\n Whose forms we can\u2019t discover\n For the tears that drip all over;\n Huge moons there wax and wane\u2014\n Again, again, again\u2014\n Every moment of the night,\n For ever changing places;\n And they put out the star-light\n With the breath from their pale faces.\n About twelve by the moon-dial,\n One more filmy than the rest\n (A kind which, upon trial,\n They have found to be the best)\n Comes down\u2014still down\u2014and down\n With its centre on the crown\n Of a mountain\u2019s eminence;\n While its wide circumference\n In easy drapery falls\n Over hamlets, over halls,\n Wherever they may be\u2014\n O\u2019er the strange woods, o\u2019er the sea,\n Over spirits on the wing,\n Over every drowsy thing\u2014\n And buries them up quite\n In a labyrinth of light;\n And then, how deep!\u2014O, deep,\n Is the passion of their sleep!\n In the morning they arise,\n And their moony covering\n Is soaring in the skies,\n With the tempests as they toss,\n Like\u2014almost anything,\n Or a yellow albatross.\n They use that moon no more\n For the same end as before\u2014\n Videlicet a tent\u2014\n Which I think extravagant:\n Its atomies, however,\n Into a shower dissever,\n Of which those butterflies\n Of earth, who seek the skies,\n And so come down again,\n (Never contented things!)\n Have brought a specimen\n Upon their quivering wings.\n\n EDGAR ALLAN POE.\n\n\n\n\nPrelude.\n\n\nFAIRIES\u2019 RECALL.\n\n While the blue is richest\n In the starry sky,\n While the softest shadows\n On the greensward lie,\n While the moonlight slumbers\n In the lily\u2019s urn,\n Bright elves of the wild-wood!\n Oh! return, return!\n\n Round the forest fountain,\n On the river shore,\n Let your silvery laughter\n Echo yet once more;\n While the joyous bounding\n Of your dewy feet\n Rings to that old chorus:\n \u201cThe daisy is so sweet!\u201d\n\n Oberon, Titania,\n Did your starlight mirth\n With the song of Avon\n Quit this work-day earth?\n Yet while green leaves glisten,\n And while bright stars burn,\n By that magic memory,\n Oh, return, return!\n\n FELICIA HEMANS.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fairy Family.\n\n\nTHE ROLLS OF ELFIN EMPEROURS.\n\n Prometheus did create\n A man of many parts from beasts deryv\u2019d,\n And then stole fire from heven to animate\n His worke, for which he was by Jove depryv\u2019d\n Of life himselfe, and hart-strings of an \u00e6gle ryv\u2019d.\n\n That man so made, he called Elfe, to weet\n Quick, the first author of all Elfyn kynd;\n Who, wand\u2019rin through the world with wearie feet,\n Did in the Gardins of Adonis find\n A goodly Creature, whom he deemd in mynd\n To be no earthly wight, but either spright\n Or angell, th\u2019 author of all woman kynd;\n Therefore a Fay he her according hight,\n Of whom all Fayres spring, and fetch their lignage right.\n\n Of these a mighty people shortly grew,\n And puissant kinges, which all the world war-rayd,\n And to themselves all nations did subdew.\n The first and eldest, which that scepter swayd,\n Was Elfin; him all India obayd,\n And all that now America men call:\n Next him was noble Elfinan, who laid\n Cleopolis\u2019 foundation first of all,\n But Elfiline enclosed it with a golden wall.\n\n His sonne was Elfinelle, who overcame\n The wicked Gobbelines in bloody field;\n But Elfant was of most renowned fame,\n Who all of crystal did Panthea build:\n Then Elfar, who two brethren gyaunts kild,\n The one of which had two heads, th\u2019 other three;\n Then Elfinor, who was in magick skild;\n He built by art upon the glassy see\n A bridge of bras, whose sound heven\u2019s thunder seemed to be.\n\n He left three sonnes, the which in order raynd,\n And all their offspring in their dew descents;\n Even seven hundred princes, which maintaynd\n With mightie deeds their sondry governments,\n That were too long their infinite contents\n Here to record, ne much materiall;\n Yet should they be most famous moniments,\n And have ensample, both of martiall\n And civil rule to kings and states imperiall.\n\n After all these Elficleos did rayne,\n The wise Elficleos! in great maiestie,\n Who mightily that scepter did sustayne,\n And with rich spoyles and famous victorie\n Did high advaunce the Crown of Fa\u00ebry.\n He left two sonnes, of which fayre Elferon,\n The eldest brother, did untimely dy,\n Whose empty place the mighty Oberon\n Doubly supplide in spousall and dominion.\n\n Great was his power and glory over all,\n Which him before that sacred seate did fill,\n That yet remains his wide memoriall.\n He dying, left the fairest Tanaquill\n Him to succeede therein by his last will:\n Fairer and nobler liveth none this houre,\n Ne like in grace, ne like in learned skill;\n Therefore they Glorian call that glorious floure:\n Long mayst thou, Glorian! live in glory and great power.\n\n EDMUND SPENSER.\n\n\nTHE FAERY KING.\n\n When the monthly horned queene\n Grew jealous that the starrs had seene\n Her rising from Endymion\u2019s arms,\n In rage she threw her misty charmes\n Into the bosome of the night,\n To dimme theire curious pryeing sight;\n Then did the dwarfish Faery elves,\n Having first attyr\u2019d themselves,\n Prepare to dresse their Oberon King\n In light robes fitt for revelling:\n With a cobweb shirt more thinne,\n Than ever spider since could spin,\n Bleacht to the whiteness of the snow,\n By the stormie windes that blow\n In the vast and frozen ayre\n No shirt half so fine, so fayre.\n A rich wastcoat they did bring,\n Made of the trout-flies gilded wing:\n At which his elveship gan to fret,\n Swearing it would make him sweat\n Even with its weight: he needs would weare\n A wastcoat wrought of downy haire,\n New shaven from an eunuck\u2019s chin,\n That pleas\u2019d him well, \u2019twas wondrous thin;\n The outside of his doublet was\n Made of the foure-leav\u2019d, true lov\u2019d, grasse\n Chang\u2019d into so fine a glosse,\n With the oyle of crispie mosse,\n It made a rainbow in the night,\n Which gave a lustre passing light:\n On every seame there was a lace\n Drawne by the unctious snail\u2019s slow pace\n To which the fin\u2019st, pur\u2019st silver thread\n Compar\u2019d, did looke like dull pale lead.\n Each button was a sparkling eye\n Tane from the speckled adder\u2019s frye;\n And for coollness next the skin,\n \u2019Twas w\u1d57\u02b0 white poppey linde w\u1d57\u02b0in.\n His breeches of the fleece was wrought,\n Which from Cholchos Jason brought;\n Spun into so fine a yarne,\n \u201cNo mortal wight might it discerne,\u201d\n Weaved by Arachne on her loome,\n Just before she had her doome.\n A rich mantle he did weare,\n Made of tinsell gosameare;\n Beflowered over with a few\n Diamond stars of morning dew;\n Dyed crimson in a mayden\u2019s blush;\n Lin\u2019d with humble-bee\u2019s soft plush.\n His cap was all of ladies\u2019 love,\n So wondrous light that it would move,\n If any humming gnat or flie\n Buzz\u2019d the air in passing by.\n About his necke a wreath of pearle\n Dropt from the eyes of some poore girle,\n Pinched, because she had forgot\n To leave clean water in the pot.\n And for\u2019s feather he did weare,\n Old Nisus\u2019 fatall purple haire,\n The sword ygirded to his thigh\n Was smallest blade of finest rye;\n A payre of buskins they did bringe\n Of y\u1d49 cowladye\u2019s corrall winge,\n Powdred o\u2019er with spots of jett,\n And lin\u2019d w\u1d57\u02b0 purple violett.\n His belt was made of myrtle leaues,\n Pleyted in small curious threavs,\n Besett w\u1d57\u02b0 amber cowslip\u2019s studs,\n And fringed about with daysey buds,\n In w\u1d9c\u02b0 his bugle home was hunge,\n Made of the babling Ecchoe\u2019s tongue,\n W\u1d9c\u02b0 Sett vnto his moone-burnt lip\n He winds, and then his Faeryes skipp;\n At that the lazy drone \u2019gan sound,\n And each did trip a fayrey round.\n\n SIR SIMEON STEWARD.\n\n\nQUEEN MAB.\n\n This is Mab, the mistress Fairy,\n That doth nightly rob the dairy,\n And can help or hurt the cherning,\n As she please without discerning.\n\n She that pinches country wenches,\n If they rub not clean their benches,\n And with sharper nails remembers\n When they rake not up their embers:\n But if so they chance to feast her,\n In a shoe she drops a tester.\n\n This is she that empties cradles,\n Takes out children, puts in ladles:\n Trains forth midwives in their slumber,\n With a sieve the holes to number;\n And then leads them from her burrows,\n Home through ponds and water-furrows.\n\n She can start our Franklin\u2019s daughters,\n In their sleep, with shrieks and laughters;\n And on sweet St. Anna\u2019s night,\n Feed them with a promised sight,\n Some of husbands, some of lovers,\n Which an empty dream discovers.\n\n BEN JONSON.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY QUEEN.\n\n Come, follow, follow me,\n You, fairy elves that be;\n Which circle on the greene,\n Come follow Mab, your queene.\n Hand in hand let\u2019s dance around,\n For this place is fairy ground.\n\n When mortals are at rest\n And snoring in their nest,\n Unheard and unespy\u2019d,\n Through key-holes we do glide;\n Over tables, stools, and shelves,\n We trip it with our fairy elves.\n\n And, if the house be foul\n With platter, dish, or bowl,\n Upstairs we nimbly creep,\n And find the sluts asleep;\n Then we pinch their arms and thighs;\n None escapes, nor none espies.\n\n But if the house be swept,\n And from uncleanness kept,\n We praise the household maid,\n And duely she is paid:\n For we use before we goe\n To drop a tester in her shoe.\n\n Upon a mushroomes head\n Our table-cloth we spread;\n A grain of rye, or wheat,\n Is manchet, which we eat;\n Pearly drops of dew we drink\n In acorn cups fill\u2019d to the brink.\n\n The brains of nightingales,\n With unctuous fat of snailes,\n Between two cockles stew\u2019d,\n Is meat that\u2019s easily chew\u2019d;\n Tails of wormes and marrow of mice,\n Do make a dish that\u2019s wonderous nice.\n\n The grasshopper, gnat, and fly\n Serve for our minstrelsie;\n Grace said, we dance awhile,\n And so the time beguile;\n And if the moon doth hide her head,\n The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.\n\n On tops of dewie grasse\n So nimbly do we passe\n The young and tender stalk\n Ne\u2019er bends when we do walk;\n Yet in the morning may be seen\n Where we the night before have been.\n\n OLD POEM.\n\n\nQUEEN MAB.\n\n O then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.\n She is the fairies\u2019 midwife, and she comes\n In shape no bigger than an agate stone\n On the forefinger of an alderman;\n Drawn with a team of little atomies\n Athwart men\u2019s noses as they lie asleep:\n Her wagon spokes made of long spinners\u2019 legs;\n The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;\n The traces, of the smallest spider\u2019s web;\n The collars, of the moonshine\u2019s watery beams;\n Her whip, of cricket\u2019s bone, the lash, of film;\n Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,\n Not half so big as a round little worm,\n Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:\n Her chariot is an empty hazel nut,\n Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,\n Time out of mind the fairies\u2019 coachmakers.\n And in this state she gallops night by night,\n Through lovers\u2019 brains, and then they dream of love;\n On courtiers\u2019 knees that dream on court\u2019sies straight;\n O\u2019er lawyers\u2019 fingers, who straight dream on fees;\n O\u2019er ladies\u2019 lips, who straight on kisses dream.\n\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\nLULLABY FOR TITANIA.\n\nFIRST FAIRY.\n\n You spotted snakes with double tongue,\n Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;\n Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong;\n Come not near our fairy queen.\n\nCHORUS.\n\n Philomel with melody\n Sing in our sweet lullaby;\n Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!\n Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,\n Come our lovely lady nigh!\n So good night, with lullaby.\n\nSECOND FAIRY.\n\n Weaving spiders, come not here;\n Hence, you long-legg\u2019d spinners, hence;\n Beetles black, approach not near;\n Worm, nor snail, do no offence.\n\nCHORUS.\n\n Philomel with melody\n Sing in our sweet lullaby;\n Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!\n Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,\n Come our lovely lady nigh!\n So good night, with lullaby.\n\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY QUEEN SLEEPING.\n\n She lay upon a bank, the favourite haunt\n Of the spring wind in its first sunshine hour,\n For the luxuriant strawberry blossoms spread\n Like a snow-shower there, and violets\n Bow\u2019d down their purple vases of perfume\n About her pillow,\u2014link\u2019d in a gay band\n Floated fantastic shapes, these were her guards,\n Her lithe and rainbow elves.\n\n ...\n\n We have been o\u2019er land and sea,\n Seeking lovely dreams for thee,\u2014\n Where is there we have not been\n Gathering gifts for our sweet queen?\n We are come with sound and sight\n Fit for fairy\u2019s sleep to-night;\u2014\n First around thy couch shall sweep\n Odours, such as roses weep\n When the earliest spring rain\n Calls them into life again;\n Next upon thine ear shall float\n Many a low and silver note,\n Stolen from a dark-eyed maid,\n When her lover\u2019s serenade,\n Rising as the stars grew dim,\n Waken\u2019d her from thoughts of him;\u2014\n There shall steal o\u2019er lip and cheek\n Gales, but all too light to break\n Thy soft rest,\u2014such gales as hide\n All day orange-flowers inside,\n Or that, while hot noontide, dwell\n In the purple hyacinth bell;\n And before thy sleeping eyes\n Shall come glorious pageantries,\u2014\n Palaces of gems and gold,\n Such as dazzle to behold,\u2014\n Gardens, in which every tree\n Seems a world of bloom to be,\u2014\n Fountains, whose clear waters show\n The white pearls that lie below.\u2014\n During slumber\u2019s magic reign\n Other times shall live again;\n First thou shalt be young and free\n In thy days of liberty,\u2014\n Then again be woo\u2019d and won\n By thy stately OBERON.\n Or thou shalt descend to earth,\n And see all of mortal birth.\u2014\n No, that world\u2019s too full of care\n For e\u2019en dreams to linger there.\n But, behold, the sun is set,\n And the diamond coronet\n Of the young moon is on high\n Waiting for our revelry;\n And the dew is on the flower,\n And the stars proclaim our hour;\n Long enough thy rest has been,\n Wake, TITANIA, wake, our queen!\n\n L. E. L.\n\n\nROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.\n\n From Oberon, in fairye land,\n The King of ghosts and shadows there,\n Mad Robin I, at his command,\n Am sent to view the night-sports here.\n What revell rout\n Is kept about,\n In every corner where I go,\n I will o\u2019ersee,\n And merry bee,\n And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!\n\n More swift than lightning can I flye\n About this aery welkin soone,\n And, in a minute\u2019s apace, descrye\n Each thing that\u2019s done below the moone.\n There\u2019s not a hag\n Or ghost shall wag\n Or cry, \u201c\u2019Ware Goblins!\u201d where I go,\n But Robin I\n Their feates will spy,\n And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!\n\n Whene\u2019er such wanderers I meete,\n As from their night-sports they trudge home,\n With counterfeiting voice I greete\n And call them on with me to roame\n Thro\u2019 woods, thro\u2019 lakes,\n Thro\u2019 bogs, thro\u2019 brakes;\n Or else, unseene, with them I go,\n All in the nicke\n To play some tricke\n And frolicke it, with ho! ho! ho!\n\n Sometimes I meete them like a man;\n Sometimes, an ox; sometimes, a hound!\n And to a horse I turn me can,\n To trip and trot about them round.\n But if, to ride,\n My backe they stride,\n More swift than wind away I go,\n O\u2019er hedge and lands,\n Thro\u2019 pools and ponds\n I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!\n\n When lads and lasses merry be,\n With possets and with juncates fine,\n Unseene of all the company,\n I eat their cakes and sip their wine;\n And, to make sport\n I fart and snort,\n And out the candles I do blow;\n The maids I kiss;\n They shrieke,\u2014\u201cWho\u2019s this?\u201d\n I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho!\n\n Yet now and then, the maids to please,\n At midnight I card up their wooll;\n And while they sleepe and take their ease,\n With whee to threads their wax I pull.\n I grind at mill\n Their malt up still;\n I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.\n If any \u2019wake\n And would me take,\n I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!\n\n When house or harth doth sluttish lye,\n I pinch the maidens black and blue;\n The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I,\n And lay them naked all to view.\n \u2019Twixt sleepe and wake\n I do them take,\n And on the key-cold floor them throw.\n If out they cry,\n Then forth I fly,\n And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho!\n\n When any need to borrowe ought,\n We lend them what they do require,\n And for the use demand we nought,\n Our owne is all we do desire.\n If to repay\n They do delay,\n Abroad amongst them then I go,\n And night by night\n I them affright\n With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho!\n\n When lazie queans have nought to do\n But study how to cog and lye,\n To make debate and mischief too,\n \u2019Twixt one another secretlye,\n I marke their gloze,\n And it disclose\n To them whom they have wronged so;\n When I have done\n I get me gone,\n And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!\n\n When men do traps and engins set\n In loop holes, where the vermine creep,\n Who from their foldes and houses get\n Their ducks and geese, and lambes and sheepe,\n I spy the gin,\n And enter in,\n And seeme a vermine taken so;\n But when they there\n Approach me neare,\n I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!\n\n By wells and rills, in meadowes greene,\n We nightly dance our hey-day guise,\n And to our fairye king and queene\n We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.\n When larks \u2019gin sing,\n Away we fling;\n And babes new borne steal as we go,\n And elfe in bed\n We leave instead,\n And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!\n\n From hag-bred Merlin\u2019s time have I\n Thus nightly revell\u2019d to and fro,\n And for my pranks men call me by\n The name of Robin Good-fellow.\n Fiends, ghosts, and sprites\n Who haunt the nightes,\n The hags and goblins do me know,\n And beldames old\n My feats have told,\n So _vale, vale_; ho, ho, ho!\n\n OLD POEM.\n\n\nPUCK\u2019S SONG.\n\n Over hill, over dale,\n Through bush, through brier,\n Over park, over pale,\n Thorough flood, thorough fire,\n I do wander everywhere,\n Swifter than the moone\u2019s sphere;\n And I serve the fairy queen,\n To dew the orbs upon the green:\n The cowslips tall her pensioners be;\n In their gold coats spots you see;\n Those be rubies, fairy favours;\n In those freckles live their savours:\n I must go seek some dewdrops here,\n And hang a pearl in every cowslip\u2019s ear.\n\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\nTHE FAIR TEMPLE; OR, OBERON\u2019S CHAPEL.\n\n A way enchased with glass and beads\n There is, that to the chapel leads,\n Whose structure, for his holy rest,\n Is here the Halcyon\u2019s curious nest:\n Into the which who looks, shall see\n His temple of idolatry,\n Where he of godheads has such store,\n As Rome\u2019s Pantheon had not more.\n His house of Rimmon this he calls,\n Girt with small bones, instead of walls.\n First, in a niche, more black than jet,\n His idol-cricket there is set;\n Then in a polished oval by,\n There stands his idol-beetle-fly:\n Next, in an arch, akin to this,\n His idol-canker seated is:\n Then in a round, is placed by these\n His golden god, Cantharides.\n So that where\u2019er ye look, ye see\n No capital, no cornice free,\n Or frieze, from this fine frippery.\n Now, this the fairies would have known,\n Theirs is a mixed religion:\n And some have heard the elves it call\n Part Pagan, part Papisticall.\n If unto me all tongues were granted,\n I could not speak the saints here painted.\n Saint Tit, Saint Nit, Saint Is, Saint Itis,\n Who \u2019gainst Mab\u2019s state placed here right is.\n Saint Will-o\u2019-th\u2019-Wisp, of no great bigness,\n But alias called here _fatuus ignis_.\n Saint Frip, Saint Trip, Saint Fill, Saint Fillie,\n Neither those other saintships will I\n Here go about for to recite\n Their number, almost infinite,\n Which, one by one, here set down are\n In this most curious calendar.\n First, at the entrance of the gate,\n A little puppet-priest doth wait,\n Who squeaks to all the comers there,\n \u201cFavour your tongues, who enter here,\n Pure hands bring hither, without stain.\u201d\n A second pules, \u201cHence, hence, profane.\u201d\n Hard by, i\u2019 th\u2019 shell of half a nut,\n The holy water there is put;\n A little brush of squirrels\u2019 hairs,\n Composed of odd, not even pairs,\n Stands in the platter or close by\n To purge the fairy family.\n Near to the altar stands the priest,\n There off\u2019ring up the Holy Grist;\n Ducking in mood and perfect tense,\n With (much good do\u2019t him) reverence.\n The altar is not here four-square,\n Nor in a form triangular;\n Nor made of glass, or wood, or stone,\n But of a little transverse bone\n Which boys and bruckelled children call\n (Playing for points and pins) cockall.\n Whose linen drapery is a thin,\n Subtile, and ductile codlin\u2019s skin:\n Which o\u2019er the board is smoothly spread\n With little seal-work damask\u00ebd.\n The fringe that circumbinds it, too,\n Is spangle work of trembling dew,\n Which, gently gleaming, makes a show,\n Like frost-work glitt\u2019ring on the snow.\n Upon this fetuous board doth stand\n Something for shew-bread, and at hand\n (Just in the middle of the altar)\n Upon an end, the Fairy-psalter,\n Graced with the trout-fly\u2019s curious wings,\n Which serve for watchet ribbonings.\n Now, we must know, the elves are led\n Right by the Rubric, which they read:\n And if report of them be true,\n They have their text for what they do,\n Ay, and their book of canons too.\n And, as Sir Thomas Parson tells,\n They have their Book of Articles:\n And if that Fairy Knight not lies,\n They have their Book of Homilies;\n And other Scriptures, that design\n A short, but righteous discipline.\n The basin stands the board upon\n To take the Free Oblat\u00efon,\n A little pin-dust, which they hold\n More precious than we prize our gold;\n Which charity they give to many\n Poor of the parish, if there\u2019s any.\n Upon the ends of these neat rails,\n Hatched with the silver-light of snails,\n The elves, in formal manner, fix\n Two pure and holy candlesticks,\n In either which a small tall bent\n Burns for the altar\u2019s ornament.\n For sanctity, they have, to these,\n Their curious copes and surplices\n Of cleanest cobweb, hanging by\n In their religious vestery.\n They have their ash-pans and their brooms,\n To purge the chapel and the rooms;\n Their many mumbling mass-priests here,\n And many a dapper chorister.\n Their ushering vergers, here likewise,\n Their canons and their chanteries:\n Of cloister monks they have enow,\n Ay, and their abbey-lubbers too.\n And if their legend do not lie,\n They much affect the Papacy;\n And since the last is dead, there\u2019s hope\n Elve Boniface shall next be Pope.\n They have their cups and chalices,\n Their pardons and indulgences;\n Their beads of nuts, bells, books, and wax,\n Candles, forsooth, and other knacks;\n Their holy oil, their fasting spittle,\n Their sacred salt here, not a little.\n Dry chips, old shoes, rags, grease, and bones,\n Besides their fumigat\u012bons,\n To drive the devil from the cod-piece\n Of the friar, of work an odd piece,\n Many a trifle, too, and trinket,\n And for what use, scarce man would think it.\n Next then, upon the chanter\u2019s side\n An apple\u2019s core is hung up dried,\n With rattling kernels, which is rung\n To call to morn and even song.\n The saint, to which the most he prays\n And offers incense nights and days,\n The lady of the lobster is,\n Whose foot-pace he doth stroke and kiss,\n And humbly chives of saffron brings,\n For his most cheerful offerings.\n When, alter these, he\u2019s paid his vows,\n He lowly to the altar bows:\n And then he dons the silkworms shed,\n Like a Turk\u2019s turban on his head,\n And reverently departeth thence,\n Hid in a cloud of frankincense;\n And by the glow-worm\u2019s light well-guided,\n Goes to the feast that\u2019s now provided.\n\n ROBERT HERRICK.\n\n\nOBERON\u2019S FEAST.\n\n A little mushroom-table spread,\n After short prayers they set on bread,\n A moon-parched grain of purest wheat,\n With some small glitt\u2019ring grit, to eat\n His choice bits with; then in a trice\n They make a feast less great than nice.\n But all this while his eye is served,\n We must not think his ear was starved;\n But that there was in place to stir\n His spleen, the chirring grasshopper,\n The merry cricket, puling fly,\n The piping gnat for minstrelsy.\n And now, we must imagine first,\n The elves present, to quench his thirst,\n A pure seed-pearl of infant dew,\n Brought and besweetened in a blue\n And pregnant violet; which done,\n His kitling eyes begin to run\n Quite through the table, where he spies\n The horns of papery butterflies,\n Of which he eats; and tastes a little\n Of that we call the cuckoo\u2019s spittle.\n A little fuz-ball puddling stands\n By, yet not blessed by his hands,\n That was too coarse; but then forthwith\n He ventures boldly on the pith\n Of sugared rush, and eats the sagg\n And well be-strutted bee\u2019s sweet bag;\n Gladding his palate with some store\n Of emmets\u2019 eggs; what would he more,\n But beards of mice, a newt\u2019s stewed thigh,\n A bloated earwig, and a fly;\n With the red-capped worm, that\u2019s shut\n Within the concave of a nut,\n Brown as his tooth. A little moth,\n Late fattened in a piece of cloth;\n With withered cherries, mandrake\u2019s ears,\n Mole\u2019s eyes; to these the slain stag\u2019s tears;\n The unctuous dewlaps of a snail,\n The broke-heart of a nightingale\n O\u2019ercome in music; with a wine\n Ne\u2019er ravished from the flattering vine,\n But gently pressed from the soft side\n Of the most sweet and dainty bride,\n Brought in a dainty daisy, which\n He fully quaffs up to bewitch\n His blood to height; this done, commended\n Grace by his priest; the feast is ended.\n\n ROBERT HERRICK.\n\n\nOBERON\u2019S PALACE.\n\n Full as a bee with thyme, and red\n As cherry harvest, now high fed\n For lust and action! on he\u2019ll go\n To lie with Mab, though all say no.\n Lust has no ears; he\u2019s sharp as thorn,\n And fretful, carries hay in \u2019s horn,\n And light\u2019ning in his eyes; and flings\n Among the elves, if mov\u2019d, the stings\n Of pettish wasps; well know his guard,\n Kings, though they\u2019re hated, will be feared.\n Wine led him on. Thus to a grove,\n Sometimes devoted unto love,\n Tinselled with twilight, he and they\n Led by the shine of snails, a way\n Beat with their num\u2019rous feet, which by\n Many a neat perplexity,\n Many a turn, and many a cross-\n Track, they redeem a bank of moss\n Spongy and swelling, and far more\n Soft then the finest Lemster ore:\n Mildly disparkling, like those fires\n Which break from the enjewelled tyres\n Of curious brides; or like those mites\n Of candied dew in moony nights.\n Upon this convex, all the flowers\n Nature begets by th\u2019 sun and showers,\n Are to a wild digestion brought,\n As if Love\u2019s sampler here was wrought;\n Or Citherea\u2019s ceston, which\n All with temptation doth bewitch.\n Sweet airs move here, and more divine\n Made by the breath of great-eyed kine,\n Who, as they low, empearl with milk\n The fern-leav\u2019d grass, or moss like silk.\n The breath of monkeys met to mix\n With musk-flies, are th\u2019 aromatics\n Which cense this arch; and here and there,\n And farther off, and everywhere\n Throughout that brave mosaic yard,\n Those picks or diamonds in the card,\n With pips of hearts, of club and spade,\n Are here most neatly interlaid.\n Many a counter, many a die,\n Half rotten and without an eye,\n Lies hereabouts; and for to pave\n The excellency of this cave,\n Squirrels\u2019 and children\u2019s teeth late shed,\n Are neatly here enchequer\u00e8d,\n With brownest toadstones, and the gum\n That shines upon the bluer plum.\n The nails fall\u2019n off by whit-flows: Art\u2019s\n Wise hand enchasing here those warts\n Which we to others (from ourselves)\n Sell, and brought hither by the elves.\n The tempting mole, stol\u2019n from the neck\n Of the shy virgin, seems to deck\n The holy entrance; where within,\n The room is hung with the blue skin\n Of shifted snake; enfriezed throughout\n With eyes of peacocks\u2019 trains, and trout-\n Flies\u2019 curious wings; and these among\n Those silver-pence, that cut the tongue\n Of the red infant, neatly hung.\n The glow-worm\u2019s eyes, the shining scales\n Of silv\u2019ry fish, wheat-straws, the snail\u2019s\n Soft candle-light, the kitling\u2019s eyne,\n Corrupted wood, serve here for shine.\n No glaring light of bold-faced day,\n Or other over-radiant ray,\n Ransacks this room; but what weak beams\n Can make reflected from these gems,\n And multiply; such is the light,\n But ever doubtful, day or night.\n By this quaint taper-light, he winds\n His errors up; and now he finds\n His moon-tanned Mab, as somewhat sick,\n And, love knows, tender as a chick.\n Upon six plump dand\u00e9lions, high-\n Reared, lies her elvish majesty,\n Whose woolly bubbles seemed to drown\n Her Mabship in obedient down;\n For either sheet was spread the caul\n That doth the infant\u2019s face enthral,\n When it is born, by some enstyled\n The lucky omen of the child;\n And next to these, two blankets o\u2019er-\n Cast of the finest gossamer;\n And then a rug of carded wool,\n Which, sponge-like, drinking in the dull\n Light of the moon, seemed to comply,\n Cloud-like, the dainty deity.\n Thus soft she lies; and overhead\n A spinner\u2019s circle is bespread\n With cobweb curtains, from the roof\n So neatly sunk, as that no proof\n Of any tackling can declare\n What gives it hanging in the air.\n The fringe about this, are those threads\n Broke at the loss of maidenheads;\n And all behung with these pure pearls\n Dropt from the eyes of ravished girls\n Or writhing brides, when panting they\n Give unto love the straighter way.\n In music now he has the cries\n Of fain\u00e8d-lost virginities;\n The which the elves make to excite\n A more unconquered appetite.\n The king\u2019s undressed; and now upon\n The gnat\u2019s watchword the elves are gone.\n And now the bed, and Mab possessed\n Of this great-little kingly quest,\n We\u2019ll nobly think what\u2019s to be done,\n He\u2019ll do no doubt. This flax is spun.\n\n ROBERT HERRICK.\n\n\nTHE WATER-LADY.\n\n Alas, the moon should ever beam\n To show what man should never see!\u2014\n I saw a maiden on a stream,\n And fair was she!\n\n I staid awhile, to see her throw\n Her tresses back, that all beset\n The fair horizon of her brow\n With clouds of jet.\n\n I staid a little while to view\n Her cheek, that wore in place of red,\n The bloom of water, tender blue,[1]\n Daintily spread.\n\n I staid to watch, a little space,\n Her parted lips if she would sing;\n The waters closed above her face\n With many a ring.\n\n And still I staid a little more,\n Alas! she never comes again!\n I throw my flowers from the shore,\n And watch in vain.\n\n I know my life will fade away,\n I know that I must vainly pine,\n For I am made of mortal clay,\n But she\u2019s divine.\n\n THOMAS HOOD.\n\n[1] In a little water-colour sketch by Severn, given to Mrs. Hood by\nKeats, the nymph\u2019s complexion was of a pale blue.\n\n\nTHE PIXIES.\n\n The frost hath spread a shining net\n Where last the autumn roses blew;\n On lake and stream a seal is set\n Where floating lilies charmed the view;\n So silently the wonder grew\n Beneath pale Dian\u2019s mystic light,\n I know my fancies whisper true,\n The Pixies are abroad to-night.\n\n When at the midnight chime are met\n Together elves of every hue,\n I trow the gazer will regret\n That peers upon their retinue;\n For limb awry and eye askew\n Have oft proclaimed a fairy\u2019s spite\u2014\n Peep slyly, gallants, lest ye rue,\n The Pixies are abroad to-night.\n\n \u2019Tis said their forms are tiny, yet\n All human ills they can subdue,\n Or with a wand or amulet\n Can win a maiden\u2019s heart for you;\n And many a blessing know to strew\n To make the way to wedlock bright;\n Give honour to the dainty crew,\n The Pixies are abroad to-night.\n\nENVOY.\n\n Prince, e\u2019en a prince might vainly sue,\n Unaided by a fairy\u2019s might;\n Remember Cinderella\u2019s shoe,\n The Pixies are abroad to-night.\n\n SAMUEL MINTON PECK.\n\n\nSONG OF THE WATER SPRITE.\n\n The weary sun, all gold\u00ebn red,\n Sinks in the sea;\n All fiery glows his ocean bed\u2014\n There seek me;\n For there, my floating tresses lave\n In the golden fires of the crystal wave,\n For ever free!\n\n When Vesper first peers through the sky\n O\u2019er wild Tiree,\n And twinkling darts her light from high\u2014\n There find me;\n The clear air nerves my gossamer wing,\n And I love to hear the star-sprites sing,\n For ever free!\n\n The mildly radiant Queen of Night\n Dreams o\u2019er the sea,\n And bathes the deep in silv\u2019ry light\u2014\n There seek me;\n For there I skim her watery glass,\n And I merrily watch each spirit pass,\n For ever free!\n\n I love the Sun\u2014I love the Moon\u2014\n So fair to see;\n I love the little twinkling stars,\n And they love me;\n I, too, love my emerald home,\n With its coral cells \u2019neath the sparkling foam,\n For ever free!\n\n For there, we lightly trip around\n The coral tree,\n And quickly beat the pearly ground\n All merrily:\n While o\u2019er us, as we gaily sing,\n All the crystal domes with music ring,\n For ever free!\n\n When sun, or stars, are shining bright\n Down through the sea,\n When pure domes flushed in sunset light\n Change gloriously,\n We play with murmuring rose-lipp\u2019d shells,\n Or we sail a-down clear waterfalls,\n For ever free!\n\n We hear, in each cool sparry cave,\n Plaint melody\n Sung by the mermaids of the wave,\n \u00c6\u014dlianly!\n While ocean\u2019s coral groves around,\n With the witching syren-notes resound,\n For ever free!\n\n Hark! hark! the sweet-voiced choir renew\n Their symphony!\n All quivering with a rainbow hue\n In ecstasy,\n Our spangled wings now waft us high,\n Through the mazy paths of the starry sky,\n For ever free!\n\n ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON.\n\n\nA LEGEND OF THE WATER-SPIRIT CALLED NECKAN.\n\n Dark and deep and calm as night\n Flows the stream along;\n Quiet in the evening light,\n As love\u2019s fulness strong\n Flowing, flowing, flowing on\n Swift as sweet days come and gone,\n Low murmuring like Eternity,\n Softly step two children bright,\n Hearkening for the Water-Sprite,\n Nigh unto the alder-tree\n Where at evening singeth he\n As he doth sing to-night,\n Floating on the azure tide\n Fairer than an earthly bride.\n While the river flows along,\n Hearken to the spirit\u2019s song:\n \u201cSoftly falls the summer\n Over all the land,\n Softly flows the river\n Past its mossy strand,\n Over-arched by wild-rose bowers,\n Clustered with the woodbine flowers\n Hanging down their fragrant tresses\n Over shady cool recesses,\n Where the water-lilies gleam\n Tranquil on the moving stream.\n Deep beneath, the spirits glide\n Who know not sorrow, hate, nor pride;\n Loving earth with its fair things,\n Mountain and valley and sunny lea,\n But most the rivers so pure and free,\n Sparkling fountains, secret springs,\n Dewy flowers in radiant bloom,\n Morning glories, midnight gloom,\n Loving all things pure and bright\n With unspeakable delight.\n Learning from the starry skies\n Everlasting mysteries.\u201d\n Sudden ceased both lyre and song\n (Softly flowed the stream along),\n For thus spake those children young:\n \u201cOh, Neckan, what availeth thee\n To sing and play so gloriously\n In perfect exultation?\n What avail the starry skies,\n Or the splendour of thine eyes,\n Or the unsealed mysteries?\n For thee is no salvation!\u201d\n Weeping sore the Spirit threw\n Far his golden-string\u00e8d lyre,\n Piteous wailing, wild and shrill,\n Sank he in the waters blue;\n In a fairy-ring of fire\n Once they flashed and then were still.\n Homeward turned the children bright\n Through the meadows green and wide,\n Soon their father\u2019s knee beside\n Told they of the Water-Sprite.\n Grave he heard them, answering then\n \u201cNay, my children, ye were wrong\n Thus to mar the Spirit\u2019s song.\n Hasten to-morrow to the glen\n When the light is fair and dim\n That the sunset giveth,\n Tell the Spirit that for him,\n Him too the Saviour liveth.\u201d\n On the morrow when the sun\n To the western gates had run,\n Forth there stepped those children bright\n Hearkening for the Water-Sprite.\n Soon they heard him wailing low\n In his sad extreme of woe,\n Underneath the alder-tree\n Weeping in his misery.\n Softly drew the children near,\n Softly spake: \u201cOh, Spirit, hear,\n Our sire this comfort giveth:\n God has sent His Son to be\n The World\u2019s Redeemer, then for thee\n See! the Redeemer liveth!\u201d\n Then the Spirit wept no more,\n Golden-string\u00e8d lyre he strung,\n Soon melodious echoes rung\n From the farther, wooded shore.\n Gloriously he played and sung,\n Whilst the sun withdrew his light,\n Slowly rose behind the trees\n Orion and the Pleiades,\n And still went singing on the joyful Water Sprite.\n\n MARGARET DIXON.\n\n\nTHE MERMAID.\n\n \u201cOh, where won ye, my bonny lass,\n Wi\u2019 look sae wild an\u2019 cheery?\n There\u2019s something in that witching face\n That I lo\u2019e wonder dearly.\u201d\n\n \u201cI live where the harebell never grew,\n Where the streamlet never ran,\n Where the winds o\u2019 Heaven never blew\u2014\n Now find me gin you can.\u201d\n\n \u201c\u2019Tis but your wild an\u2019 wily way,\n The gloaming makes you eerie,\n For ye are the lass o\u2019 the Braken-Brae,\n An nae lad maun come near ye:\n\n \u201cBut I am sick, an\u2019 very sick,\n Wi\u2019 a passion strange and new,\n For ae kiss of thy rosy cheeks\n And lips o\u2019 coral hue.\u201d\n\n ...\n\n \u201cGo, hie you from this lonely brake,\n Nor dare your walk renew;\n For I\u2019m the Maid of the Mountain Lake,\n An\u2019 I come wi\u2019 the falling dew.\u201d\n\n \u201cBe you the maid of the Crystal Wave,\n Or she of the Braken-Brae;\n One tender kiss I mean to have;\n You shall not say me nay.\n\n \u201cFor beauty\u2019s like the daisy\u2019s vest,\n That shrinks from the early dew;\n But soon it opes its bonny breast,\n An\u2019 sae may it fare wi\u2019 you.\u201d\n\n \u201cKiss but this hand, I humbly sue,\n Ev\u2019n there I\u2019ll rue the stain;\n For the breath of men will dim its hue,\n It will ne\u2019er be pure again.\n\n \u201cFor passion\u2019s like the burning beal\n Upon the mountain\u2019s brow,\n That wastes itself to ashes pale,\n And sae will it fare with you.\u201d\n\n ...\n\n \u201cOh, mother, mother, make my bed,\n And make it soft and easy;\n And with the cold dew bathe my head,\n For pains of anguish seize me:\n\n \u201cOr stretch me in the chill blue lake,\n To quench this bosom\u2019s burning;\n An\u2019 lay me by yon lonely brake,\n For hope there\u2019s none returning.\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve been where man should not have been,\n Oft in my lonely roaming;\n And seen what man should not have seen\n By greenwood in the gloaming.\n\n \u201cOh, passion\u2019s deadlier than the grave,\n A\u2019 human things undoing;\n The Maiden of the Mountain Wave\n Has lured me to my ruin!\u201d\n\n ...\n\n \u2019Tis now an hundred years an\u2019 more,\n An\u2019 all these scenes are over,\n Since rose his grave on yonder shore\n Beneath the wild wood cover;\n\n An\u2019 late I saw the Maiden there,\n Just as the daylight faded,\n Braiding her locks o\u2019 gowden hair,\n And singing as she braided:\n\nMERMAID\u2019S SONG.\n\n Lie still, my love, lie still and sleep,\n Long is thy night of sorrow;\n The Maiden of the mountain deep\n Shall meet you on the morrow.\n\n But oh, when shall that morrow be\n That my true love shall waken?\n When shall we meet, refined an\u2019 free,\n Amid the moorland braken?\n\n Full low and lonely is thy bed,\n The worm even flies thy pillow;\n Where now the lips, so comely red,\n That kissed me \u2019neath the willow?\n\n Oh, I must laugh, do as I can,\n Ev\u2019n mid my song of mourning,\n At all the fuming freaks of man,\n To which there\u2019s no returning.\n\n Lie still, my love, lie still and sleep\u2014\n Hope lingers o\u2019er thy slumber;\n What though thy years beneath the steep\n Should all its stones outnumber?\n\n Though moons steal o\u2019er an\u2019 seasons fly\n On time\u2019s swift wing unstaying,\n Yet there\u2019s a spirit in the sky,\n That lives o\u2019er thy decaying.\n\n In domes beneath the water-springs,\n No end hath my sojourning;\n An\u2019 to this land of fading things\n Far hence be my returning;\n\n For spirits now have left the deep,\n Their long last farewell taken:\n Lie still, my love, lie still an\u2019 sleep,\n The day is near the breaking!\n\n When my loved flood from fading day\n No more its gleam shall borrow,\n Nor heath-fowl from the moorland grey\n Bid the blue dawn good-morrow;\n\n The Mermaid o\u2019er thy grave shall weep,\n Without one breath of scorning:\n Lie still, my love, lie still an\u2019 sleep,\n And fare thee well till morning!\n\n JAMES HOGG.\n\n\nSONG OF THE WATER NIXIES.\n\n By the ripple, ripple of the shallow sea,\n By the rocky sea,\n By the hollow sea,\n We have built a giant windmill, with its long arms free,\n And it grinds, that we\n May not hungry be.\n With a rumble and a roar, sounding all along the shore,\n We should vanish and should perish if our wheel were heard no more.\n\n Little hopes of fisher maidens in the far-off town,\n In our wheel go down,\n Evermore go down,\n For the fisher lads that hold them in the deep sea drown,\n By our grinding drown,\n For our pleasures drown.\n Rend the garment from the soul; let it go, we care not where;\n What do mortals want with spirit? \u2019Tis the bodies that are fair.\n\n Out beyond the green horizon lurks the vengeful day,\n Lurks the fateful day,\n Lurks the hateful day.\n When the winds shall cease to help us in our shark-like play,\n When our calm cold sway\n Shall have passed away,\n When the wreckers and the wrecked both at peace shall be,\u2014\n When the threat shall be fulfilled, and there be no more sea.\n\n SARAH WILLIAMS.\n\n\nFLOWER FAIRIES.\n\n Flower Fairies have you found them,\n When the summer dusk is falling,\n With the glow-worms all around them,\n Have you heard them softly calling?\n\n Calling through your garden spaces\n Notes like fairy bells set ringing,\n Heard from out enchanted places\n Whence the fairy bees come winging?\n\n Silent stand they through the noonlight\n In their flower shapes fair and quiet,\n But they quit them in the moonlight,\n In its beams to sing and riot.\n\n _I_ have heard them, _I_ have seen them,\n From their petals light-like raying,\n And the trees would fain have been them,\n The great trees too old for playing.\n\n Hundreds of them altogether,\n Flashing flocks of flying fairies,\n Crowding through the summer weather,\n Seeking where the coolest air is.\n\n And they tell the trees that know them,\n As upon their boughs they hover,\n Of the things that chance below them,\n How the rose has a new lover.\n\n And the roses laugh, protesting\n That the lilies are as fickle;\n Then they look where birds are nesting,\n And their feathers softly tickle.\n\n Then away they all go sweeping,\n Having had their fill of gladness,\n But the trees, their night-watch keeping,\n Feel a tender, loving sadness.\n\n For _they_ know of bleak December,\n When each bough to pain left bare is,\n When they only shall remember\n Those bright visitings of fairies.\n\n When the roses and the lilies\n Shall be gone to come back never,\n To a land where all so still is\n That they sleep and sleep for ever.\n\n PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON.\n\n\nSONG OF THE TWILIGHT FAIRIES.\n\n Vestal moon, vestal moon,\n Star of Love\u2019s delight,\n Rise, and gild our festal noon\u2014\n Noon of Fairy-night.\n Vestal moon, vestal moon,\n Up the golden height,\n Thou art rising to thy noon\u2014\n We to Love\u2019s delight.\n Fairies hide in cowslip bells\n Through the garish light;\n Naiads rest in purple shells,\n By the sea-marge bright.\n\n Fairy-Queen, appear, appear,\n From thy citron nest;\n Wake, wake! come, Sweet, for here\n Shines the moonlight blest.\n Golden Fairies in the sun\n Wind their elfin horn,\n Where the dancing streamlets run,\n And the Day is born.\n Silver fairies haunt the night\n When the Sun\u2019s asleep;\n Azure Fays the heavenly height,\n \u2019Mid the starry sheep.\n\n Fays of Silver, Gold, and Blue\n Wake to Love\u2019s delight;\n Drink your fill of sweet May-dew,\n Chase the star-flakes bright.\n Lo! we come, we come, we come,\n From the foxglove bells,\n Some from golden brake, and some\n From the asphodels.\n Vestal moon, vestal moon,\n From your golden height,\n Gaze through all the fairy noon\n On our Love\u2019s delight.\n\n THOMAS LAKE HARRIS.\n\n\nFAIRIES ON THE SEA-SHORE.\n\n _First Fairy._ My home and haunt are in every leaf\n Whose life is a summer day bright and brief\u2014\n I live in the depths of the tulip\u2019s bower,\n I wear a wreath of the cistus flower,\n I drink the dew of the blue harebell,\n I know the breath of the violet well,\n The white and the azure violet;\n But I know not which is the sweetest yet,\n I have kiss\u2019d the cheek of the rose,\n I have watch\u2019d the lily unclose,\n My silver mine is the almond tree,\n Who will come dwell with flower and me?\n\n _Chorus of Fairies._ Dance we our round, \u2019tis a summer night,\n And our steps are led by the glow-worm\u2019s light.\n\n _Second Fairy._ My dwelling is in the serpentine\n Of the rainbow\u2019s colour\u2019d line,\u2014\n See how its rose and amber clings\n To the many hues of my radiant wings;\n Mine is the step that bids the earth\n Give to the iris flower its birth,\n And mine the golden cup to hide,\n Where the last faint hue of the rainbow died.\n Search the depths of an Indian mine,\u2014\n Where are the colours to match with mine?\n\n _Chorus._ Dance we round, for the gale is bringing\n Songs the summer rose is singing.\n\n _Third Fairy._ I float on the breath of a minstrel\u2019s lute,\n Or the wandering sounds of a distant flute,\n Linger I over the tones that swell\n From the pink-veined chords of an ocean-shell;\n I love the skylark\u2019s morning hymn,\n Or the nightingale heard at the twilight dim,\n The echo, the fountain\u2019s melody,\u2014\n These, oh! these are the spells for me!\n\n _Chorus._ Hail to the summer night of June;\n See! yonder has risen our ladye moon.\n\n _Fourth Fairy._ My palace is in the coral cave\n Set with spars by the ocean wave;\n Would ye have gems, then seek them there,\u2014\n There found I the pearls that bind my hair.\n I and the wind together can roam\n Over the green waves and their white foam,\u2014\n See, I have got this silver shell,\n Mark how my breath will its smallness swell,\n For the Nautilus is my boat\n In which I over the waters float:\n The moon is shining over the sea,\u2014\n Who is there will come sail with me?\n\n _Chorus of Fairies._ Our noontide sleep is on leaf and flower,\n Our revels are held in a moonlit hour,\u2014\n What is there sweet, what is there fair,\n And we are not the dwellers there?\n Dance we round, for the morning light\n Will put us and our glow-worm lamps to flight!\n\n L. E. L.\n\n\n\n\nChronicles of Fairyland.\n\n\nNYMPHIDIA: THE COURT OF FAIRY.\n\n Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell,\n Mad Rablais of Pantagruel,\n A later third of Dowsabel,\n With such poor trifles playing:\n Others the like have labour\u2019d at,\n Some of this thing, and some of that,\n And many of they know not what,\n But that they must be saying.\n\n Another sort there be, that will\n Be talking of the fairies still,\n Nor never can they have their fill,\n As they were wedded to them:\n No tales of them their thirst can slake,\n So much delight therein they take,\n And some strange thing they fain would make,\n Knew they the way to do them.\n\n Then since no muse hath been so bold,\n Or for the later, or the old,\n Those elvish secrets to unfold,\n Which be from others\u2019 reading;\n My active muse to light shall bring\n The court of that proud Fairy King,\n And tell there of the revelling\u2014\n Joy prosper my proceeding.\n\n And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay,\n Which, meeting me upon the way,\n These secrets didst to me bewray,\n Which now I am in telling:\n My pretty, light fantastic maid,\n I here invoke to thee my aid,\n That I may speak what thou hast said,\n In numbers smoothly swelling.\n\n This palace standeth in the air,\n By necromancy plac\u00e8d there.\n That it no tempests needs to fear,\n Which way soe\u2019er it blow it:\n And somewhat southward tow\u2019rd the noon,\n Whence lies a way up to the moon,\n And thence the Fairy can as soon\n Pass to the earth below it.\n\n The walls of spiders\u2019 legs are made,\n Well morticed and finely laid,\n He was the master of his trade,\n It curiously that builded:\n The windows of the eyes of cats,\n And for the roof, instead of flats,\n Is cover\u2019d with the skins of bats,\n With moonshine that are gilded.\n\n Hence Oberon, him sport to make\n (Their rest when weary mortals take,\n And none but only Fairies wake),\n Descendeth for his pleasure;\n And Mab, his merry Queen, by night\n Bestrides young folks that lie upright\n (In elder times the Mare that hight),\n Which plagues them out of measure.\n\n Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes,\n Of little frisking elves and apes,\n To earth do make their wanton scapes,\n As hope of pastures hastes them:\n Which maids think on the hearth they see,\n When fires well-near consum\u00e8d be,\n There dancing hayes by two and three,\n Just as their fancy casts them.\n\n These make our girls their flutt\u2019ry rue,\n By pinching them both black and blue,\n And put a penny in their shoe,\n The house for cleanly sweeping:\n And in their courses make that round,\n In meadows and in marshes found,\n Of them so call\u2019d the Fairy ground,\n Of which they have the keeping.\n\n These, when a child haps to be got,\n Which after proves an idiot,\n When folk perceive it thriveth not,\n The fault therein to smother:\n Some silly, doating, brainless calf,\n That understands things by the half,\n Say, that the Fairy left this aulf,\n And took away the other.\n\n But listen, and I shall you tell\n A chance in Fairy that befel,\n Which certainly may please some well,\n In love and arms delighting:\n Of Oberon, that jealous grew\n Of one of his own Fairy crew,\n For well (he fear\u2019d) his Queen that knew,\n His love but ill requiting.\n\n Pigwiggen was this Fairy Knight,\n One wondrous gracious in the sight\n Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night\n He amorously observed:\n Which made King Oberon suspect\n His service took too good effect,\n His sauciness and often checkt,\n And could have wish\u2019d him starved.\n\n Pigwiggen gladly would commend\n Some token to Queen Mab to send,\n If sea or land him aught could lend,\n Were worthy of her wearing:\n At length this lover doth devise\n A bracelet made of emmets\u2019 eyes,\n A thing he thought that she would prize,\n No whit her state impairing.\n\n And to the Queen a letter writes,\n Which he most curiously indites,\n Conjuring her by all the rites\n Of love, she would be pleased\n To meet him, her true servant, where\n They might, without suspect or fear,\n Themselves to one another clear,\n And have their poor hearts eased.\n\n \u201cAt midnight the appointed hour,\n And for the Queen a fitting bow\u2019r,\n (Quoth he) is that fair cowslip flow\u2019r,\n On Hipcut-hill that groweth:\n In all your train there\u2019s not a Fay,\n That ever went to gather May,\n But she hath made it in her way,\n The tallest there that groweth.\u201d\n\n When by Tom Thum, a Fairy page,\n He sent it, and doth him engage,\n By promise of a mighty wage,\n It secretly to carry;\n Which done, the Queen her maids doth call,\n And bids them to be ready all,\n She would go see her summer hall,\n She could no longer tarry.\n\n Her chariot ready strait is made,\n Each thing therein is fitting laid,\n That she by nothing might be stay\u2019d,\n For naught must be her letting:\n Four nimble gnats the horses were,\n Their harnesses of gossamere,\n Fly Cranion, her charioteer,\n Upon the coach-box getting.\n\n Her chariot of a snail\u2019s fine shell,\n Which for the colours did excel;\n The fair Queen Mab becoming well,\n So lively was the limning:\n The seat the soft woll of the bee,\n The cover (gallantly to see)\n The wing of a py\u2019d butterflee,\n I trow, was simple trimming.\n\n The wheels composed of crickets\u2019 bones,\n And daintily made for the nonce,\n For fear of rattling on the stones,\n With thistle-down they shod it:\n For all her maidens much did fear,\n If Oberon had chanc\u2019d to hear,\n That Mab his Queen should have been there,\n He would not have abode it.\n\n She mounts her chariot with a trice,\n Nor would she stay for no advice,\n Until her maids, that were so nice,\n To wait on her were fitted;\n But ran herself away alone;\n Which, when they heard, there was not one\n But hasted after to be gone,\n As she had been diswitted.\n\n Hop, and Mop, and Drop so clear,\n Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were\n To Mab their sovereign dear,\n Her special maids of honour;\n Fib, and Tib, and Pinch, and Pin,\n Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin,\n Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,\n The train that wait upon her.\n\n Upon a grasshopper they got,\n And what with amble and with trot,\n For hedge nor ditch they spared not,\n But after her they hie them.\n A cobweb over them they throw,\n To shield the wind if it should blow,\n Themselves they wisely could bestow,\n Lest any should espy them.\n\n But let us leave Queen Mab awhile,\n Through many a gate, o\u2019er many a stile,\n That now had gotten by this wile,\n Her dear Pigwiggen kissing;\n And tell how Oberon doth fare,\n Who grew as mad as any hare,\n When he had sought each place with care,\n And found his Queen was missing.\n\n By grisly Pluto he doth swear,\n He rent his clothes, and tore his hair,\n And as he runneth here and there,\n An acorn cup he getteth;\n Which soon he taketh by the stalk,\n About his head he lets it walk,\n Nor doth he any creature baulk,\n But lays on all he meeteth.\n\n The Tuscan poet doth advance,\n The frantic Paladine of France,\n And those more ancient do inhance\n Alcides in his fury,\n And others Ajax Telamon:\n But to this time there hath been none\n So Bedlam as our Oberon,\n Of which I dare assure ye.\n\n And first encount\u2019ring with a wasp,\n He in his arms the fly doth clasp,\n As though his breath he forth would grasp,\n Him for Pigwiggen taking:\n \u201cWhere is my wife, thou rogue? (quoth he)\n Pigwiggen, she is come to thee;\n Restore her, or thou dy\u2019st by me.\u201d\n Whereat the poor wasp quaking,\n\n Cries, \u201cOberon, great Fairy King,\n Content thee, I am no such thing;\n I am a wasp, behold my sting!\u201d\n At which the Fairy started.\n When soon away the wasp doth go,\n Poor wretch was never frighted so,\n He thought his wings were much too slow,\n O\u2019erjoy\u2019d they so were parted.\n\n He next upon a glow-worm light\n (You must suppose it now was night),\n Which, for her hinder part was bright,\n He took to be a devil;\n And furiously doth her assail\n For carrying fire in her tail;\n He thrash\u2019d her rough coat with his flail,\n The mad King fear\u2019d no evil.\n\n \u201cOh! (quoth the glow-worm) hold thy hand,\n Thou puissant King of Fairyland,\n Thy mighty strokes who may withstand,\n Hold, or of life despair I!\u201d\n Together then herself doth roll,\n And tumbling down into a hole,\n She seem\u2019d as black as any coal,\n Which vext away the Fairy.\n\n From thence he ran into a hive,\n Amongst the bees he letteth drive,\n And down their combs begins to rive,\n All likely to have spoiled:\n Which with their wax his face besmear\u2019d,\n And with their honey daubed his beard;\n It would have made a man affear\u2019d\n To see how he was moiled.\n\n A new adventure him betides:\n He met an ant, which he bestrides,\n And post thereon away he rides\n Which with his haste doth stumble,\n And came full over on her snout,\n Her heels so threw the dirt about,\n For she by no means could get out,\n But over him doth tumble.\n\n And being in this piteous case,\n And all beflurried head and face,\n On runs he in this wild-goose chase,\n As here and there he rambles,\n Half blind against a mole-hill hit,\n And for a mountain taking it,\n For all he was out of his wit,\n Yet to the top he scrambles.\n\n And being gotten to the top,\n Yet there himself he could not stop,\n But down on th\u2019 other side doth chop,\n And to the foot came rumbling:\n So that the grubs therein that bred,\n Hearing such turmoil overhead,\n Thought surely they had all been dead,\n So fearful was the jumbling.\n\n And falling down into a lake,\n Which him up to the neck doth take,\n His fury it doth somewhat slake,\n He calleth for a ferry.\n Where you may some recovery note,\n What was his club he made his boat,\n And in his oaken cup doth float,\n As safe as in a wherry.\n\n Men talk of the adventures strange\n Of Don Quishot, and of their change,\n Through which he arm\u00e8d oft did range,\n Of Sancha Panza\u2019s travel:\n But should a man tell everything\n Done by this frantic Fairy King,\n And them in lofty numbers sing,\n It well his wits might gravel.\n\n Scarce set on shore, but therewithal\n He meeteth Puck, which most men call\n Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall\n With words from phrenzy spoken:\n \u201cHoh, hoh,\u201d quoth Hob, \u201cGod save thy grace,\n Who drest thee in this piteous case?\n He thus that spoil\u2019d my sovereign\u2019s face,\n I would his neck were broken.\u201d\n\n This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt,\n Still walking like a ragged colt,\n And oft out of a bush doth bolt,\n Of purpose to deceive us;\n And leading us makes us to stray\n Long winter nights out of the way,\n And when we stroll in mire and clay,\n He doth with laughter leave us.\n\n \u201cDear Puck,\u201d quoth he, \u201cmy wife is gone;\n As e\u2019er thou lov\u2019st King Oberon,\n Let everything but this alone,\n With vengeance and pursue her:\n Bring her home alive or dead;\n Or that vile thief Pigwiggen\u2019s head;\n That villain hath defiled my bed,\n He to this folly drew her.\u201d\n\n Quoth Puck, \u201cMy liege, I\u2019ll never lin,\n But I will thorough thick and thin,\n Until at length I bring her in,\n My dearest lord, ne\u2019er doubt it.\u201d\n Thorough brake, thorough brier,\n Thorough mud, thorough mier,\n Thorough water, thorough fier,\n And thus Puck goes about it.\n\n This thing Nymphidia overheard,\n That on this mad king had a guard,\n Not doubting of a great reward,\n For first this bus\u2019ness broaching:\n And through the air away doth go\n Swift as an arrow from the bow,\n To let her sovereign Mab to know\n What peril was approaching.\n\n The queen, bound with love\u2019s powerful charm,\n Sate with Pigwiggen arm in arm;\n Her merry maids, that thought no harm,\n About the room were skipping:\n A humble-bee their minstrel, play\u2019d\n Upon his haut-bois, every maid\n Fit for this revel was array\u2019d,\n The hornpipe neatly tripping.\n\n In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry,\n \u201cMy sovereign, for your safety fly,\n For there is danger but too nigh,\n I posted to forewarn you:\n The king hath sent Hobgoblin out,\n To seek you all the fields about,\n And of your safety you may doubt,\n If he but once discern you.\u201d\n\n When like an uproar in a town,\n Before them everything went down;\n Some tore a ruff, and some a gown,\n \u2019Gainst one another jostling:\n They flew about like chaff i\u2019 th\u2019 wind;\n For haste some left their masks behind,\n Some could not stay their gloves to find;\n There never was such bustling.\n\n Forth ran they by a secret way,\n Into a brake that near them lay,\n Yet much they doubted there to stay,\n Lest Hob should hap to find them:\n He had a sharp and piercing sight,\n All one to him the day and night,\n And therefore were resolv\u2019d by flight\n To leave this place behind them.\n\n At length one chanc\u2019d to find a nut,\n In th\u2019 end of which a hole was cut,\n Which lay upon a hazel-root,\n There scatter\u2019d by a squirrel,\n Which out the kernel gotten had:\n When quoth this Fay, \u201cDear queen, be glad,\n Let Oberon be ne\u2019er so mad,\n I\u2019ll set you safe from peril.\n\n \u201cCome all into this hut (quoth she),\n Come closely in, be rul\u2019d by me,\n Each one may here a chuser be,\n For room ye need not wrestle,\n Nor need ye be together heapt.\u201d\n So one by one therein they crept,\n And lying down, they soundly slept,\n As safe as in a castle.\n\n Nymphidia, that this while doth watch,\n Perceiv\u2019d if Puck the queen should catch,\n That he would be her over-match,\n Of which she well bethought her;\n Found it must be some pow\u2019rful charm,\n The queen against him that must arm,\n Or surely he would do her harm,\n For throughly he had sought her.\n\n And list\u2019ning if she aught could hear,\n That her might hinder, or might fear;\n But finding still the coast was clear,\n Nor creature had descry\u2019d her:\n Each circumstance and having scann\u2019d,\n She came thereby to understand,\n Puck would be with them out of hand,\n When to her charms she hy\u2019d her.\n\n And first her fern seed doth bestow,\n The kernel of the mistletoe;\n And here and there as Puck should go,\n With terror to affright him,\n She night-shade straws to work him ill,\n Therewith her vervain and her dill,\n That hind\u2019reth witches of their will,\n Of purpose to despight him.\n\n Then sprinkles she the juice of rue,\n That groweth underneath the yew,\n With wine drops of the midnight dew,\n From lunary distilling;\n The wolewarp\u2019s brain mixt therewithal,\n And with the same the pismire\u2019s gall:\n For she in nothing short would fall,\n The Fairy was so willing.\n\n Then thrice under a brier doth creep,\n Which at both ends was rooted deep,\n And over it three times did leap,\n Her magic much availing:\n Then on Proserpina doth call,\n And so upon her spell doth fall,\n Which here to you repeat I shall,\n Not in one tittle failing.\n\n \u201cBy the croaking of the frog;\n By the howling of the dog;\n By the crying of the hog\n Against the storm arising;\n By the evening curfew-bell;\n By the doleful dying knell;\n O let this my direful spell,\n Hob, hinder thy surprising.\n\n \u201cBy the Mandrake\u2019s dreadful groans:\n By the Lubrican\u2019s sad moans;\n By the noise of dead men\u2019s bones\n In charnel houses rattling;\n By the hissing of the snake,\n The rustling of the fire-drake,\n I charge thee this place forsake,\n Nor of Queen Mab be prattling.\n\n \u201cBy the whirlwind\u2019s hollow sound,\n By the thunder\u2019s dreadful stound,\n Yells of spirits underground,\n I charge thee not to fear us:\n By the screech-owl\u2019s dismal note,\n By the black night-raven\u2019s throat,\n I charge thee, Hob, to tear thy coat\n With thorns, if thou come near us.\u201d\n\n Her spell thus spoke, she stept aside,\n And in a chink herself doth hide,\n To see thereof what would betide,\n For she doth only mind him:\n When presently she Puck espies,\n And well she markt his gloating eyes,\n How under every leaf he pries,\n In seeking still to find them.\n\n But once the circle got within,\n The charms to work do straight begin,\n And he was caught as in a gin:\n For as he thus was busy,\n A pain he in his headpiece feels,\n Against a stubbed tree he reels,\n And up went poor Hobgoblin\u2019s heels;\n Alas! his brain was dizzy.\n\n At length upon his feet he gets,\n Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets,\n And as again he forward sets,\n And through the bushes scrambles,\n A stump doth trip him in his pace,\n Down comes poor Hob upon his face,\n And lamentably tore his case\n Amongst the briars and brambles.\n\n \u201cPlague upon Queen Mab (quoth he),\n And all her maids, where\u2019er they be;\n I think the devil guided me,\n To seek her, so provoked.\u201d\n When stumbling at a piece of wood,\n He fell into a ditch of mud,\n Where to the very chin he stood,\n In danger to be choaked.\n\n Now worse than e\u2019er he was before,\n Poor Puck doth yell, poor Puck doth roar,\n That waked Queen Mab, who doubted sore\n Some treason had been wrought her:\n Until Nymphidia told the Queen\n What she had done, what she had seen,\n Who then had well-near crack\u2019d her spleen\n With very extreme laughter.\n\n But leave we Hob to clamber out,\n Queen Mab and all her Fairy rout,\n And come again to have a bout\n With Oberon yet madding:\n And with Pigwiggen now distrought,\n Who much was troubled in his thought,\n That he so long the Queen had sought,\n And through the fields was gadding.\n\n And as he runs, he still doth cry,\n \u201cKing Oberon, I thee defy,\n And dare thee here in arms to try,\n For my dear lady\u2019s honour:\n In that she is a queen right good,\n In whose defence I\u2019ll shed my blood,\n And that thou in this jealous mood\n Hast laid this slander on her.\u201d\n\n And quickly arms him for the field,\n A little cockle-shell his shield,\n Which he could very bravely wield,\n Yet could it not be pierced:\n His spear a bent both stiff and strong,\n And well near of two inches long;\n The pile was of a horse-fly\u2019s tongue,\n Whose sharpness nought reversed.\n\n And puts him on a coat of mail,\n Which was of a fishe\u2019s scale,\n That when his foe should him assail,\n No point should be prevailing.\n His rapier was a hornet\u2019s sting,\n It was a very dangerous thing,\n For if he chanc\u2019d to hurt the king,\n It would be long in healing.\n\n His helmet was a beetle\u2019s head,\n Most horrible and full of dread,\n That able was to strike one dead,\n Yet it did well become him:\n And for a plume, a horse\u2019s hair,\n Which being toss\u00e8d by the air,\n Had force to strike his foe with fear,\n And turn his weapon from him.\n\n Himself he on an earwig set,\n Yet scarce he on his back could get,\n So oft and high he did curvet,\n Ere he himself could settle:\n He made him turn, and step, and bound,\n To gallop, and to trot the round,\n He scarce could stand on any ground,\n He was so full of mettle.\n\n When soon he met with Tomalin,\n One that a valiant knight had been,\n And to great Oberon of kin:\n Quoth he, \u201cThou manly Fairy,\n Tell Oberon I come prepar\u2019d,\n Then bid him stand upon his guard;\n This hand his baseness shall reward,\n Let him be ne\u2019er so wary.\n\n \u201cSay to him thus, \u2018That I defy\n His slanders and his infamy,\n And as a mortal enemy\n Do publicly proclaim him:\n Withal, that if I had mine own,\n He should not wear the Fairy crown,\n But with a vengeance should come down;\n Not we a king should name him.\u2019\u201d\n\n This Tomalin could not abide,\n To hear his sovereign vilify\u2019d;\n But to the Fairy court him hy\u2019d,\n Full furiously he posted,\n With ev\u2019rything Pigwiggen said;\n How title to the crown he laid,\n And in what arms he was array\u2019d,\n And how himself he boasted.\n\n \u2019Twixt head and foot, from point to point,\n He told the arming of each joint,\n In every piece how neat and quaint;\n For Tomalin could do it:\n How fair he sat, how sure he rid;\n As of the courser he bestrid,\n How manag\u2019d, and how well he did.\n The king, which listen\u2019d to it,\n\n Quoth he, \u201cGo, Tomalin, with speed,\n Provide me arms, provide my steed,\n And everything that I shall need,\n By thee I will be guided:\n To strait account call thou thy wit,\n See there be wanting not a whit,\n In everything see thou me fit,\n Just as my foe\u2019s provided.\u201d\n\n Soon flew this news through Fairy-land,\n Which gave Queen Mab to understand\n The combat that was then in hand\n Betwixt those men so mighty:\n Which greatly she began to rue,\n Perceiving that all Fairy knew,\n The first occasion from her grew,\n Of these affairs so weighty.\n\n Wherefore attended with her maids,\n Through fogs, and mists, and damps she wades,\n To Proserpine the Queen of Shades,\n To treat, that it would please her\n The cause into her hands to take,\n For ancient love and friendship\u2019s sake,\n And soon thereof an end to make,\n Which of much care would ease her.\n\n Awhile there let we Mab alone,\n And come we to King Oberon,\n Who arm\u2019d to meet his foe is gone,\n For proud Pigwiggen crying:\n Who sought the Fairy King as fast,\n And had so well his journies cast,\n That he arriv\u00e8d at the last,\n His puissant foe espying.\n\n Stout Tomalin came with the King,\n Tom Thumb doth on Pigwiggen bring,\n That perfect were in ev\u2019rything\n To single fights belonging:\n And therefore they themselves engage,\n To see them exercise their rage,\n With fair and comely equipage,\n Not one the other wronging.\n\n So like in arms these champions were,\n As they had been a very pair,\n So that a man could almost swear\n That either had been either:\n Their furious steeds began to neigh,\n That they were heard a mighty way:\n Their staves upon their rests they lay;\n Yet ere they flew together,\n\n Their seconds minister an oath,\n Which was indifferent to them both,\n That on their knightly faith and troth,\n No magic them supplied;\n And sought them that they had no charms,\n Wherewith to work each other\u2019s harms,\n But come with simple open arms,\n To have their causes tried.\n\n Together furiously they ran,\n That to the ground came horse and man;\n The blood out of their helmets span,\n So sharp were their encounters:\n And though they to the earth were thrown,\n Yet quickly they regain\u2019d their own;\n Such nimbleness was never shewn,\n They were two gallant mounters.\n\n When in a second course again,\n They forward came with might and main,\n Yet which had better of the twain,\n The seconds could not judge yet:\n Their shields were into pieces cleft,\n Their helmets from their heads were \u2019reft,\n And to defend them nothing left,\n These champions would not budge yet.\n\n Away from them their staves they threw,\n Their cruel swords they quickly drew,\n And freshly they the fight renew,\n They every stroke redoubled:\n Which made Proserpina take heed,\n And make to them the greater speed,\n For fear lest they too much should bleed,\n Which wond\u2019rously her troubled.\n\n When to th\u2019 infernal Styx she goes,\n She take the fogs from thence that rose,\n And in a bag doth them enclose,\n When well she had them blended:\n She hies her then to Lethe spring,\n A bottle and thereof doth bring,\n Wherewith she meant to work the thing\n Which only she intended.\n\n Now Proserpine with Mab is gone\n Unto the place where Oberon\n And proud Pigwiggen, one to one,\n Both to be slain were likely:\n And there themselves they closely hide,\n Because they would not be espy\u2019d;\n For Prosperpine meant to decide\n The matter very quickly.\n\n And suddenly unties the poke,\n Which out of it sent such a smoke,\n As ready was them all to choke,\n So grievous was the pother:\n So that the knights each other lost,\n And stood as still as any post,\n Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast\n Themselves of any other.\n\n But when the mist \u2019gan somewhat cease,\n Proserpina commandeth peace,\n And that a while they should release\n Each other of their peril:\n \u201cWhich here (quoth she) I do proclaim\n To all, in dreadful Pluto\u2019s name,\n That as ye will eschew his blame,\n You let me hear the quarrel.\n\n \u201cBut here yourselves you must engage,\n Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage,\n Your grievous thirst and to assuage,\n That first you drink this liquor;\n Which shall your understandings clear,\n As plainly shall to you appear,\n Those things from me that you shall hear,\n Conceiving much the quicker.\u201d\n\n This Lethe water, you must know,\n The memory destroyeth so,\n That of our weal, or of our woe,\n It all remembrance blotted,\n Of it nor can you ever think:\n For they no sooner took this drink,\n But nought into their brains could sink,\n Of what had them besotted.\n\n King Oberon forgotten had\n That he for jealousy ran mad;\n But of his queen was wond\u2019rous glad,\n And ask\u2019d how they came thither.\n Pigwiggen likewise doth forget\n That he Queen Mab had ever met,\n Or that they were so hard beset\n When they were found together.\n\n Nor either of \u2019em both had thought\n That e\u2019er they had each other fought,\n Much less that they a combat sought,\n But such a dream were loathing.\n Tom Thumb had got a little sup,\n And Tomalin scarce kiss\u2019d the cup,\n Yet had their brains so sure lockt up,\n That they remember\u2019d nothing.\n\n Queen Mab and her light maids the while\n Amongst themselves do closely smile,\n To see the king caught with this wile,\n With one another jesting:\n And to the Fairy Court they went,\n With mickle joy and merriment,\n Which thing was done with good intent;\n And thus I left them feasting.\n\n MICHAEL DRAYTON.\n\n\nPRINCE BRIGHTKIN.\n\nSCENE: _A Forest in Fairyland_.\n\nDAWN.\n\n _First Fairy._ Fairies and Elves!\n Shadows of night\n Pale and grow thin,\n Branches are stirr\u2019d;\n Rouse up yourselves;\n Sing to the light,\n Fairies, begin,\u2014\n Hark, there\u2019s a bird!\n\n _Second._ For dreams are now fading,\n Old thoughts in new morning;\n Dull spectres and goblins\n To dungeon must fly.\n The starry night changeth,\n Its low stars are setting,\n Its lofty stars dwindle\n And hide in the sky.\n\n _First._ Fairies, awake!\n Light on the hills!\n Blossom and grass\n Tremble with dew;\n Gambols the snake,\n Merry bird shrills,\n Honey-bees pass,\n Morning is new.\n\n _Second._ Pure joy of the cloudlets,\n All rippled in crimson!\n Afar over world\u2019s edge\n The night-fear is roll\u2019d;\n O look how the Great One\n Uplifts himself kingly;\n At once the wide morning\n Is flooded with gold!\n\n _First._ Fairies, arouse!\n Mix with your song\n Harplet and pipe,\n Thrilling and clear.\n Swarm on the boughs!\n Chant in a throng!\n Morning is ripe,\n Waiting to hear.\n\n _Second._ The merle and the skylark\n Will hush for our chorus,\n Quick wavelets of music,\n Begin them anon!\n Good-luck comes to all things\n That hear us and hearken,\u2014\n Our myriads of voices\n Commingling in one.\n\n _General Chorus._ Golden, golden\n Light unfolding,\n Busily, merrily, work and play,\n In flowery meadows,\n And forest-shadows,\n All the length of a summer day!\n All the length of a summer day!\n\n Sprightly, lightly,\n Sing we rightly!\n Moments brightly hurry away!\n Fruit-tree blossoms,\n And roses\u2019 bosoms\u2014\n Clear blue sky of a summer day!\n Dear blue sky of a summer day!\n\n Springlets, brooklets,\n Greeny nooklets,\n Hill and valley, and salt-sea spray!\n Comrade rovers,\n Fairy lovers,\u2014\n All the length of a summer day!\n All the livelong summer day!\n\nFORENOON.\n\n_Enter two Fairies_ (ROSLING _and_ Another) _separately_.\n\n _First._ Greeting, brother!\n\n _Second._ Greet thee well!\n Hast thou any news to tell?\n How goes sunshine?\n\n _First._ Flowers of noon\n All their eyes will open soon,\n While ours are closing. What hast done\n Since the rising of the sun?\n\n _Second._ Four wild snails I\u2019ve taught their paces,\n Pick\u2019d the best ones for the races.\n Thou?\n\n _First._ Where luscious dewdrops lurk,\n I with fifty went to work,\n Catching delicious wine that wets\n The warm blue heart of violets;\n Last moon it was hawthorn-flower,\n Next moon \u2019twill be virgin\u2019s bower,\n Moon by moon, the varied rose,\u2014\n To seal in flasks for winter mirth,\n When frost and darkness wrap the earth.\n Which wine delights you, fay?\n\n _Second._ All those;\n But none is like the Wine of Rose.\n With Wine of Rose,\n In midst of snows\n The sunny season flows and glows!\n\n _First._ Elf, thou lovest best, I think,\n The time to sit in a cave and drink.\n\n _Second._ Is\u2019t not well to have good reason,\n Thus, for loving every season?\n White-rose wine\n Is pure and fine,\n But red-rose dew, dear tipple of mine!\n The red flow\u2019rs bud\n In our summery blood,\n And the nightingale sings in our brain like a wood.\n\n _First._ Some who came a-gathering dew,\n Tasting, sipping, fresh and new,\n Tumbled down, an idle crew,\n And there among the grass they lie,\n Under a toadstool; any fly\n May nip their foolish noses!\n\n _Second._ Soon\n We shall hear the Call of Noon.\n\n _First._ They cannot stir to any tune.\n No evening feast for them, be sure,\n But far-off sentry on the moor.\n Whence that sound of music?\u2014hist!\n\n _Second._ Klingoling, chief lutanist,\n A hundred song-birds in a ring\n Is teaching all this morn to sing\n Together featly, so to fill\n The wedding-music,\u2014loud and shrill,\n Soft and sweet, and high and low,\n Singled, mingled. He doth know\n The art to make a hundred heard\n Like one great surprising bird.\n\n _First._ Here comes Rosling! He\u2019ll report\n All the doings of the Court.\n\n_Enter a Third Fairy._\n\n Greeting, brothers!\n\n _First._ Greet thee well!\n Hast thou any news to tell?\n Our Princess dear, what shadow lies\n Drooping on her blissful eyes?\n Her suitors plague her?\u2014is it so?\n\n _Third._ So in truth it is. But, lo!\n Who comes our way? Fairy, whence?\n Thou\u2019rt a stranger.\n\n_Enter a Fourth Fairy._\n\n No offence,\n I trust, altho\u2019 my cap is blue,\n While yours are green as any leaf.\n Courteous fays! No spy or thief\n Is here, but one who longs to view\n Your famous Forest; chiefly there\n Your Princess fair, the praised in song\n Wheresoever fairies throng.\n Oft you see her?\n\n _Third._ Every day.\n\n _Fourth._ And is she lovely as they say?\n\n _Third._ Thou hast not seen her? Dost thou think\n Blue and golden, white and pink,\n Could paint the magic of her face?\n All common beauty\u2019s highest place\n Being under hers how far!\u2014\n\n _Fourth._ How far?\n\n _Third._ A glow-worm to the evening star.\n\n _First._ Scarce Klingoling could say so well!\n \u2019Tis true: so much she doth excel.\n Come, fairy, to our feast to-night,\n Two hours from sunset; then you may\n See the Forest-Realm\u2019s Delight.\n\n _Fourth._ But were it not presumptuous?\n\n _First._ Nay,\n Thou art, I ween, a gentle fay,\n And sure of welcome.\n\n _Fourth._ It is said\n Her Highness shortly means to wed!\n\n _Third._ Next full moon, by fairy law,\n She must marry, no escape,\n Were it marsh-sprite, kobold, shape\n Creeping from earth-hole with horn and claw!\n\n _Fourth._ And hath she now a suitor?\n\n _Third._ Three;\n Bloatling, Rudling, Loftling; she\n Loathes them all impartially.\n The first is ugly, fat, and rich,\n Grandson of a miser witch;\n He sends her bossy peonies,\n Fat as himself, to please her eyes,\n And double poppies, mock flow\u2019rs made\n In clumsy gold, for brag display\u2019d;\n Ten of the broadest shoulder\u2019d elves\n To carry one must strain themselves.\n\n _First._ Aye! so I\u2019ve seen them.\n\n _Second._ This is more\n Than I ever heard before.\n\n _Third._ Field-marshal Rudling, soldier fay,\n His beard a broom to sweep away\n Opposition, with his frown\n Biddeth common fairies, \u201cDown!\n Down on your knees!\u201d and then his smile,\n Our lovely Lady\u2019s heart to wile\u2014\n Soft as a rat-trap! and his voice\u2014\n Angry jay makes no such noise\n When bold marauders threat (as you,\n Little Jinkling, sometimes do)\n Her freckled eggs.\n\n _Fourth._ And Loftling?\n\n _Third._ True,\n Prince Loftling\u2019s chin, so grand is he,\n Is where another\u2019s nose would be;\n His proud backbone the wrong way bends\n With nobleness. He condescends\n To come in state to our poor wood;\n And then \u2019tis always understood\n We silence every prattling bird,\n Nor must one grasshopper be heard;\n Which tasks our people; she, meanwhile,\n Our Lady, half dead with his vile\n Ceremonial and precision,\u2014\n \u201cMadam, with your august permission,\n I have the honour to remark\u2014\n Ah hum! ah haw!\u201d from dawn to dark.\n\n _Fourth._ He will not win her!\n\n _Third._ No, no, no!\n Dreary the wood if that were so,\n Good stranger. But enough, I ween,\n Of gossip now.\n\n _Fourth._ Kind Caps o\u2019 Green,\n I thank ye for your courtesies!\n Brightkin\u2019s my name, my country lies\n Round that blue peak your scout espies\n From loftiest fir-tree on the skies\n Of sunset. So I take my leave\n Till the drawing-on of eve.\n\n _First._ They call me Rosling, gentle fay.\n Adieu! forget not; here I\u2019ll stay\n To meet thee and to show the way.\n\n _All._ Adieu! adieu! till close of day.\n\nTHE NOON CALL.\n\n Hear the call!\n Fays, be still!\n Noon is deep\n On vale and hill.\n Stir no sound\n The Forest round!\n Let all things hush\n That fly or creep,\u2014\n Tree and bush,\n Air and ground!\n Hear the call!\n Silence keep!\n One and all\n Hush and sleep!\n\nNEAR SUNSET.\n\n_Two Fairies_: ROSLING and JINKLING.\n\n _Ros._ Little Jinkling! friend of mine!\n Where dost lurk when fairies dine?\n At the banquet round and round\n Searching, thee I never found.\n Comest thou late? The feast is done;\n Slowly sinks the mighty sun.\n\n _Jink._ Nay, fay! I was far away.\n Over the tree-tops did I soar\n Twenty leagues and twenty more.\n Swift and high goes the dragon-fly,\n And steady the death\u2019s-head moth,\n But the little bird with his beak awry\n Is a better saddle than both!\n The lovely Lady of Elfin-Mere,\n I had a message for her ear.\n\n _Ros._ Of state?\n\n _Jink._ Of state: of import great,\n I must not even to thee relate.\n\n _Ros._ And is she fair?\n\n _Jink._ Thrice fair is she;\n The pearly moon less delicately\n Comes shining onward than this Lady\n From her water-palace shady\n Floats across the lucent lake,\n And all her starry lilies make\n Obeisance; every water-sprite\n Gazing after with delight,\n Only wishing he might dare\n Just to touch her streaming hair,\n Meanwhile, crowds of fairies glide\n Over, under, the crystal tide,\n Some on swimming-birds astride,\n Some with merry fishes at play,\n Darting round her rippling way.\n\n _Ros._ There was your banquet!\n\n _Jink._ There indeed,\n Among the lily and the reed.\n Wavy music, as we feasted,\n Floating round us while we floated,\n Soothed our pleasure and increased it;\n Mirth and jest more briskly glancing\n Than the water-diamonds dancing\n Down the lake where sunshine smote it.\n Bright and gay!\u2014might not stay!\u2014\n White the hand I kiss\u2019d, O fay,\n Leap\u2019d on my bird, and sped away.\n Hast any news to tell me?\n\n _Ros._ Much!\n Never didst thou hear of such.\n\n _Jink._ A fight with spiders?\u2014hornets?\u2014perils\n Teasing owls, or chasing squirrels?\n Or some little elf, poor soul,\n Lost in a winding rabbit-hole?\n Are the royal trees in danger?\n\n _Ros._ Dost thou mind the Blue-cap Stranger,\n Brightkin by his name, that we\n Met ere noontide lullaby?\n\n _Jink._ Came he to your Feast?\n\n _Ros._ My friend,\n Ask no more questions, but attend!\n To the Feast he came with me,\n The chamberlain most courteously\n Placing us nigh the upper end.\n Her Highness bow\u2019d, and Brightkin gazed\n On her face like one amazed,\n While our Beauty\u2019s tender eyes\n Rested with a sweet surprise\n Upon the stranger-fairy: round\n Went cates and wines, and Klingoling\n With five new birds began to sing.\n Then came a page on errand bound\n To ask the stranger\u2019s name and realm:\n \u201cBrightkin of the Purple Helm,\n From the Blue Mountain, fairy knight,\n Flown thence to view the Forest,\u2014might\n It please her Highness.\u201d It did please.\n So by and by we sat at ease\n In shadowy bow\u2019r, a favour\u2019d ring,\n Now talking, now with Klingoling\n Join\u2019d in a waft of harmony;\n And evermore there seem\u2019d to be\n \u2019Twixt Brightkin and our Princess dear\n A concord, more than string with string\n And voice with voice rejoice one\u2019s ear.\n And then _he_ took the lute and sung,\n With modest grace and skilfully,\n For tipt with honey seem\u2019d his tongue;\n At first a murmuring melody,\n Like the far song of falling rills\n Amid the foldings of the hills,\n And ever nearer as it flew,\n Shaping its figure, like a bird,\n Till into Love\u2019s own form it grew\n In every lovely note and word.\n So sweet a song we never heard!\n When, think what came?\n\n _Jink._ I cannot think.\n\n _Ros._ A trumpet-blast that made us wink!\n A hailstorm upon basking flowers!\n Quick, sharp!\u2014we started to our feet,\n All save her Highness, mild and sweet,\n Who said, \u201cSee who invades our bowers.\u201d\n\n _Jink._ Who was it, Rosling? quickly say!\n\n _Ros._ The King of the Blue Mountains, fay,\n Seeking audience, without delay.\n Fierce and frowning his look at first,\n Like that uncivil trumpet-burst;\n But all his blackness alter\u2019d soon,\n Like clouds that melt upon the moon,\n Before the gentle dignity\n Of Her, Titania\u2019s child, whom we\n Obey and love.\n\n _Jink._ Blest may she be!\n But wherefore came the haughty King?\n\n _Ros._ Hear briefly an unusual thing.\n His only Son, the prince and heir,\n Kept with too strict and jealous care\n Within the mountain boundaries,\n To-day o\u2019erleaps them all, and flies,\n No elf knows whither: flies to-day\u2014\n The Lord of Gnomes being on his way,\n Bringing to that mountain Court\n His gem-clad heiress. Here was sport!\n Then couriers told the angry king\n They saw the Prince on gray-dove\u2019s wing\n Threading our forest; and again\n That he had join\u2019d our Lady\u2019s train.\n \u201cMadam! is\u2019t so?\u201d \u201cIf this be so,\n Great sir, I nothing know.\u201d When lo!\n Brightkin outspringing kneels. \u201cMy son!\u201d\n Exclaims the king\u2014\u201cHo! seize and bind him!\u201d\n But swift her Highness\u2014\u201cStay! let none\n Move hand or foot! Great King, you find him\n Here in the Forest-Realm, my rule\n Whereof no fairy power may school,\n Saving imperial Oberon.\n Free came he hither, free shall go.\u201d\n Then says the Prince, \u201cIf you command,\n I leave you, Pride of Fairyland,\n Else never!\u201d Briefly now to tell,\n As briefly all these things befell,\n \u2019Twas clear as new-born star they loved;\n The Mountain-King their love approved;\n And all were happy.\n\n _Jink._ Where are they,\n The King and Prince?\n\n _Ros._ They fly away\n On the sunset\u2019s latest ray.\n To-morrow they will come again,\n With a countless noble train:\n And next full moon\u2014the Wedding Feast!\n\n _Jink._ O joy! the greatest and the least\n Will join the revelry, and bring\n A marriage-gift of some fine thing.\n I know a present she will prize\u2014\n A team of spot-wing\u2019d butterflies,\n Right in flight, or else with ease\n Winding through the tops of trees,\n Or soaring in the summer sky.\n\n _Ros._ Well done, Jinkling!\u2014Now, good-bye;\n Sleepy as a field-mouse I,\n When paws and snout coil\u2019d he doth lie.\n\n _Jink._ Hark to Klingoling\u2019s lute-playing!\n On the poplar-spire a-swaying\n Gently to the crescent moon.\n\n _Ros._ I cannot stay to hear the tune.\n\n _Jink._ I linger in the yellow light.\n\n _Ros._ And so, good-night!\n\n _Jink._ And so, good-night!\n\nAFTER SUNSET.\n\n_Klingoling and a Faint Chorus._\n\n Moon soon sets now;\n Elves cradled on the bough.\n Day\u2019s fays drop asleep;\n Dreams through the forest creep.\n\n _Chorus._ When broadens the moonlight, we frolic and jest;\n When darkles the forest, we sink into rest.\n\n Shine, fine star above!\n Love\u2019s come, happy love!\n Haste, happy wedding-night,\n Full moon, round and bright!\n\n _Chorus._ And not till her circle is low in the west\n We\u2019ll cease from our dancing, or couch us to rest!\n\n Lute, mute fall thy strings!\n Hush, every voice that sings!\n Fade away, drowsy song,\n Dim forest-aisles along!\n\n _Chorus._ Of all thy dear music a love-song is best!\n Thou hushest\u2014we\u2019re silent\u2014we sink into rest.\n\n WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\nTHE CULPRIT FAY.\n\nI.\n\n \u2019Tis the middle watch of a summer\u2019s night\u2014\n The earth is dark but the heavens are bright;\n Nought is seen in the vault on high\n But the stars, and the moon, and the cloudless sky,\n And the flood which rolls its milky hue,\n A river of light on the welkin blue.\n The moon looks down on old Cronest,\n She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast,\n And seems his huge gray form to throw\n In a silver cone on the wave below;\n His sides are broken by spots of shade,\n By the walnut bough and the cedar made,\n And through their clustering branches dark\n Glimmers and dies the firefly\u2019s spark\u2014\n Like starry twinkles that momently break\n Through the rifts of the gathering tempest\u2019s rack.\n\nII.\n\n The stars are on the moving stream,\n And fling, as its ripples gently flow,\n A burnished length of wavy beam\n In an eel-like spiral line below;\n The winds are whist, and the owl is still,\n The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,\n And nought is heard on the lonely hill\n But the cricket\u2019s chirp, and the answer shrill\n Of the gauze-winged Katy-did;\n And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will,\n Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings,\n Ever a note of wail and wo,\n Till morning spreads her rosy wings,\n And earth and sky in her glances glow.\n\nIII.\n\n \u2019Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell,\n The wood-tick has kept the minutes well,\n He has counted them all with click and stroke,\n Deep in the heart of the mountain oak,\n And he has awakened the sentry elve\n Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,\n To bid him ring the hour of twelve,\n And call the fays to their revelry;\n Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell\u2014\n (\u2019Twas made of the white snail\u2019s pearly shell:)\u2014\n \u201cMidnight comes, and all is well!\n Hither, hither, wing your way!\n \u2019Tis the dawn of the fairy day.\u201d\n\nIV.\n\n They come from beds of lichen green,\n They creep from the mullen\u2019s velvet screen;\n Some on the backs of beetles fly\n From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,\n Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high,\n And rocked about in the evening breeze;\n Some from the hum-bird\u2019s downy nest\u2014\n And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,\n Had slumbered there till the charmed hour;\n Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,\n With glittering ising-stars inlaid,\n And some had opened the four-o\u2019-clock,\n And stole within its purple shade.\n And now they throng the moonlight glade,\n Above\u2014below\u2014on every side,\n Their little minim forms arrayed\n In the tricksey pomp of fairy pride!\n\nV.\n\n They come not now to print the lea,\n In freak and dance around the tree,\n Or at the mushroom board to sup,\n And drink the dew from the buttercup;\u2014\n A scene of sorrow waits them now,\n For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow;\n He has loved an earthly maid,\n And left for her his woodland shade;\n He has lain upon her lip of dew,\n And sunned him in her eye of blue,\n Fanned her cheek with his wing of air,\n Played in the ringlets of her hair,\n And, nestling on her snowy breast,\n Forgot the lily-king\u2019s behest.\n For this the shadowy tribes of air\n To the elfin court must haste away:\u2014\n And now they stand expectant there,\n To hear the doom of the Culprit Fay.\n\nVI.\n\n The throne was reared upon the grass\n Of spice-wood and of sassafras;\n On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell\n Hung the burnished canopy\u2014\n And o\u2019er it gorgeous curtains fell\n Of the tulip\u2019s crimson drapery.\n The monarch sat on his judgment-seat,\n On his brow the crown imperial shone,\n The prisoner Fay was at his feet,\n And his peers were ranged around the throne.\n He waved his sceptre in the air,\n He looked around and calmly spoke;\n His brow was grave and his eye severe,\n But his voice in a softened accent broke:\u2014\n\nVII.\n\n \u201cFairy! Fairy! list and mark,\n Thou has broke thine elfin chain,\n Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,\n And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain\u2014\n Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity\n In the glance of a mortal maiden\u2019s eye;\n Thou hast scorned our dread decree,\n And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high,\n But well I know her sinless mind\n Is pure as the angel forms above,\n Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind,\n Such as a spirit well might love;\n Fairy! had she spot or taint,\n Bitter had been thy punishment.\n Tied to the hornet\u2019s shardy wings;\n Tossed on the pricks of nettles\u2019 stings;\n Or seven long ages doomed to dwell\n With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell;\n Or every night to writhe and bleed\n Beneath the tread of the centipede;\n Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim,\n Your jailer a spider huge and grim,\n Amid the carrion bodies to lie,\n Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly:\n These it had been your lot to bear,\n Had a stain been found on the earthly fair.\n Now list, and mark our mild decree\u2014\n Fairy, this your doom must be:\u2014\n\nVIII.\n\n \u201cThou shalt seek the beach of sand\n Where the water bounds the elfin land,\n Thou shalt watch the oozy brine\n Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine,\n Then dart the glistening arch below,\n And catch a drop from his glistening bow.\n The water-sprites will wield their arms,\n And dash around, with roar and rave,\n And vain are the woodland spirits\u2019 charms,\n They are the imps that rule the wave.\n Yet trust thee in thy single might,\n If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right,\n Thou shalt win the warlock fight.\n\nIX.\n\n \u201cIf the spray-bead gem be won,\n The stain of thy wing is washed away,\n But another errand must be done\n Ere thy crime be lost for aye;\n Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,\n Thou must reillume its spark.\n Mount thy steed and spur him high\n To the heaven\u2019s blue canopy;\n And when thou seest a shooting star,\n Follow it fast, and follow it far\u2014The\n last faint spark of its burning train\n Shall light the elfin lamp again.\n Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay;\n Hence! to the water-side, away!\u201d\n\nX.\n\n The goblin marked his monarch well;\n He spake not, but he bowed him low,\n Then plucked a crimson colen bell,\n And turned him round in act to go.\n The way is long, he cannot fly,\n His soiled wing has lost its power,\n And he winds adown the mountain high,\n For many a sore and weary hour.\n Through dreary beds of tangled fern,\n Through groves of nightshade dark and dern,\n Over the grass and through the brake,\n Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake;\n Now o\u2019er the violet\u2019s azure flush\n He skips along in lightsome mood:\n And now he thrids the bramble-bush,\n Till its points are dyed in fairy blood.\n He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the briar,\n He has swam the brook, and waded the mire,\n Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak,\n And the red waxed fainter in his cheek.\n He had fallen to the ground outright,\n For rugged and dim was his onward track,\n But there came a spotted toad in sight,\n And he laughed as he jumped upon her back;\n He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist,\n He lashed her sides with an osier thong;\n And now through evening\u2019s dewy mist\n With leap and spring they bound along,\n Till the mountain\u2019s magic verge is past,\n And the beach of sand is reached at last.\n\nXI.\n\n Soft and pale is the moony beam,\n Moveless still the glassy stream,\n The wave is clear, the beach is bright\n With snowy shells and sparkling stones;\n The shore-surge comes in ripples light,\n In murmurings faint and distant moans;\n And ever afar in the silence deep\n Is heard the splash of the sturgeon\u2019s leap,\n And the bend of his graceful bow is seen\u2014\n A glittering arch of silver sheen,\n Spanning the wave of burnished blue,\n And dripping with gems of the river dew.\n\nXII.\n\n The elfin cast a glance around,\n As he lighted down from his courser toad,\n Then round his breast his wings he wound,\n And close to the river\u2019s brink he strode;\n He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer,\n Above his head his arms he threw,\n Then tossed a tiny curve in air,\n And headlong plunged in the waters blue.\n\nXIII.\n\n Up sprung the spirits of the waves,\n From sea-silk beds in their coral caves,\n With snail-plate armour snatched in haste,\n They speed their way through the liquid waste;\n Some are rapidly borne along\n On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong,\n Some on the blood-red leeches glide,\n Some on the stony star-fish ride,\n Some on the back of the lancing squab,\n Some on the sideling soldier-crab;\n And some on the jellied quarl, that flings\n At once a thousand streamy stings;\n They cut the wave with the living oar,\n And hurry on to the moonlight shore,\n To guard their realms and chase away\n The footsteps of the invading Fay.\n\nXIV.\n\n Fearlessly he skims along,\n His hope is high, and his limbs are strong,\n He spreads his arms like the swallow\u2019s wing,\n And throws his feet with a frog-like fling;\n His locks of gold on the water shine,\n At his breast the tiny foam-beds rise,\n His back gleams bright above the brine,\n And the wake-line foam behind him lies.\n But the water-sprites are gathering near\n To check his course along the tide;\n Their warriors come in swift career\n And hem him round on every side;\n On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold,\n The quarl\u2019s long arms are round him rolled,\n The prickly prong has pierced his skin,\n And the squab has thrown his javelin,\n The gritty star has rubbed him raw,\n And the crab has struck with his giant claw;\n He howls with rage and he shrieks with pain,\n He strikes around, but his blows are vain;\n Hopeless is the unequal fight,\n Fairy! nought is left but flight.\n\nXV.\n\n He turned him round and fled amain\n With hurry and dash to the beach again,\n He twisted over from side to side,\n And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide.\n The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet,\n And with all his might he flings his feet,\n But the water-sprites are round him still,\n To cross his path and work him ill.\n They bade the wave before him rise;\n They flung the sea-fire in his eyes,\n And they stunned his ears with the scallop stroke,\n With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak.\n Oh! but a weary wight was he\n When he reached the foot of the dogwood tree\n \u2014Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore,\n He laid him down on the sandy shore;\n He blessed the force of the charmed line,\n And he banned the water-goblins\u2019 spite,\n For he saw around in the sweet moonshine\n Their little wee faces above the brine,\n Giggling and laughing with all their might\n At the piteous hap of the fairy wight.\n\nXVI.\n\n Soon he gathered the balsam dew\n From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud;\n Over each wound the balm he drew,\n And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood.\n The mild west wind was soft and low,\n It cooled the heat of his burning brow,\n And he felt new life in his sinews shoot,\n As he drank the juice of the cal\u2019mus root;\n And now he treads the fatal shore\n As fresh and vigorous as before.\n\nXVII.\n\n Wrapped in musing stands the sprite:\n \u2019Tis the middle wane of night,\n His task is hard, his way is far,\n But he must do his errand right\n Ere dawning mounts her beamy car,\n And rolls her chariot wheels of light;\n And vain are the spells of fairy-land,\n He must work with a human hand.\n\nXVIII.\n\n He cast a saddened look around,\n But he felt new joy his bosom swell,\n When, glittering on the shadowed ground,\n He saw a purple mussel shell;\n Thither he ran, and he bent him low,\n He heaved at the stern, and he heaved at the bow,\n And he pushed her over the yielding sand,\n Till he came to the verge of the haunted land.\n She was as lovely a pleasure-boat\n As ever fairy had paddled in,\n For she glowed with purple paint without,\n And shone with silver pearl within;\n A sculler\u2019s notch in the stern he made,\n An oar he shaped of the bootle-blade;\n Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap,\n And launched afar on the calm blue deep.\n\nXIX.\n\n The imps of the river yell and rave;\n They had no power above the wave,\n But they heaved the billow before the prow,\n And they dashed the surge against her side,\n And they struck her keel with jerk and blow,\n Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide.\n She wimpled about in the pale moonbeam,\n Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed stream;\n And momently athwart her track\n The quarl upreared his island back,\n And the fluttering scallop behind would float,\n And spatter the water about the boat;\n But he bailed her out with his colen-bell,\n And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread,\n While on every side like lightning fell\n The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade.\n\nXX.\n\n Onward still he held his way,\n Till he came where the column of moonshine lay,\n And saw beneath the surface dim\n The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim:\n Around him were the goblin train\u2014\n But he sculled with all his might and main,\n And followed wherever the sturgeon led,\n Till he saw him upward point his head;\n Then he dropped his paddle blade,\n And held his colen-goblet up\n To catch the drop in its crimson cup.\n\nXXI.\n\n With sweeping tail and quivering fin,\n Through the wave the sturgeon flew,\n And, like the heaven-shot javelin,\n He sprang above the waters blue.\n Instant as the star-fall light,\n He plunged him in the deep again,\n But left an arch of silver bright,\n The rainbow of the moony main.\n It was a strange and lovely sight\n To see the puny goblin there;\n He seemed an angel form of light,\n With azure wing and sunny hair,\n Throned on a cloud of purple fair,\n Circled with blue and edged with white,\n And sitting at the fall of even\n Beneath the bow of summer heaven.\n\nXXII.\n\n A moment, and its lustre fell,\n But ere it met the billow blue,\n He caught within his crimson bell,\n A droplet of its sparkling dew\u2014\n Joy to thee, Fay! thy task is done,\n Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won\u2014\n Cheerily ply the dripping oar,\n And haste away to the elfin shore.\n\nXXIII.\n\n He turns, and lo! on either side\n The ripples on his path divide;\n And the track o\u2019er which his boat must pass\n Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass.\n Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave,\n With snowy arms half swelling out,\n While on the glossed and gleamy wave\n Their sea-green ringlets loosely float;\n They swim around with smile and song;\n They press the bark with pearly hand,\n And gently urge her course along,\n Toward the beach of speckled sand;\n And, as he lightly leaped to land,\n They bade adieu with nod and bow,\n Then gaily kissed each little hand,\n And dropped in the crystal deeps below.\n\nXXIV.\n\n A moment stayed the fairy there;\n He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer,\n Then spread his wings of gilded blue,\n And on to the elfin court he flew;\n As ever ye saw a bubble rise,\n And shine with a thousand changing dyes,\n Till lessening far through ether driven,\n It mingles with the hues of heaven;\n As, at the glimpse of morning pale,\n The lance-fly spreads his silken sail,\n And gleams with blending soft and bright,\n Till lost in the shades of fading night;\n So rose from earth the lovely Fay\u2014\n So vanished, far in heaven away!\n\n ...\n\n Up, Fairy! quit thy chick-weed bower,\n The cricket has called the second hour,\n Twice again, and the lark will rise\n To kiss the streaking of the skies\u2014\n Up! thy charmed armour don,\n Thou\u2019lt need it ere the night be gone.\n\nXXV.\n\n He put his acorn-helmet on;\n It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down;\n The corslet-plate that guarded his breast\n Was once the wild-bees\u2019 golden vest;\n His cloak of a thousand mingled dyes,\n Was formed of the wings of butterflies;\n His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,\n Studs of gold on a ground of green;\n And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,\n Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.\n Swift he bestrode his firefly steed;\n He bared his blade of the bent grass blue;\n He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,\n And away like a glance of thought he flew,\n To skim the heavens and follow far\n The fiery trail of the rocket-star.\n\nXXVI.\n\n The moth-fly, as he shot in air,\n Crept under the leaf, and hid her there;\n The katy-did forgot its lay,\n The prowling gnat fled fast away,\n The fell moscheto checked his drone\n And folded his wings till the Fay was gone,\n And the wily beetle dropped his head,\n And fell on the ground as if he were dead;\n They crouched them close in the darksome shade,\n They quaked all o\u2019er with awe and fear,\n For they had felt the blue-bent blade,\n And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear;\n Many a time on a summer\u2019s night,\n When the sky was clear and the moon was bright,\n They had been roused from the haunted ground,\n By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound;\n They had heard the tiny bugle-horn,\n They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string,\n When the vine-twig boughs were tightly drawn,\n And the nettle shaft through air was borne,\n Feathered with down of the hum-bird\u2019s wing.\n And now they deemed the courier ouphe,\n Some hunter sprite of the elfin ground;\n And they watched till they saw him mount the roof\n That canopies the world around;\n Then glad they left their covert lair,\n And freaked about in the midnight air.\n\nXXVII.\n\n Up to the vaulted firmament\n His path the firefly courser bent,\n And at every gallop on the wind,\n He flung a glittering spark behind;\n He flies like a feather in the blast\n Till the first light cloud in heaven is past,\n But the shapes of air have begun their work,\n And a drizzly mist is round him cast,\n He cannot see through the mantle murk,\n He shivers with cold, but he urges fast,\n Through storm and darkness, sleet, and shade,\n He lashes his steed, and spurs amain,\n For shadowy hands have twitched the rein,\n And flame-shot tongues around him played,\n And near him many a fiendish eye\n Glared with a fell malignity,\n And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear,\n Came screaming on his startled ear.\n His wings are wet around his breast,\n The plume hangs dripping from his crest,\n His eyes are blurred with the lightning\u2019s glare,\n And his ears are stunned with the thunder\u2019s blare,\n But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew,\n He thrust before, and he struck behind,\n Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through,\n And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind;\n Howling the misty spectres flew,\n They rend the air with frightful cries,\n For he has gained the welkin blue,\n And the land of clouds beneath him lies.\n\nXXIX.\n\n Up to the cope careering swift\n In breathless motion fast,\n Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift,\n Or the sea-roc rides the blast,\n The sapphire sheet of eve is shot,\n The sphered moon is past,\n The earth but seems a tiny blot\n On a sheet of azure cast.\n O! it was sweet in the clear moonlight,\n To tread the starry plain of even,\n To meet the thousand eyes of night,\n And feel the cooling breath of heaven;\n But the Elfin made no stop or stay\n Till he came to the bank of the milky-way,\n Then he checked his courser\u2019s foot,\n And watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot.\n\nXXX.\n\n Sudden along the snowy tide\n That swelled to meet their footsteps\u2019 fall,\n The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide,\n Attired in sunset\u2019s crimson pall;\n Around the Fay they weave the dance,\n They skip before him on the plain,\n And one has taken his wasp-sting lance,\n And one upholds his bridle-rein;\n With warblings wild they lead him on\n To where through clouds of amber seen,\n Studded with stars, resplendent shone\n The palace of the sylphid queen.\n Its spiral columns gleaming bright\n Were streamers of the northern light;\n Its curtains\u2019 light and lovely flush\n Was of the morning\u2019s rosy blush,\n And the ceiling fair that rose aboon\n The white and feathery fleece of noon.\n\nXXXI.\n\n But oh! how fair the shape that lay\n Beneath a rainbow bending bright,\n She seemed to the entranced Fay\n The loveliest of the forms of light;\n Her mantle was the purple rolled\n At twilight in the west afar;\n \u2019Twas tied with threads of dawning gold,\n And buttoned with a sparkling star.\n Her face was like the lily roon\n That veils the vestal planet\u2019s hue;\n Her eyes two beamlets from the moon,\n Set floating in the welkin blue.\n Her hair is like the sunny beam,\n And the diamond gems which round it gleam,\n Are the pure drops of dewy even\n That ne\u2019er have left their native heaven.\n\nXXXII.\n\n She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite,\n And they leaped with smiles, for well I ween\n Never before in the bowers of light\n Had the form of an earthly Fay been seen.\n Long she looked in his tiny face;\n Long with his butterfly cloak she played;\n She smoothed his wings of azure lace,\n And handled the tassel of his blade;\n And as he told in accents low\n The story of his love and woe,\n She felt new pains in her bosom rise,\n And the tear-drop started in her eyes.\n And \u201cO, sweet spirit of earth,\u201d she cried,\n \u201cReturn no more to your woodland height,\n But ever here with me abide\n In the land of everlasting light!\n Within the fleecy drift we\u2019ll lie,\n We\u2019ll hang upon the rainbow\u2019s rim,\n And all the jewels of the sky\n Around thy brow shall brightly beam!\n And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream\n That rolls its whitening foam aboon,\n And ride upon the lightning\u2019s gleam,\n And dance upon the orb\u00e9d moon!\n We\u2019ll sit within the Pleiad ring,\n We\u2019ll rest on Orion\u2019s starry belt,\n And I will bid my sylphs to sing\n The song that makes the dew-mist melt;\n Their harps are of the umber shade\n That hides the blush of waking day,\n And every gleamy string is made\n Of silvery moonshine\u2019s lengthened ray;\n And thou shalt pillow on my breast\n While heavenly breathings float around,\n And, with the sylphs of ether blest,\n Forget the joys of fairy ground.\u201d\n\nXXXIII.\n\n She was lovely and fair to see,\n And the Elfin\u2019s heart beat fitfully;\n But lovelier far, and still more fair,\n The earthly form imprinted there;\n Nought he saw in the heavens above\n Was half so dear as his mortal love,\n For he thought upon her looks so meek,\n And he thought of the light flush on her cheek;\n Never again might he bask and lie\n On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye,\n But in his dreams her form to see,\n To clasp her in his revery,\n To think upon his virgin bride\n Was worth all heaven and earth beside.\n\nXXXIV.\n\n \u201cLady,\u201d he cried, \u201cI have sworn to-night\n On the word of a fairy knight,\n To do my sentence-task aright;\n My honour scarce is free from stain,\n I may not soil its snows again;\n Betide me weal, betide me woe,\n Its mandate must be answered now.\u201d\n Her bosom heaved with many a sigh,\n The tear was in her drooping eye;\n But she led him to the palace gate,\n And called the sylphs who hovered there,\n And bade them fly and bring him straight\n Of clouds condensed a sable car.\n With charm and spell she blessed it there,\n From all the fields of upper air;\n Then round him cast the shadowy shroud,\n And tied his steed behind the cloud;\n And pressed his hand as she bade him fly\n Far to the verge of the northern sky,\n For by its wan and wavering light\n There was a star would fall to-night.\n\nXXXV.\n\n Borne afar on the wings of the blast,\n Northward away, he speeds him fast,\n And his courser follows the cloudy wain\n Till the hoof strokes fall like pattering rain.\n The clouds roll backward as he flies,\n Each flickering star behind him lies,\n And he has reached the northern plain,\n And backed his firefly steed again,\n Ready to follow in its flight\n The streaming of the rocket-light.\n\nXXXVI.\n\n The star is yet in the vault of heaven,\n But it rocks in the summer gale;\n And now \u2019tis fitful and uneven,\n And now \u2019tis deadly pale;\n And now \u2019tis wrapped in sulphur smoke,\n And quench\u00e9d is its rayless beam,\n And now with a rattling thunder-stroke\n It bursts in flash and flame.\n As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance\n That the storm-spirit flings from high,\n The star-shot flew o\u2019er the welkin blue,\n As it fell from the sheeted sky.\n As swift as the wind in its trail behind\n The elfin gallops along,\n The fiends of the cloud are bellowing loud,\n But the sylphid charm is strong;\n He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire,\n While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze;\n He watches each flake till its sparks expire,\n And rides in the light of its rays.\n But he drove his steed to the lightning\u2019s speed,\n And caught a glimmering spark;\n Then wheeled around to the fairy ground,\n And sped through the midnight dark.\n\n ...\n\n Ouphe and goblin! imp and sprite!\n Elf of eve! and starry Fay!\n Ye that love the moon\u2019s soft light,\n Hither\u2014hither wend your way;\n Twine ye in a jocund ring,\n Sing and trip it merrily,\n Hand to hand, and wing to wing,\n Round the wild witch-hazel tree.\n\n Hail the wanderer again,\n With dance and song, and lute and lyre,\n Pure his wing and strong his chain,\n And doubly bright his fairy fire.\n Twine ye in an airy round,\n Brush the dew and print the lea;\n Skip and gambol, hop and bound,\n Round the wild witch-hazel tree.\n\n The beetle guards our holy ground,\n He flies about this haunted place,\n And if mortal there be found,\n He hums in his ears and flaps his face:\n The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay,\n The owlet\u2019s eyes our lanterns be;\n Thus we sing, and dance, and play,\n Round the wild witch-hazel tree.\n\n But hark! from tower on tree-top high,\n The sentry elf his call has made,\n A streak is in the Eastern sky,\n Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade!\n The hill-tops gleam in morning\u2019s spring,\n The skylark shakes his dappled wing,\n The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn,\n The cock has crowed, and the Fays are gone.\n\n J. RODMAN DRAKE.\n\n\n\n\nTravels in Fairyland.\n\n\nTHOMAS THE RHYMER.\n\n\nPART FIRST\u2014ANCIENT.\n\n True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank\n A ferlie he spied wi\u2019 his ee;\n And there he saw a ladye bright\n Come riding doun by the Eildon Tree.\n\n Her shirt was o\u2019 the grass-green silk,\n Her mantle o\u2019 the velvet fine;\n At ilka tett o\u2019 her horse\u2019s mane\n Hung fifty siller bells and nine.\n\n True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap,\n And louted low down to his knee,\n \u201cAll hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!\n For thy peer on earth I never did see.\u201d\n\n \u201cO no, O no, Thomas,\u201d she said,\n \u201cThat name does not belang to me;\n I am but the Queen of fair Elfland,\n That am hither come to visit thee.\n\n \u201cHarp and carp, Thomas,\u201d she said;\n \u201cHarp and carp along wi\u2019 me;\n And if ye dare to kiss my lips,\n Sure of your bodie I will be.\u201d\u2014\n\n \u201cBetide me weal, betide me wo,\n That weird shall never daunton me.\u201d\n Syne he has kiss\u2019d her rosy lips,\n All underneath the Eildon Tree.\n\n \u201cNow, ye maun go wi\u2019 me,\u201d she said;\n \u201cTrue Thomas, ye maun go wi\u2019 me;\n And ye maun serve me seven years,\n Thro\u2019 weal or wo as may chance to be.\u201d\n\n She mounted on her milk-white steed;\n She\u2019s ta\u2019en true Thomas up behind:\n And aye, whene\u2019er her bridle rung,\n The steed flew swifter than the wind.\n\n O they rade on, and farther on;\n The steed gaed swifter than the wind;\n Until they reach\u2019d a desert wide,\n And living land was left behind.\n\n \u201cLight down, light down, now, true Thomas,\n And lean your head upon my knee;\n Abide and rest a little space,\n And I will show you ferlies three.\n\n \u201cO see ye not yon narrow road,\n So thick beset with thorns and briers?\n That is the path of righteousness,\n Though after it but few inquires.\n\n \u201cAnd see ye not that braid braid road,\n That lies across that lily leven?\n That is the path of wickedness,\n Though some call it the road to heaven.\n\n \u201cAnd see not ye that bonny road,\n That winds about that fernie brae?\n That is the road to fair Elfland,\n Where thou and I this night maun gae.\n\n \u201cBut, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,\n Whatever ye may hear or see;\n For if you speak word in Elflyn land,\n Y\u2019ll ne\u2019er get back to your ain countrie.\u201d\n\n O they rade on, and farther on,\n And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,\n And they saw neither sun nor moon,\n But they heard the roaring of the sea.\n\n It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,\n And they waded through red blude to the knee;\n For a\u2019 the blude that\u2019s shed on earth\n Rins through the springs o\u2019 that countrie.\n\n Syne they came on to a garden green,\n And she pu\u2019d an apple frae a tree\u2014\n \u201cTake this for thy wages, true Thomas,\n It will give thee the tongue that can never lie.\u201d\n\n \u201cMy tongue is mine ain,\u201d true Thomas said;\n A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!\n I neither dought to buy nor sell,\n At fair or tryst where I may be.\n\n \u201cI dought neither speak to prince or peer,\n Nor ask of grace from fair ladye\u2014\u201d\n \u201cNow hold thy peace!\u201d the lady said,\n \u201cFor as I say, so must it be.\u201d\u2014\n\n He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,\n And a pair of shoes of velvet green;\n And till seven years were gane and past,\n True Thomas on earth was never seen.\n\n\nPART THE SECOND.\n\n When seven years were come and gane,\n The sun blinked fair on pool and stream;\n And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank\n Like one awakened from a dream.\n\n He heard the trampling of a steed,\n He saw the flash of armour flee,\n And he beheld a gallant knight,\n Come riding doun by the Eildon-tree.\n\n He was a stalwart knight, and strong;\n Of giant make he \u2019pear\u2019d to be:\n He stirr\u2019d his horse, as he were wode,\n Wi\u2019 guilded spurs, of fashion free.\n\n Says\u2014\u201cWell met, well met, true Thomas!\n Some uncouth ferlies show to me.\u201d\n Says\u2014\u201cChrist thee save, Corspatrick brave!\n Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me!\u201d\n\n \u201cLight down, light down, Corspatrick brave,\n And I will show thee curses three,\n Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane,\n And change the green to the black livery.\n\n \u201cA storm shall roar this very hour,\n From Ross\u2019s hills to Solway sea\u2014\u201d\n \u201cYe lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar!\n For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea.\u201d\u2014\n\n He put his hand on the Earlie\u2019s head;\n He showed him a rock beside the sea,\n Where a king lay stiff beneath his steed,\n And steel-dight nobles wiped their ee.\n\n \u201cThe neist curse lights on Branxton hills:\n By Hodden\u2019s high and heathery side,\n Shall wave a banner red as blude,\n And chieftains hung wi\u2019 meikle pride.\n\n \u201cA Scottish King shall come full keen,\n The ruddy lion beareth he;\n A feather\u2019d arrow sharp, I ween,\n Shall make him wink and warre to see.\n\n \u201cWhen he is bloody, and all to bledde,\n Thus to his men he still shall say\u2014\n \u2018For God\u2019s sake, turn ye back again,\n And give yon southern folk a fray!\n Why should I lose the right is mine?\n My doom is not to die this day.\u2019\n\n \u201cYet turn ye to the eastern hand,\n And we and wonder ye shall see;\n How forty thousand spearman stand,\n Where yon rank river meets the sea.\n\n \u201cThere shall the lion lose the gylte,\n And the libbards bear it clean away;\n At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be split\n Much gentil bluid that day.\u201d\u2014\n\n \u201cEnough, enough, of curse and ban;\n Some blessings show thou now to me,\n Or, by the faith o\u2019 my bodie,\u201d Corspatrick said,\n \u201cYe shall rue the day ye e\u2019er saw me!\u201d\n\n \u201cThe first of blessings I shall thee show,\n Is by a burn that\u2019s call\u2019d of bread;\n Where Saxon men shall tyne the bow,\n And find their arrows lack the head.\n\n \u201cBeside that brigg, out ower that burn,\n Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,\n Shall many a falling courser spurn,\n And knights shall die in battle keen.\n\n \u201cBeside a headless cross of stone,\n The libbards there shall lose the gree;\n The raven shall come, the erne shall go,\n And drink the Saxon bluid sae free.\n The cross of stone they shall not know,\n So thick the corses there shall be.\u201d\n\n \u201cBut tell me now,\u201d said brave Dunbar,\n \u201cTrue Thomas, tell now unto me,\n What man shall rule the isle Britain,\n Even from the north to the southern sea?\u201d\n\n \u201cA French Queen shall bear the son,\n Shall rule all Britain to the sea;\n He of the Bruce\u2019s blood shall come,\n As near as in the ninth degree.\n\n \u201cThe waters worship shall his race;\n Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;\n For they shall ride over ocean wide,\n With hempen bridles and horse of tree.\u201d\n\n\nPART THE THIRD.\u2014MODERN.\n\n_By Walter Scott._\n\n When seven years more were come and gone,\n Was war through Scotland spread,\n And Ruberslaw show\u2019d high Dunyon\n His beacon blazing red.\n\n Then all by bonny Coldingknow,\n Pitch\u2019d palliounes took their room,\n And crested helms, and spears a-rowe,\n Glanced gaily through the broom.\n\n The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,\n Resounds the ensenzie;\n They roused the deer from Caddenhead,\n To distant Torwoodlee.\n\n The feast was spread in Ercildoune,\n In Learmont\u2019s high and ancient hall:\n And there were knights of great renown,\n And ladies, laced in pall.\n\n Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,\n The music nor the tale,\n Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,\n Nor mantling quaighs of ale.\n\n True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,\n When as the feast was done:\n (In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,\n The elfin harp he won.)\n\n Hush\u2019d were the throng, both limb and tongue,\n And harpers for envy pale;\n And armed lords lean\u2019d on their swords,\n And hearken\u2019d to the tale.\n\n In numbers high, the witching tale\n The prophet pour\u2019d along;\n No after bard might e\u2019er avail\n Those numbers to prolong.\n\n Yet fragments of the lofty strain\n Float down the tide of years,\n As buoyant on the stormy main\n A parted wreck appears.\n\n He sung King Arthur\u2019s Table Round;\n The Warrior of the Lake:\n How courteous Gawaine met the wound,\n And bled for ladies\u2019 sake.\n\n But chief, in gentle Tristrem\u2019s praise,\n The notes melodious swell;\n Was none excell\u2019d in Arthur\u2019s days,\n The Knight of Lionelle.\n\n For Marke, his cowardly uncle\u2019s right,\n A venom\u2019d wound he bore;\n When fierce Morholde he slew in fight,\n Upon the Irish shore.\n\n No art the poison might withstand;\n No medicine could be found,\n Till lovely Isolde\u2019s lily hand\n Had probed the rankling wound.\n\n With gentle hand and soothing tongue\n She bore the leech\u2019s part;\n And while she o\u2019er his sick-bed hung,\n He paid her with his heart.\n\n O fatal was the gift, I ween!\n For, doom\u2019d in evil tide,\n The maid must be rude Cornwall\u2019s queen,\n His cowardly uncle\u2019s bride.\n\n Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard\n In fairy tissue wove;\n Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,\n In gay confusion strove.\n\n The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,\n High-rear\u2019d its glittering head;\n And Avalon\u2019s enchanted vale\n In all its wonders spread.\n\n Brangwain was there, and Segramore,\n And fiend-born Merlin\u2019s gramarye;\n Of that famed wizard\u2019s mighty lore,\n O who could sing but he?\n\n Through many a maze the winning song\n In changeful passion led,\n Till bent at length the listening throng\n O\u2019er Tristrem\u2019s dying bed.\n\n His ancient wounds their scars expand,\n With agony his heart is wrung:\n O where is Isolde\u2019s lily hand,\n And where her soothing tongue?\n\n She comes! she comes!\u2014like flash of flame\n Can lovers\u2019 footsteps fly;\n She comes! She comes!\u2014she only came\n To see her Tristrem die.\n\n She saw him die; her latest sigh\n Joined in a kiss his parting breath;\n The gentlest pair, that Britain bare,\n United are in death.\n\n Then paused the harp: its lingering sound\n Died slowly on the ear;\n The silent guests still bent around,\n For still they seem\u2019d to hear.\n\n Then wo broke forth in murmurs weak:\n Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh:\n But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek\n Did many a gauntlet dry.\n\n On Leader\u2019s stream, and Learmont\u2019s tower,\n The mists of evening close;\n In camp, in castle, or in bower,\n Each warrior sought repose.\n\n Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent,\n Dream\u2019d o\u2019er the woful tale:\n When footsteps light across the bent\n The warrior\u2019s ears assail.\n\n He starts, he wakes;\u2014\u201cWhat, Richard, ho!\n Arise, my page, arise!\n What venturous wight, at dead of night,\n Dare step where Douglas lies!\u201d\u2014\n\n Then forth they rush\u2019d; by Leader\u2019s tide,\n A selcouth sight they see\u2014\n A hart and hind pace side by side,\n As white as snow on Fairnalie.\n\n Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,\n They stately move and slow;\n Nor scare they at the gathering crowd,\n Who marvel as they go.\n\n To Learmont\u2019s tower a message sped,\n As fast as page might run;\n And Thomas started from his bed,\n And soon his clothes did on.\n\n First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;\n Never a word he spake but three;\u2014\n \u201cMy sand is run; my thread is spun;\n This sign regardeth me.\u201d\n\n The elfin harp his neck around,\n In minstrel guise, he hung:\n And on the wind, in doleful sound,\n Its dying accents rung.\n\n Then forth he went; yet turn\u2019d him oft\n To view his ancient hall:\n On the gray tower, in lustre soft,\n The autumn moonbeams fall;\n\n And Leader\u2019s waves, like silver sheen,\n Danced shimmering in the ray;\n In deepening mass, at distance seen,\n Broad Soltra\u2019s mountains lay.\n\n \u201cFarewell, my father\u2019s ancient tower!\n A long farewell,\u201d said he:\n \u201cThe scene of pleasure, pomp, or power,\n Thou never more shalt be.\n\n \u201cTo Learmont\u2019s name no foot of earth\n Shall here again belong,\n And on thy hospitable hearth\n The hare shall leave her young.\n\n \u201cAdieu! adieu!\u201d again he cried,\n All as he turn\u2019d him roun\u2019\u2014\n \u201cFarewell to Leader\u2019s silver tide!\n Farewell to Ercildoune!\u201d\n\n The hart and hind approach\u2019d the place,\n As lingering yet he stood;\n And there, before Lord Douglas\u2019 face,\n With them he cross\u2019d the flood.\n\n Lord Douglas leap\u2019d on his berry-brown steed,\n And spurred him the Leader o\u2019er;\n But though he rode with lightning speed,\n He never saw them more.\n\n Some said to hill, and some to glen,\n Their wond\u2019rous course had been;\n But ne\u2019er in haunts of living men\n Again was Thomas seen.\n\n SIR WALTER SCOTT.\n\n\nKILMENY.\n\n Bonnie Kilmeny gaed up the glen;\n But it wasna to meet Duneira\u2019s men,\n Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see,\n For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.\n It was only to hear the yorling sing,\n And pu\u2019 the cress-flower round the spring;\n The scarlet hypp and the hind-berrye,\n And the nest that hung frae the hazel-tree;\n For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.\n But lang may her minny look o\u2019er the wa\u2019;\n And lang may she seek i\u2019 the greenwood shaw;\n Lang the Laird o\u2019 Duneira blame,\n And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame!\n\n When many lang day had come and fled,\n When grief grew calm and hope was dead,\n When mass for Kilmeny\u2019s soul had been sung,\n When the bedesman had prayed and the dead-bell rung,\n Late, late in a gloaming, when all was still,\n When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,\n The wood was sere, the moon i\u2019 the wane,\n The reek o\u2019 the cot hung o\u2019er the plain,\n Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;\n When the ingle lowed wi\u2019 an eiry leme\u2014\n Late, late in the gloaming, Kilmeny came hame!\n\n \u201cKilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?\n Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean;\n By burn, by ford, by greenwood tree,\n Yet you are halesome and fair to see.\n Where gat ye that joup o\u2019 the lily sheen?\n That bonnie snood o\u2019 the birk sae green?\n And those roses, the fairest that ever were seen?\n Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?\u201d\n\n Kilmeny look\u2019d up wi\u2019 a lovely grace,\n But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny\u2019s face;\n As still was her look, and as still was her e\u2019e,\n As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,\n Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.\n For Kilmeny had been, she kenned not where,\n And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare;\n Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,\n Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew.\n\n But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,\n And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,\n When she spoke of the lovely forms she had seen,\n And a land where sin had never been;\n A land of love and a land of light,\n Withouten sun, or moon, or night,\n Where the river swa\u2019d a living stream,\n And the light a pure and cloudless beam;\n The land of vision it would seem,\n A still, an everlasting dream.\n\n In yon greenwood there is a waik,\n And in that waik there is a wene,\n And in that wene that is a maike;\n That neither has flesh, nor blood, nor bane;\n And down in yon greenwood he walks his lane.\n\n In that green wene Kilmeny lay,\n Her bosom hap\u2019d wi\u2019 flowerets gay;\n But the air was soft, and the silence deep,\n And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep.\n She kenned na mair, nor open\u2019d her e\u2019e,\n Till wak\u2019d by the hymns of a far countrye.\n\n She woke on a couch of silk sae slim,\n All striped wi\u2019 the bars of the rainbow\u2019s rim;\n And lovely beings round were rife,\n Who erst had travelled mortal life;\n And aye they smiled and \u2019gan to speer,\n \u201cWhat spirit hath brought this mortal here?\u201d\n\n \u201cLang have I rang\u2019d the world wide,\u201d\n A meek and reverend fere replied;\n \u201cBaith night and day I have watched the fair,\n Eident a thousand years and mair.\n Yes, I have watched o\u2019er ilk degree,\n Wherever blooms feminitye;\n And sinless virgin, free of stain\n In mind and body, found I nane.\n Never since the banquet of time\n Found I a virgin in her prime,\n Till late this bonnie maiden I saw,\n As spotless as the morning snaw;\n Full twenty years she has lived as free\n As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye:\n I have brought her away from the snares of men,\n That sin or death she never may ken.\u201d\n\n They clasped her waist, and her hands sae fair,\n They kissed her cheeks and they kemmed her hair;\n And round came many a blooming fere,\n Saying, \u201cBonnie Kilmeny, ye\u2019re welcome here!\n Women are freed of the littand scorn,\n O blessed be the day Kilmeny was born!\n Now shall the land of the spirits see,\n Now shall it ken what a woman may be!\n Many lang year, in sorrow and pain,\n Many lang year through the world we\u2019ve gane,\n Commissioned to watch fair woman-kind,\n For it\u2019s they who nurse the immortal mind.\n We have watched their steps as the dawning shone,\n And deep in the greenwood walks alone;\n By lily bower and silken bed,\n The viewless tears have been o\u2019er them shed;\n Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep,\n Or left the couch of love to weep.\n We have seen, we have seen! but the time maun come,\n And the angels will weep at the day of doom!\n\n \u201cO would the fairest of mortal kind\n Aye keep these holy truths in mind,\n That kindred spirits their motions see,\n Who watch their ways with anxious e\u2019e,\n And grieve for the guilt of humanitye!\n O, sweet to Heaven the maiden\u2019s prayer,\n And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair!\n And dear to heaven the words of truth\n And the praise of virtue from beauty\u2019s mouth!\n And dear to the viewless forms of air,\n The mind that kythes as the body fair.\n\n \u201cO, bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain,\n If ever you seek the world again,\n That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear,\n O tell of the joys that are waiting here;\n And tell of the signs you shall shortly see;\n Of the times that are now, and the times that shall be.\u201d\n\n They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,\n And she walked in the light of a sunless day;\n The sky was a dome of crystal bright,\n The fountain of vision and fountain of light;\n The emerant fields were of dazzling glow,\n And the flowers of everlasting blow.\n Then deep in the stream her body they laid,\n That her youth and her beauty never might fade;\n And they smil\u2019d on Heaven when they saw her lie\n In the stream of life that wandered by.\n And she heard a song, she heard it sung,\n She ken\u2019d not where, but sae sweetly it rung,\n It fell on the ear like a dream of the morn,\u2014\n \u201cO, blest be the day that Kilmeny was born!\n Now shall the land of the spirits see,\n Now shall it ken what a woman may be!\n The sun that shines on the world sae bright,\n A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light;\n And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun,\n Like a gouden bow or a beamless sun,\n Shall wear away and be seen nae mair,\n And the angels shall miss them travelling the air.\n But lang, lang after, baith nicht and day,\n When the sun and the world have fled away;\n When the sinner has gone to his waesome doom,\n Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!\u201d\n\n They bore her away, she wist not how,\n For she felt not arm nor rest below;\n But so swift they wained her through the light,\n \u2019Twas like the motion of sound or sight;\n They seemed to split the gales of air,\n And yet nor gale nor breeze was there.\n Unnumbered groves below them grew,\n They came, they passed, and backward flew,\n Like floods of blossoms gliding on,\n A moment seen, in a moment gone.\n Ah! never vales to mortal view\n Appeared like those o\u2019er which they flew,\n That land to human spirits given,\n The lowermost vales of the storied heaven;\n From thence they can view the world below,\n And heaven\u2019s blue gates with sapphires glow,\n More glory yet unmeet to know.\n\n They bore her far to a mountain green,\n To see what mortal never had seen,\n And they seated her high on a purple sward,\n And bade her heed what she saw and heard,\n And note the changes the spirits wrought,\n For now she lives in the land of thought.\n She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies,\n But a crystal dome of a thousand dyes:\n She looked, and she saw nae land aright,\n But an endless whirl of glory and light,\n And radiant beings went and came,\n Far swifter than wind, or the link\u00e8d flame.\n She hid her e\u2019en frae the dazzling view;\n She looked again, and the scene was new.\n She saw a sun in a summer sky,\n And clouds of amber sailing by;\n A lovely land beneath her lay,\n And that land had lakes and mountains grey;\n And that land had valleys and hoary piles,\n And marled seas and a thousand isles.\n Its fields were speckled, its forests green,\n And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen,\n Like magic mirrors, where shining lay,\n The sun, and the sky, and the cloudlet grey;\n Which heaved and trembled and gently swung,\n On every shore they seemed to be hung:\n For there they were seen on their downward plain\n A thousand times and a thousand again;\n In winding lake and placid firth,\n Like peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth.\n\n Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve,\n For she found her heart to that land did cleave;\n She saw the corn wave in the vale;\n She saw the deer run down the dale;\n She saw the plaid and the broad claymore,\n And the brows that the badge of freedom bore,\u2014\n And she thought she had seen the land before.\n\n She saw a lady sit on a throne,\n The fairest that ever the sun shone on:\n A lion licked her hand of milk,\n And she held him in a leish of silk;\n And a leifu\u2019 maiden stood at her knee,\n With a silver wand and melting e\u2019e;\n Her sovereign shield till love stole in,\n And poisoned all the fount within.\n Then a gruff, untoward bedesman came,\n And hundit the lion on his dame;\n And the guardian maid wi\u2019 the dauntless e\u2019e,\n She dropped a tear, and left her knee;\n And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled,\n Till the bonniest flower o\u2019 the world lay dead;\n A coffin was set on a distant plain,\n And she saw the red blood fall like rain;\n Then bonny Kilmeny\u2019s heart grew sair,\n And she turned away, and could look nae mair.\n\n Then the gruff, grim carle girned amain,\n And they trampled him down, but he rose again;\n And he bated the lion to deeds of weir,\n Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear;\n And, weening his head was danger preef,\n When crowned with the rose and clover leaf,\n He gowled at the carle, and chased him away,\n To feed wi\u2019 the deer on the mountain grey.\n He gowled at the carl, and he gecked at heaven,\n But his mark was set and his arles given,\n Kilmeny a while her e\u2019en withdrew;\n She looked again, and the scene was new.\n\n She saw before her fair unfurled\n One-half of all the glowing world,\n Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran,\n To bound the aims of sinful man.\n She saw a people, fierce and fell,\n Burst frae their bonds like fiends of hell;\n There lilies grew, and the eagle flew:\n And she herk\u00e8d on her ravening crew,\n Till the cities and towers were wrapped in a blaze,\n And the thunder it roared o\u2019er the lands and the seas.\n The widows wailed, and the red blood ran,\n And she threatened an end to the race of man;\n She never loved, nor stood in awe,\n Till caught by the lion\u2019s deadly paw.\n Oh! then the eagle swinked for life,\n And brainzelled up a mortal strife;\n But flew she north, or flew she south,\n She met wi\u2019 the gowl o\u2019 the lion\u2019s mouth.\n\n With a mooted wing and waefu\u2019 maen,\n The eagle sought her eiry again:\n But lang may she cower in her bloody nest,\n And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast,\n Before she sey another flight,\n To play wi\u2019 the norland lion\u2019s might.\n\n But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw,\n So far surpassing nature\u2019s law,\n The singer\u2019s voice wad sink away,\n And the string of his harp wad cease to play.\n But she saw till the sorrows of man were by,\n And all was love and harmony;\u2014\n Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away,\n Like flakes of snaw on a winter day.\n\n Then Kilmeny begged again to see\n The friends she had left in her ain countrie,\n To tell of the place where she had been,\n And the glories that lay in the land unseen;\n To warn the living maidens fair,\n The loved of heaven, the spirits\u2019 care,\n That all whose minds unmeled remain\n Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane.\n With distant music, soft and deep,\n They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep;\n And when she awakened, she lay her lane,\n All happed with flowers, in the greenwood wene.\n When seven long years had come and fled,\n When grief was calm, and hope was dead,\n When scarce was remembered Kilmeny\u2019s name,\n Late, late in a gloamin\u2019 Kilmeny came hame.\n And O, her beauty was fair to see,\n But still and steadfast was her e\u2019e!\n Such beauty bard may never declare,\n For there was no pride nor passion there;\n And the soft desire of maiden\u2019s e\u2019en\n In that mild face could never be seen.\n Her seymar was the lily flower,\n And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;\n And her voice like the distant melodye\n That floats along the twilight sea.\n But she loved to raike the lanely glen,\n And keep afar frae the haunts of men,\n Her holy hymns unheard to sing,\n To suck the flowers, and drink the spring;\n But wherever her peaceful form appeared\n The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;\n The wolf played blithely round the field,\n The lordly byson lowed and kneeled;\n The dun deer wooed with manner bland,\n And cowered beneath her lily hand.\n And when at eve the woodlands rung,\n When hymns of other worlds she sung\n In ecstacy of sweet devotion,\n O, then the glen was all in motion!\n The wild beasts of the forest came,\n Broke from their boughs and faulds the tame,\n And goved around, charmed and amazed;\n Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,\n And murmured, and looked with anxious pain\n For something the mystery to explain.\n The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;\n The corby left her houf in the rock;\n The blackbird alang wi\u2019 the eagle flew;\n The hind came tripping over the dew;\n The wolf and the kid their raike began,\n And the kid and the lamb and the leveret ran;\n The hawk and the hern attour them hung,\n And the merle and the mavis forhooyed their young;\n And all in a peaceful ring were hurled\u2014\n It was like an eve in a sinless world!\n\n When a month and a day had come and gane,\n Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene;\n There laid her down on the leaves sae green,\n And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.\n But O, the words that fell frae her mouth\n Were words of wonder, and words of truth!\n But all the land were in fear and dread,\n For they kendna whether she was living or dead.\n It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain;\n She left this world of sorrow and pain,\n And returned to the land of thought again.\n\n JAMES HOGG.\n\n\nA FAIRY TALE.\n\n Once in days of yore a little Princess, who had summers seen\n Scarcely seven, and was christened by the holy name Christine,\n Found herself, at eve, disporting in a fairy ring of green.\n She had left the kingly castle; left her sire\u2019s and mother\u2019s side,\n Left the banquet, where her brother feasted with his royal bride;\n And had rambled to the forest valley, \u2019neath the summer moon,\n Where she crossed the charm\u00e8d circle, aught thereof unknowing. Soon\n Overwearied there she rested, wishing what might come to pass,\n When by chance her hand alighted on a tuft of clover-grass.\n This she grasped, a tiny handful:\u2014Ah! Saint Mary! what she saw!\u2014\n Mounted on their milk-white palfreys, issuing from the shady shawe,\n Came the fairies, caracolling gaily as they passed along;\n Then, dismounting, closed around her in a bright and joyous throng;\n Ladylings and lordlings dancing, piping, harping, full of song.\n Clad in robes of silken silver, golden gossamer a few,\n Decked with jewels bright as starlets, bright as berries, bright as dew;\n Some in kirtle, scarf, and doublet, all of verdant forest hue.\n\n Lovers there she saw, arm-twining, in the wild wood\u2019s shadowy slade;\n There some woful knight was kneeling at the feet of haughty maid;\n Here was feasting, there was music; many a cunning prank was played.\n Suddenly, the stateliest of them, he that most a monarch seemed,\n (Cap of crimson his, and mantle like an emerald that beamed)\n When he spied the gentle maiden, smiling on the merry scene;\n \u201cHo! my lords and ladies!\u201d cried he, \u201cwist ye who with us hath been?\n Lo! a mortal stands among us; fairer than a fairy she;\n Let us speak with her a moment; questioning belongs to me.\u201d\n\n Straight the jocund throng desisted from their pastime and their play,\n While the king of all the fairies to the childling thus \u2019gan say:\u2014\n\n \u201cLovely mortal! wilt thou, wilt thou quit with us thy childhood\u2019s\n bowers,\n And in our enchanted Eden wander through a world of flowers?\n All delights that thou hast dreamed of, gathered there shall be, and\n thine;\n Flowers that fade not, games that end not, skies that always mildliest\n shine;\n Kneaded cates of amber honey, and the rosebud\u2019s dewy wine;\n Wreaths of jewels, combs of silver, beads and bracelets all of gold,\n And a diamond girdle round thee; mine I give thee now, behold!\n Bowls of rubies thou shalt sip from, and from crystal tables dine,\n And, at eve, on lily leaves, and mingled violets recline;\n Wilt thou with me, sweet one, tell me!\u201d \u201cKing,\u201d she answered, \u201cI am\n thine.\u201d\n All the fairy court with rapture danced when thus they heard her say;\n \u201cNoble chieftain, child of beauty, let us haste,\u201d they cried, \u201caway!\u201d\n\n \u201cSeal the covenant first,\u201d quoth Oberon; and a magic cup of wine\n Straight was brought him, when the king bethought him of the charm\n divine,\n Which the eyes of life had opened, to perceive their secret line.\n Deep within the rosy goblet he the four-fold leaflet dipped,\n Drank thereof, and to the damsel gave it; daintily she sipped.\n\n Then to horse; the gallant knighthood lift their ladies to the sells;\n Every steed was shod with silver, every bridle hung with bells,\n Like the lilies of the valley, only all of silver. Swells\n Soft the moonlight air with strains aforetime never heard;\n More sweet than tone of nymph, or muse, or god, to both preferred.\n\n So they ambled on until they reached a green and grove-crowned hill,\n Which, without a gate, they entered, opening at the monarch\u2019s will:\n Then the portals closed upon her; woe is me for that dear child,\n \u2019Mid the insubstantial regions of the fairies thus beguiled.\n\n Streams of bubbling gold flowed round her; fountains flung their diamond\n spray,\n O\u2019er the fields a pearl-dew glistened; polished loadstone paved the way;\n Trees were leafed with golden florins; daisies chimed like silver\n crowns,\n Musical and odorous breezes breathed across the velvet downs.\n Soon they neared the regal palace twinkling in the a\u00ebry dyes,\n Lilac, pearl, and beryl blended, of that country\u2019s sunless skies;\n While the fay-queen and her ladies, with their flower-robed damsels\n fair,\n Came forthright to greet her crowned spouse, and royal guestling there.\n\n From the centre of the high dome swung a topaz solar bright,\n Which through all the palace darted gleams of glad and glorious light,\n Emerald lamplets ranked around it, tempered this with cooler ray;\n While, without, the welkin poured one pale and ever-dawning day.\n There the feast was flowing ever; stream-like music ceaseless played;\n There the dance was always weaving; minstrels chanting in the shade;\n There for aye the chase was bounding over dale and hill and plain,\n And fair Christine, on hound-high steed, the foremost of the elfin\n train.\n Still she saddened when she minded of the simple garlands she\n Wove of wild rose and of woodbine, with her playmates on the lea;\n And the hazel and brown beech nut which they gathered from the tree.\n What though clad in jewelled raiment, trilling, tripping, day and night,\n What though ply\u2019d with queenly dainties, what though culling gold-blooms\n bright,\n Never in the feast delicious, nor the dance\u2019s \u2019wildering whirl,\n Nor the wine-cups merry orbit, could forget that lonely girl\n The ancient hall where dwelled her sire, and, where, too, from her\n mother\u2019s side,\n She, one summer\u2019s eve, had stolen forth into the forest wide.\n\n \u201cDrink the dew,\u201d the Fairy Fate said, \u201cthat the poppy lends repose,\n Mingled with the fragrant nectar chaliced in the golden rose.\u201d\n Then she drank the draught Lethean from the bowl with flowerets crowned,\n Flaming flowers, that all remembrance of her past existence drowned;\n Thus, with lustres vainly lapsing, to perpetual childhood bound.\n Never moon there marked the season; sun ne\u2019er shadowed forth the time;\n Years themselves were undistinguished in that soft and listless clime.\n\n Now where mines of gold and silver branch, in many a gleaming vein,\n Through the bosom of the mountain, \u2019neath the many leagu\u00e9d plain;\n Where jasper and cornelian clear and alabaster pure,\n And purple spars and glass-bright rocks the glittering caves immure,\n She roamed; and all the virtues learned of every potent gem\n Or mystic or medicinal; all gifts that unto them\n Pertained of causing love, or hate, or infinite delight,\n Imperial wealth, tyrannic state, long life, and beauty bright;\n These into an armlet stringing, ruby, sapphire, emerald, pearl,\n Threaded on the sunny tendril of one desultory curl,\n As an amulet Titania gave to her, the spell-bound girl.\n\n Through the dwarf-king\u2019s wondrous regions she with him delighted\n strayed;\n Rings and charms and magic weapons he for her, love-smitten, made.\n Blythely oft beneath the seas she roved with mermaids from their caves,\n Arched, with amber, pearl and ivory roofs, whose floor bright coral\n paves;\n And oft, too, when the fairy court, for pleasure, or for pride,\n Would seek the cooling streams that lave earth\u2019s plains and meadows\n wide,\n The water spirits, in their arms, the darling maid would fold,\n And hidden things of years to come mysteriously they told:\n There she viewed in crystal vases souls of hapless wretches drowned,\n Which from their pellucid prisons she with holy zeal unbound;\n Upward sprang the sprites with joyful some, and some with mournful\n sound.\n With the sylphs in air she sported; with the golden-palaced gnome,\n Earth embosomed, or the light elves in their rainbow-clouded home.\n Ofttimes with the Elle-King rode she, in his chariot, o\u2019er the main,\n While his martial band, with sea-conchs, blew the war-inspiring strain;\n Then upon the headlands landing, counted o\u2019er the frosty meads,\n Royal droves of great blue kine, lipping the ice-dew of weeds.\n\n \u2019Gainst the fairies of the fire she with tidal spirits waged\n War; and earth, and air, and ocean felt how fierce the battle raged.\n High she shook her shining falchion, pliant as the rushen plant,\n Falchion her dwarf-lover forged her, hard and bright as adamant;\n Fighting by the Elle-King\u2019s side, there she the lord of fireland slew;\n All the hosts of fire were routed; crowned her queen the conquering\n crew;\n Back to fairyland she hasted; home her train in triumph drew.\n\n King and spouse majestic welcome gave her, on her glad return;\n And a thousand tongues besought that her adventures they might learn.\n This she grants; and lo! a banquet, by unheard command is seen,\n Instantaneously furnished on the flower-embroidered green.\n On the east hand of her liege lord sat the bright, the brave Christine;\n On the west divine Titania, night\u2019s incomparable queen;\n Then the Victress told Sir Oberon all she had done, and where had been;\n\n How from end to end of faerie she had passed, below, above,\n Scathless by the spells the dwarf-king gave her in his days of love;\n How had dealt with Nisses, Noks, and Kobolds, Kelpies, Norns, and\n Trolls;\n How with Peris fared, and Shadim, Afrits, Ogres, Deevs and Ghouls;\n She had travelled in the whirlwind; for no harm to her might fall,\n Who had talismans and virtues could enchant or vanquish all;\u2014\n How the Elle-chief\u2019s broad dominions scarred by war, she sad, beheld;\n How with hosts of fire they fought, and how the first of foes she\n quelled;\n How, she said, in God she trusted;\u2014at that word the banquet ceased;\n Shrieked and vanished all the fa\u00ebrie, save the king who bade the feast.\n\n Silent sate the maid and monarch many a moment, till, quoth he,\n \u201cKnowest thou not, unhappy child, the woe thou hast wrought in fa\u00ebrie?\n Know\u2019st thou not that by the name which elfin tongue hath never passed,\n When so uttered, we are scattered, dust-like by the tempest\u2019s blast;\n Know\u2019st thou not that we be spirits, doomed to linger here, unchanged,\n In the sunless land of Fa\u00ebrie, from the light of heaven estranged,\n Till with promise of salvation, we be blessed by holy priest,\n Or some sinless mortal give us hope to be at last released?\n Till the universal judgment we, the viewless sons of Eve,\n Wander in the hollow underworld, unable to believe,\n Till we hold the great assurance, for the lack whereof we grieve.\n\n Still as we of sin were guiltless, save the sin inherited\n From our mother\u2019s first transgression, ere the floods abroad were\n spread,\n He, the great Creator, hid us in the bosom-shades of earth,\n And forbade that in the sunlight ever we should journey forth.\u201d\n \u201cBounteous is He,\u201d said the maiden, \u201cof illimitable grace;\n Nor would He have hid ye here, if good He meant not to your race.\u201d\n \u201cAh, alas! then, why delayeth He his merciful command?\u201d\n Sighed the fairy; \u201csooner blossom shall the sceptre in my hand;\u201d\n Saying,\u2014in the mold he wildly struck his white and star-tipped wand.\n\n Scarce had he the sad word uttered when the peeled and polished rod\n Bourgeoned forth in buds and blossoms, rooted in the mossy sod;\n \u201cLo! a miracle,\u201d said Christine; \u201ctrust ye henceforth, too, in God.\n Rest ye sure His mercy broodeth over all the souls He made.\u201d\n \u201cWe are spirits,\u201d groaned the fairy, \u201cgreatly of our end afraid;\n Though a flickering hope inspires us with belief that we shall be\n Joined, at last, with Him and Heaven, in His boundless clemencie.\u201d\n \u201cBe it,\u201d said she; \u201cknew not I, nathless, so saintly your desire;\n And if mine your royal sanction to reseek my loving sire,\n He within his walls sustains, for mercy\u2019s sake, a godly frere,\n Who to pious aspirations ever lends a pitying ear;\n And will grant His sacred blessing to your nation; doubt it ne\u2019er;\n He will bless whate\u2019er loves me; for I to him was alway dear.\u201d\n\n \u201cSpeed thee earthwards,\u201d said the sovran, \u201cspeed thee, dearest child of\n light;\u201d\n On the instant, hosts of fairies warbling, darted into sight.\n Airs delicious, such as mortal never heard from human hands,\n Whispered loud from golden clarions, harped on strings of silver\n strands,\n Strains triumphant, thrilled and echoed through those dim enchanted\n lands.\n \u201cSpeed thee, heart of love,\u201d they faltered, \u201cspeed thee on thy\n star-taught way;\n Bring to Oberon and his people hope of heaven and peace for aye.\u201d\n \u201cAh! farewell, ye good and loyal,\u201d said the princess, stepping forth,\n \u201cNe\u2019er shall I forget your bounties, never see surpassed your worth;\n If not pure enough for heaven, ye are far too pure for earth.\u201d\n\n Towards the limits far of Fa\u00ebrie quick their anxious course they took,\n And the hill she entered first self-opened like a magic book;\n Forth she peeped, and backward turning to bestow one farewell look,\n Nothing saw she, nothing heard she, save a low and e\u00ebrie wail\n With the rustle of the greenwood blending and the sunset gale.\n\n All was changed; and she, deep sighing, tottered on her lonesome way,\n Till she neared a stunted hamlet; children at their twilight play,\n As she stooped to raise a withering rosebud, by the path that lay,\n Shyly tittering; thus she spake them; \u201cLaugh ye at my fresh-pulled\n roses?\u201d\n \u201cWe laughed to see an old, old beldame picking up our cast off posies,\u201d\n Said they; but she understood no word of what the bantlings uttered;\n And again they mouthed and mocked at that they said the old crone\n muttered.\n\n Soon she came where, blind with dotage, propped on staff, an old man\n stood;\n All his tresses white with age as with its snows a wintry wood.\n \u201cGaffer,\u201d said she, \u201cwhere\u2019s the castle, that on yonder mountain piled\n Held the prince unpeered in honour? Late I left it, foolish child!\u201d\n Mused a moment, recollecting; presently, the old man smiled:\n \u201cSecond childhood then I fancy must at least, good dame, be thine;\n I alone in all the region mind me of that lordly line;\n I alone some words remember of the tongue that then was spoke,\n By the noble race that here dwelt, ere they felt war\u2019s iron yoke.\n King, peer, peasant, all were conquered, all uprooted at a blow;\n One disastrous battle gave the country to a foreign foe;\n Slain or banished all; but that\u2019s well-nigh a hundred years ago.\n\n \u201cYonder castle\u2019s crumbling ruin saw its lord, though dauntless, fall;\n Dame and daughter he beheld both slain; in vain his vassals all,\n In vain his son for crown and bride fought; he was left an idiot thrall.\n On the evening of his bridal, souls of war, those sea-kings came,\n And, ere midnight, tower and town were all engulphed in gory flame.\n Save the holy chaplain, none of all that princely house remained,\n And myself, the humblest menial, on the lands where once they reigned.\n He, in rock-hewn hermit\u2019s cavern, life, with passion undefiled,\n Wore away, in trances murmuring blessings on some wandered child,\n Daughter of his Lord, \u2019twas counted, by the cursed invading host\n Killed; or wiled away by fairies; howsoe\u2019er, the child was lost.\n Twenty winters since his clay from mine to earth\u2019s cold arms was given;\n And so long his blessed spirit has been with the saints in heaven.\u201d\n\n \u201cHold,\u201d she cried, \u201cI hear a weeping; I no longer love the light;\u201d\n Back she started, and departed straightways through the deepening night.\n In the hill she heard a wailing and a sobbing sad and deep;\n And the crash of thousand harpstrings hands of desperation sweep;\n Then she laid her down, and, praying, slept the long unmorrowing sleep.\n\n PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.\n\n\nTHE CONQUEST OF FAIRYLAND.\n\n There reigned a king in the land of Persia, mighty and great was he\n grown,\n On the necks of the kings of the conquered earth he builded up his\n throne.\n\n There sate a king on the throne of Persia; and he was grown so proud\n That all the life of the world was less, to him, than a passing cloud.\n\n He reigned in glory: joy and sorrow lying between his hands.\n If he sighed a nation shook, his smile ripened the harvest of lands.\n\n He was the saddest man beneath the everlasting sky,\n For all his glories had left him old, and the proudest king must die.\n\n He who was even as God to all the nations of men,\n Must die as the merest peasant dies, and turn into earth again.\n\n And his life with the fear of death was bitter and sick and accursed,\n As brackish water to drink of which is to be for ever athirst.\n\n The hateful years rolled on and on, but once it chanced at noon\n The drowsy court was thrilled to gladness, it echoed so sweet a tune.\n\n Low as the lapping of the sea, as the song of the lark is clear,\n Wild as the moaning of pine branches; the king was fain to hear.\n\n \u201cWhat is the song, and who is the singer?\u201d he said; \u201cbefore the throne\n Let him come, for the songs of the world are mine, and all but this are\n known.\u201d\n\n Seven mighty kings went out the Minstrel man to find:\n And all they found was a dead cypress soughing in the wind.\n\n And slower still, and sadder still the heavy winters rolled,\n And the burning summers waned away, and the king grew very old;\n\n Dull, worn, feeble, bent; and once he thought, \u201cTo die\n Were rest, at least.\u201d And, as he thought, the music wandered by.\n\n Into the presence of the king, singing, the singer came,\n And his face was like the spring in flower, his eyes were clear as\n flame.\n\n \u201cWhat is the song you play, and what the theme your praises sing?\n It is sweet; I knew not I owned a thing so sweet,\u201d said the weary king.\n\n \u201cI sing my country,\u201d said the singer, \u201ca land that is sweeter than\n song.\u201d\n \u201cWhich of my kingdoms is your country? Thither would I along.\u201d\n\n \u201cGreat, O king, is thy power, and the earth a footstool for thy feet;\n But my country is free, and my own country, and oh, my country is\n sweet!\u201d\n\n The eyes of the king, as he heard, grew young and alive with fire:\n \u201cSo, is there left on the earth a thing to strive for, a thing to\n desire?\n\n \u201cWhere is thy country? tell me, O singer! speak thine innermost heart!\n Leave thy music! speak plainly! Speak\u2014forget thine art!\u201d\n\n The eyes of the singer shone as he sang, and his voice rang wild and\n free\n As the elemental wind or the uncontrollable sobs of the sea.\n\n \u201cO for my distant home!\u201d he sighed; \u201cOh, alas! away and afar\n I watch thee now as a lost sailor watches a shining star.\n\n \u201cOh that a wind would take me there! that a bird would set me down\n Where the golden streets shine red at sunset in my father\u2019s town!\n\n \u201cFor only in dreams I see the faces of the women there,\n And fain would I hear them singing once, braiding their ropes of hair.\n\n \u201cOh I am thirsty and long to drink of the river of life, and I\n Am fain to find my own country, where no man shall die.\u201d\n\n Out of the light of the throne, the king looked down: as in the spring\n The green leaves burst from their dusky buds, so was hope in the eyes\n of the king.\n\n \u201cLo,\u201d he said, \u201cI will make thee great; I will make thee mighty in sway\n Even as I; but the name of thy country speak, and the place and the\n way.\u201d\n\n \u201cOh, the way to my country is ever north till you pass the mouth of\n hell,\n Past the limbo of dreams and the desolate land where shadows dwell.\n\n \u201cAnd when you have reached the fount of wonder, you ford the waters wan\n To the land of elves and the land of fairies, enchanted Masinderan.\u201d\n\n The singer ceased; and the lyre in his hand snapped, as a cord, in\n twain;\n And neither lyre nor singer was seen in the kingdom of Persia again.\n\n And all the nobles gazed astounded; no man spoke a word\n Till the old King said: \u201cCall out my armies; bring me hither a sword!\u201d\n\n As a little torrent swollen by snows is turned to a terrible stream,\n So the gathering voices of all his countries cried to the king in his\n dream.\n\n Crying, \u201cFor thee, O our king, for thee, we had freely and willingly\n died,\n Warriors, martyrs, what thou wilt; not that our lives betide\n\n \u201cThe worth of a thought to the king, but rather, O ruler, because thy\n rod\n Is over our heads, as over thine is the changeless will of God.\n\n \u201cRather for this we beseech thee, O master, for thine own sake refrain\n From the blasphemous madness of pride, from the fever of impious gain.\u201d\n\n \u201cYou seek my death\u201d the king thundered; \u201cyou cry, Forbear to save\n The life of a king too old to frolic; let him drowse in the grave.\n\n \u201cBut I will live for all your treason; and, by my own right hand!\n I will set out this day with you to conquer Fairyland!\u201d\n\n Then all the nations paled aghast, for the battle to begin\n Was a war with God, and a war with death, and they knew the thing was\n sin.\n\n Sick at heart they gathered together, but none denounced the wrong,\n For the will of God was unseen, unsaid, and the will of the king was\n strong.\n\n So the air grew bright with spears, and the earth shook under the tread\n Of the mighty horses harnessed for battle; the standards flaunted red.\n\n And the wind was loud with the blare of trumpets, and every house was\n void\n Of the strength and stay of the house, and the peace of the land\n destroyed.\n\n And the growing corn was trodden under the weight of arm\u00e8d feet,\n And every woman in Persia cursed the sound of a song too sweet,\n\n Cursed the insensate longing for life in the heart of a sick old man;\n But the King of Persia with all his armies marched on Masinderan.\n\n Many a day they marched in the sun till their silver armour was lead\n To sink their bodies into the grave, and many a man fell dead.\n\n And they passed the mouth of hell, and the shadowy country gray,\n Where the air is mist and the people mist and the rain more real than\n they.\n\n And they came to the fount of wonder, and forded the waters wan,\n And the King of Persia and all his armies marched on Masinderan.\n\n And they turned the rivers to blood, and the fields to a ravaged camp,\n Till they neared the golden faery town, that burned in the dusk as a\n lamp.\n\n And they shouted and shouted for joy, to see it stand so nigh,\n Given into their hands for spoil; and their hearts beat proud and high.\n\n The armies longed for the morrow, to conquer the shining town,\n For there was no death in the land, neither any to strike them down.\n\n And the hosts were many in numbers, mighty, and skilled in the strife,\n And they lusted for gold and conquest as the old king lusted for life.\n\n Till, gazing on the golden place, night took them unaware,\n And black and windy grew the skies, and black the eddying air\u2014\n\n So long the night and black the night that fell upon their eyes,\n They quaked with fear, those mighty hosts; the sun would never rise.\n\n Darkness and deafening sounds confused the black, tempestuous air,\n And no man saw his neighbour\u2019s face, nor heard his neighbour\u2019s prayer.\n\n And wild with terror the mad battalions fell on each other in fight,\n The ground was strewn with wounded men, mad in the horrible night\u2014\n\n Mad with eternal pain, with darkness and stabbing blows\n Rained on all sides from invisible hands till the ground was red as a\n rose.\n\n And, though he were longing for rest, none ventured to pause from the\n strife,\n Lest haply another wound be his to poison his hateful life.\n\n And the king entreated death; and for peace the armies prayed;\n But the gifts of God are everlasting, His word is not gainsayed.\n\n Gold and battle are given the hosts, their boon is turned to a ban,\n And the curse of the king is to live forever in conquered Masinderan.\n\n A. MARY F. ROBINSON.\n\n\n\n\nMen and Fairies.\n\n\nTHE APPROACH OF TITANIA.\n\nPUCK.\n\n Now the hungry lion roars,\n And the wolf behowls the moon!\n Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,\n All with weary task fordone.\n Now the wasted brands do glow,\n Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,\n Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,\n In remembrance of a shroud.\n Now it is the time of night\n That the graves, all gaping wide,\n Every one lets forth his sprite,\n In the churchyard paths to glide:\n And we fairies, that do run\n By the triple Hecate\u2019s team,\n From the presence of the sun,\n Following darkness like a dream,\n Now are frolic: not a mouse\n Shall disturb this hallowed house:\n I am sent with broom before,\n To sweep the dust behind the door.\n\n_Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train._\n\nOBERON.\n\n Through this house give glimmering light,\n By the dead and drowsy fire:\n Every elf and fairy sprite\n Hop as light as bird from briar;\n And this ditty, after me,\n Sing, and dance it trippingly.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n First rehearse this song by rote:\n To each word a warbling note,\n Hand in hand, with fairy grace,\n Will we sing, and bless this place.\n\n_Song and Dance._\n\nOBERON.\n\n Now, until the break of day,\n Through this house each fairy stray;\n To the best bride-bed will we,\n Which by us shall blessed be;\n And the issue there create\n Ever shall be fortunate;\n So shall all the couples three\n Ever true in loving be:\n And the blots of nature\u2019s hand\n Shall not in their issue stand;\n Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,\n Nor mark prodigious, such as are\n Despised in nativity,\n Shall upon their children be.\u2014\n With this field-dew consecrate,\n Every fairy take his gait;\n And each several chamber bless,\n Through this palace with sweet peace:\n E\u2019er shall it in safety rest,\n And the owner of it blest.\n Trip away;\n Make no stay:\n Meet me all by break of day.\n\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\nA FAIRY TALE IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE.\n\n In Britain\u2019s Isle, in Arthur\u2019s days,\n When midnight fairies daunc\u2019d the maze,\n Liv\u2019d Edwin of the Green;\n Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,\n Endow\u2019d with courage, sense, and truth,\n Though badly shap\u2019d he\u2019d been.\n\n His mountain back mote well be said,\n To measure height against his head,\n And lift itself above;\n Yet, spite of all that Nature did\n To make his uncouth form forbid,\n This creature dar\u2019d to love.\n\n He felt the charms of Edith\u2019s eyes,\n Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,\n Could ladies look within;\n But one Sir Topaz dress\u2019d with art,\n And, if a shape could win a heart,\n He had a shape to win.\n\n Edwin, if right I read my song,\n With slighted passion pac\u2019d along\n All in the moony light;\n \u2019Twas near an old enchanted court,\n Where sportive fairies made resort\n To revel out the night.\n\n His heart was drear, his hope was cross\u2019d,\n \u2019Twas late, \u2019twas far, the path was lost\n That reach\u2019d the neighbour town;\n With weary steps he quits the shades,\n Resolv\u2019d, the darkling dome he treads,\n And drops his limbs adown.\n\n But scant he lays him on the floor\n When hollow winds remove the door,\n And trembling rocks the ground:\n And, well I ween to count aright,\n At once a hundred tapers light\n On all the walls around.\n\n Now sounding tongues assail his ear,\n Now sounding feet approachen near,\n And now the sounds increase;\n And from the corner where he lay\n He sees a train profusely gay\n Come prankling o\u2019er the place.\n\n But (trust me, Gentles!) never yet\n Was dight a masquing half so neat,\n Or half so rich before;\n The country lent the sweet perfumes,\n The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,\n The town its silken store.\n\n Now, whilst he gaz\u2019d, a gallant drest\n In flaunting robes above the rest,\n With awful accent cry\u2019d;\n \u201cWhat mortal of a wretched mind,\n Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,\n Has here presum\u2019d to hide?\u201d\n\n At this the swain, whose venturous soul\n No fears of magic art controul,\n Advanc\u2019d in open sight;\n \u201cNor have I cause of dread,\u201d he said,\n \u201cWho view, by no presumption led,\n Your revels of the night.\n\n \u201c\u2019Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,\n Which made my steps unweeting rove\n Amid the nightly dew.\u201d\n \u201c\u2019Tis well,\u201d the gallant cries again,\n \u201cWe fairies never injure men\n Who dare to tell us true.\n\n \u201cExalt thy love-dejected heart,\n Be mine the task, or ere we part,\n To make thee grief resign;\n Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce;\n Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce,\n Be little Mable thine.\u201d\n\n He spoke, and all a sudden there\n Light music floats in wanton air;\n The monarch leads the queen:\n The rest their fairy partners found;\n And Mable trimly tript the ground\n With Edwin of the Green.\n\n The dauncing past, the board was laid,\n And siker such a feast was made,\n As heart and lip desire,\n Withouten hands the dishes fly,\n The glasses with a wish come nigh,\n And with a wish retire.\n\n But, now to please the fairy king,\n Full every deal they daunce and sing,\n And antic feats devise;\n Some wind and tumble like an ape,\n And other some transmute their shape\n In Edwin\u2019s wondering eyes.\n\n Till one at last, that Robin hight,\n Renown\u2019d for pinching maids by night,\n Has bent him up aloof;\n And full against the beam he flung,\n Where by the back the youth he hung\n To sprawl uneath the roof.\n\n From thence, \u201cReverse my charm,\u201d he cries,\n \u201cAnd let it fairly now suffice\n The gambol has been shewn.\u201d\n But Oberon answers with a smile,\n \u201cContent thee, Edwin, for awhile,\n The vantage is thine own.\u201d\n\n Here ended all the phantom-play;\n They smelt the fresh approach of day,\n And heard a cock to crow;\n The whirling wind that bore the crowd\n Has clapp\u2019d the door, and whistled loud,\n To warn them all to go.\n\n Then screaming all at once they fly,\n And all at once the tapers die;\n Poor Edwin falls to floor;\n Forlorn his state, and dark the place,\n Was never wight in such a case\n Through all the land before.\n\n But soon as Dan Apollo rose,\n Full jolly creature home he goes,\n He feels his back the less;\n His honest tongue and steady mind\n Had rid him of the lump behind,\n Which made him want success.\n\n With lusty livelyhed he talks,\n He seems advancing as he walks,\n His story soon took wind;\n And beauteous Edith sees the youth\n Endowed with courage, sense, and truth,\n Without a bunch behind.\n\n The story told, Sir Topaz mov\u2019d,\n The youth of Edith erst approv\u2019d,\n To see the revel scene:\n At close of eve he leaves his home,\n And wends to find the ruin\u2019d dome\n All on the gloomy plain.\n\n And there he bides, it so befel,\n The wind came rustling down a dell,\n A shaking seized the wall;\n Up spring the tapers as before,\n The fairies bragly foot the floor,\n And music fills the hall.\n\n But certes sorely sunk with woe\n Sir Topaz sees the Elphin show,\n His spirits in him die;\n When Oberon crys, \u201cA man is near,\n A mortal passion, cleeped fear,\n Hangs flagging in the sky.\u201d\n\n With that, Sir Topaz, hapless youth!\n In accents faultering, aye for ruth,\n Intreats them pity grant;\n For als he been a mister wight\n Betray\u2019d by wandering in the night\n To tread the circled haunt;\n\n \u201cA Losell vile,\u201d at once they roar,\n \u201cAnd little skill\u2019d of fairy lore,\n Thy cause to come we know;\n Now has thy kestrel courage fell,\n And fairies, since a lie you tell,\n Are free to work thee woe.\u201d\n\n Then Will, who bears the wispy fire\n To trail the swains among the mire,\n The caitiff upward flung;\n There, like a tortoise in a shop,\n He dangled from the chamber top,\n Where whilome Edwin hung.\n\n The revel now proceeds apace,\n Deftly they strut it o\u2019er the place,\n They sit, they drink, and eat;\n The time with frolic mirth beguile,\n And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while\n Till all the rout retreat.\n\n By this the stars began to wink,\n They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,\n And down y-drops the knight:\n For never spell by fairy laid\n With strong enchantment bound a glade,\n Beyond the length of night.\n\n Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,\n Till up the welkin rose the day,\n Then deem\u2019d the dole was o\u2019er:\n But wot ye well his harder lot?\n His seely back the bunch had got\n Which Edwin lost afore.\n\n This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;\n She softly stroak\u2019d my youngling head,\n And when the tale was done,\n \u201cThus some are born, my son,\u201d she cries,\n \u201cWith base impediments to rise,\n And some are born with none.\n\n \u201cBut virtue can itself advance\n To what the favourite fools of chance\n By fortune seem\u2019d design\u2019d;\n Virtue can gain the odds of fate,\n And from itself shake off the weight\n Upon th\u2019 unworthy mind.\u201d\n\n THOMAS PARNELL.\n\n\nTHE ELFIN KING.\n\n \u201cO swift and swifter far he speeds\n Than earthly steed can run;\n But I hear not the feet of his courser fleet,\n As he glides o\u2019er the moorland dun.\u201d\n\n Lone was the strath where he crossed their path,\n And wide did the heath extend,\n The Knight in Green on that moor is seen\n At every seven years\u2019 end.\n\n And swift is the speed of his coal-black steed,\n As the leaf before the gale,\n But never yet have that courser\u2019s feet\n Been heard on hill or dale.\n\n But woe to the wight who meets the Green Knight,\n Except on his faulchion arm\n Spell-proof he bear, like the brave St. Clair,\n The holy Trefoil\u2019s charm;\n\n For then shall fly his gifted eye,\n Delusions false and dim;\n And each unblessed shade shall stand portrayed\n In ghostly form and limb.\n\n O swifter, and swifter far he speeds\n Than earthly steed can run;\n \u201cHe skims the blue air,\u201d said the brave St. Clair,\n \u201cInstead of the heath so dun.\n\n \u201cHis locks are as bright as the streamer\u2019s light,\n His cheeks like the rose\u2019s hue;\n The Elfin-King, like the merlin\u2019s wing\n Are his pinions of glossy blue.\u201d\n\n \u201cNo Elfin-King, with azure wing,\n On the dark brown moor I see;\n But a courser keen, and a Knight in Green,\n And full fair I ween is he.\n\n \u201cNor Elfin-King, nor azure wing,\n Nor ringlets sparkling bright;\u201d\n Sir Geoffrey cried, and forward hied\n To join the stranger Knight.\n\n He knew not the path of the lonely strath,\n Where the Elfin-King went his round;\n Or he never had gone with the Green Knight on,\n Nor trod the charm\u00e8d ground.\n\n How swift they flew! no eye could view\n Their track on heath or hill;\n Yet swift across both moor and moss\n St. Clair did follow still.\n\n And soon was seen a circle green,\n Where a shadowy wassel crew\n Amid the ring did dance and sing,\n In weeds of watchet blue.\n\n And the windlestrae,[2] so limber and grey,\n Did shiver beneath the tread\n Of the coursers\u2019 feet, as they rushed to meet\n The morrice of the dead.\n\n \u201cCome here, come here, with thy green fere,\n Before the bread be stale;\n To roundel dance with speed advance,\n And taste our wassel ale.\u201d\n\n Then up to the Knight came a grizly wight,\n And sounded in his ear,\n \u201cSir Knight, eschew this goblin crew,\n Nor taste their ghostly cheer.\u201d\n\n The tabors rung, the lilts were sung,\n And the Knight the dance did lead;\n But the maidens fair seemed round him to stare,\n With eyes like the glassy bead.\n\n The glance of their eye, so cold and so dry,\n Did almost his heart appal;\n Their motion is swift, but their limbs they lift\n Like stony statues all.\n\n Again to the Knight came the grizly wight,\n When the rounded dance was o\u2019er;\n \u201cSir Knight, eschew this goblin crew,\n Or rue for evermore.\u201d\n\n But forward pressed the dauntless guest\n To the tables of ezlar red,\n And there was seen the Knight in Green,\n To grace the fair board head.\n\n And before that Knight was a goblet bright\n Of emerald smooth and green,\n The fretted brim was studded full trim\n With mountain rubies\u2019 sheen.\n\n Sir Geoffrey the Bold of the cup laid hold\n With health-ale mantling o\u2019er;\n And he saw as he drank that the ale never shrank\n But mantled as before.\n\n Then Sir Geoffrey grew pale as he quaffed the ale,\n And cold as the corpse of clay;\n And with horny beak the ravens did shriek,\n And fluttered o\u2019er their prey.\n\n But soon throughout the revel rout\n A strange commotion ran,\n For beyond the round they heard the sound\n Of the steps of an uncharmed man.\n\n And soon to St. Clair the grim wight did repair,\n From the midst of the wassel crew;\n \u201cSir Knight, beware of the revellers there,\n Nor do as they bid thee do.\u201d\n\n \u201cWhat woeful wight art thou?\u201d said the Knight,\n \u201cTo haunt this wassel fray?\u201d\n \u201cI was once,\u201d quoth he, \u201ca mortal, like thee,\n Though now I\u2019m an elfin grey.\n\n \u201cAnd the Knight so bold as the corpse lies cold,\n Who trode the greensward ring;\n He must wander along with that restless throng,\n For aye, with the Elfin-King.\n\n \u201cWith the restless crew, in weeds so blue,\n The hapless Knight must wend;\n Nor ever be seen on haunted green\n Till the weary seven years\u2019 end.\n\n \u201cFair is the mien of the Knight in Green,\n And bright his sparkling hair;\n \u2019Tis hard to believe how malice can live\n In the breast of aught so fair.\n\n \u201cAnd light and fair are the fields of air,\n Where he wanders to and fro;\n Still doomed to fleet from the regions of heat\n To the realms of endless snow.\n\n \u201cWhen high overhead fall the streamers[3] red,\n He views the blessed afar;\n And in stern despair darts through the air\n To earth, like a falling star.\n\n \u201cWith his shadowy crew, in weeds so blue,\n That Knight for aye must run;\n Except thou succeed in a perilous deed,\n Unseen by the holy sun.\n\n \u201cWho ventures the deed, and fails to succeed,\n Perforce must join the crew.\u201d\n \u201cThen brief, declare,\u201d said the brave St. Clair,\n \u201cA deed that a Knight may do.\u201d\n\n \u201c\u2019Mid the sleet and the rain thou must here remain\n By the haunted greensward ring,\n Till the dance wax slow, and the song faint and low,\n Which the crew unearthly sing.\n\n \u201cThen right at the time of the matin chime,\n Thou must tread the unhallowed ground,\n And with mystic pace the circles trace\n That inclose it nine times round.\n\n \u201cAnd next thou must pass the rank green grass\n To the tables of ezlar red;\n And the goblet clear away thou must bear,\n Nor behind thee turn thy head.\n\n \u201cAnd ever anon as thou treadest upon\n The sward of the green charmed ring,\n Be no word expressed in that space unblessed\n That \u2019longeth of holy thing.\n\n \u201cFor the charmed ground is all unsound,\n And the lake spreads wide below,\n And the Water-Fiend there, with the Fiend of Air,\n Is leagued for mortals\u2019 woe.\u201d\n\n \u2019Mid the sleet and the rain did St. Clair remain\n Till the evening star did rise;\n And the rout so gay did dwindle away\n To the eldritch dwarfy size.\n\n When the moonbeams pale fell through the white hail,\n With a wan and a watery ray,\n Sad notes of woe seemed round him to grow,\n The dirge of the elfins grey.\n\n And right at the time of the matin chime\n His mystic pace began,\n And murmurs deep around him did creep\n Like the moans of a murdered man.\n\n The matin bell was tolling farewell\n When he reached the central ring,\n And there he beheld, to ice congealed,\n That crew, with the Elfin-King.\n\n For aye, at the knell of the matin bell,\n When the black monks wend to pray,\n The spirits unblessed have a glimpse of rest\n Before the dawn of day.\n\n The sigh of the trees, and the rush of the breeze,\n Then pause on the lonely hill;\n And the frost of the dead clings round their head,\n And they slumber cold and still.\n\n The Knight took up the emerald cup,\n And the ravens hoarse did scream,\n And the shuddering elfins half rose up,\n And murmured in their dream:\n\n They inwardly mourned, and the thin blood returned\n To every icy limb;\n And each frozen eye, so cold and so dry,\n \u2019Gan roll with lustre dim.\n\n Then brave St. Clair did turn him there\n To retrace the mystic track,\n He heard the sigh of his lady fair,\n Who sobbed behind his back.\n\n He started quick and his heart beat thick,\n And he listened in wild amaze;\n But the parting bell on his ear it fell,\n And he did not turn to gaze.\n\n With panting breast as he forward pressed,\n He trod on a mangled head;\n And the skull did scream, and the voice did seem\n The voice of his mother dead.\n\n He shuddering trode: on the great name of God\n He thought\u2014but he nought did say;\n And the greensward did shrink, as about to sink,\n And loud laughed the Elfins grey.\n\n And loud did resound, o\u2019er the unblessed ground,\n The wings of the blue Elf-King;\n And the ghostly crew to reach him flew,\n But he crossed the charm\u00e9d ring;\n\n The morning was grey, and dying away\n Was the sound of the matin bell;\n And far to the west the fays that ne\u2019er rest,\n Fled where the moonbeams fell.\n\n And Sir Geoffrey the Bold, on the unhallowed mould,\n Arose from the green witch-grass;\n And he felt his limbs, like a dead man\u2019s, cold,\n And he wist not where he was.\n\n And that cup so rare, which the brave St. Clair\n Did bear from the ghostly crew,\n Was suddenly changed, from the emerald fair,\n To the ragged whinstone blue;\n And instead of the ale that mantled there\n Was the murky midnight dew.\n\n JOHN LEYDEN.\n\n[2] Rye-grass.\n\n[3] Northern Lights.\n\n\nTHE YOUNG TAMLANE.\n\n \u201cO I forbid ye, maidens a\u2019\n That wear gowd on your hair,\n To come or gae by Carterhaugh,\n For young Tamlane is there.\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh,\n But maun leave him a wad,\n Either gowd rings or green mantles,\n Or else their maidenheid.\n\n \u201cNow gowd rings ye may buy, maidens,\n Green mantles ye may spin;\n But, gin ye lose your maidenheid,\n Ye\u2019ll ne\u2019er get that agen.\u201d\u2014\n\n But up then spake her, fair Janet,\n The fairest o\u2019 a\u2019 her kin;\n \u201cI\u2019ll cum and gang to Carterhaugh,\n And ask nae leave o\u2019 him.\u201d\n\n Janet has kilted her green kirtle,\n A little abune her knee;\n And she has braided her yellow hair,\n A little abune her bree.\n\n And when she came to Carterhaugh,\n She gaed beside the well;\n And there she fand his steed standing,\n But away was himsell.\n\n She hadna pu\u2019d a red red rose,\n A rose but barely three;\n Till up and starts a wee wee man,\n At lady Janet\u2019s knee.\n\n Says\u2014\u201cWhy pu\u2019 ye the rose, Janet?\n What gars ye break the tree?\n Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,\n Withouten leave o\u2019 me?\u201d\u2014\n\n Says\u2014\u201cCarterhaugh it is mine ain;\n My daddie gave it me;\n I\u2019ll come and gang to Carterhaugh,\n And ask nae leave o\u2019 thee.\u201d\n\n He\u2019s ta\u2019en her by the milk-white hand,\n Among the leaves sae green;\n And what they did, I cannot tell\u2014\n The green leaves were between.\n\n He\u2019s ta\u2019en her by the milk-white hand,\n Among the roses red;\n And what they did, I cannot say\u2014\n She ne\u2019er return\u2019d a maid.\n\n When she came to her father\u2019s ha\u2019,\n She looked pale and wan;\n They thought she\u2019d dreed some sair sickness,\n Or been with some leman.\n\n She didna comb her yellow hair,\n Nor make meikle o\u2019 her head;\n And ilka thing that lady took,\n Was like to be her deid.\n\n It\u2019s four and twenty ladies fair\n Were playing at the ba\u2019;\n Janet, the brightest of them anes,\n Was faintest o\u2019 them a\u2019.\n\n Four and twenty ladies fair\n Were playing at the chess;\n And out there came the fair Janet,\n As green as any grass.\n\n Out and spak an old grey-headed knight\n Lay o\u2019er the castle wa\u2019\u2014\n \u201cAnd ever, alas! for thee, Janet,\n But we\u2019ll be blamed a\u2019!\u201d\n\n \u201cNow hand your tongue, ye auld grey knight!\n And an ill deid may ye die,\n Father my bairn on whom I will\n I\u2019ll father nane on thee.\u201d\n\n Out then spake her father dear,\n And he spake meek and mild\u2014\n \u201cAnd ever, alas! my sweet Janet,\n I fear ye gae with child.\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd if I be with child, father,\n Mysell maun bear the blame;\n There\u2019s ne\u2019er a knight about your ha\u2019\n Shall hae the bairnie\u2019s name.\n\n \u201cAnd if I be with child, father,\n \u2019Twill prove a wondrous birth,\n For weel I swear I\u2019m not wi\u2019 bairn\n To any man on earth.\n\n \u201cIf my love were an earthly knight,\n As he\u2019s an elfin grey,\n I wadna gie my ain true love\n For nae lord that ye hae.\u201d\n\n She prink\u2019d hersell and prinn\u2019d hersell,\n By the ae light o\u2019 the moon,\n And she\u2019s away to Carterhaugh,\n To speak wi\u2019 young Tamlane.\n\n And when she came to Carterhaugh,\n She gaed beside the well;\n But there she saw the steed standing,\n But away was himsell.\n\n She hadna pu\u2019d a double rose,\n A rose but only twae,\n When up and started young Tamlane,\n Says\u2014\u201cLady, thou pu\u2019s nae mae!\n\n \u201cWhy pu\u2019 ye the rose, Janet,\n Within this garden grene,\n And a\u2019 to kill the bonny babe,\n That we got us between?\u201d\n\n \u201cThe truth ye\u2019ll tell to me, Tamlane,\n A word ye mauna lie;\n Gin e\u2019er ye was in haly chapel,\n Or sained in Christentie?\u201d\u2014\n\n \u201cThe truth I\u2019ll tell to thee, Janet,\n A word I winna lie;\n A knight me got, and a lady me bore,\n As well as they did thee.\n\n \u201cRandolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,\n Dunbar, Earl March, is thine;\n We loved when we were children small,\n Which yet you well may mind.\n\n \u201cWhen I was a boy just turn\u2019d of nine,\n My uncle sent for me,\n To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,\n And keep him companie.\n\n \u201cThere came a wind out of the north,\n A sharp wind and a snell;\n And a deep sleep came over me,\n And frae my horse I fell.\n\n \u201cThe Queen of Fairies keepit me,\n In yon green hill to dwell;\n And I\u2019m a fairy, lyth and limb;\n Fair lady, view me well.\n\n \u201cBut we, that live in Fairyland,\n No sickness know, nor pain;\n I quit my body when I will,\n And take to it again.\n\n \u201cI quit my body when I please,\n Or unto it repair;\n We can inhabit, at our ease,\n In either earth or air.\n\n \u201cOur shapes and size we can convert\n To either large or small;\n An old nutshell\u2019s the same to us\n As is the lofty hall.\n\n \u201cWe sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,\n We revel in the stream;\n We wanton lightly on the wind,\n Or glide on a sunbeam.\n\n \u201cAnd all our wants are well supplied\n From every rich man\u2019s store,\n Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,\n And vainly grasps for more.\n\n \u201cThen would I never tire, Janet,\n In elfish land to dwell;\n But aye, at every seven years,\n They pay the teind to hell;\n And I\u2019m sae fat and fair of flesh,\n I fear \u2019twill be mysell.\n\n \u201cThis night is Hallowe\u2019en, Janet,\n The morn is Hallowday;\n And, gin ye dare your true love win,\n Ye hae nae time to stay.\n\n \u201cThe night it is good Hallowe\u2019en,\n When fairy folk will ride;\n And they that wad their true love win,\n At Miles Cross they maun bide.\u201d\u2014\n\n \u201cBut how shall I thee ken, Tamlane?\n Or how shall I thee knaw,\n Amang so many unearthly knights,\n The like I never saw?\u201d\u2014\n\n \u201cThe first company that passes by.\n Say na, and let them gae;\n The next company that passes by,\n Say na, and do right sae;\n The third company that passes by,\n Then I\u2019ll be ane o\u2019 thae.\n\n \u201cFirst, let pass the black, Janet,\n And syne let pass the brown;\n But grip ye to the milk-white steed,\n And pu\u2019 the rider down.\n\n \u201cFor I ride on the milk-white steed,\n And aye nearest the town;\n Because I was a christen\u2019d knight,\n They gave me that renown.\n\n \u201cMy right hand will be gloved, Janet,\n My left hand will be bare;\n And these the tokens I gie thee,\n Nae doubt I will be there.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n An adder and a snake,\n But haud me fast, let me not pass,\n Gin ye would buy me maik.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n An adder and an ask;\n They\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n A bale that burns fast.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n A red-hot gad o\u2019 airn;\n But haud me fast, let me not pass,\n For I\u2019ll do you no harm.\n\n \u201cFirst dip me in a stand o\u2019 milk,\n And then in a stand o\u2019 water;\n But haud me fast, let me not pass\u2014\n I\u2019ll be your bairn\u2019s father.\n\n \u201cAnd, next, they\u2019ll shape me in your arms\n A tod, but and an eel;\n But haud me fast, nor let me gang,\n As you do love me weel.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll shape me in your arms, Janet,\n A dove, but and a swan;\n And last they\u2019ll shape me in your arms\n A mother-naked man:\n Cast your green mantle over me\u2014\n I\u2019ll be myself again.\u201d\u2014\n\n Gloomy, gloomy was the night,\n And eiry was the way,\n As fair Janet, in her green mantle,\n To Miles Cross she did gae.\n\n The heavens were black, the night was dark,\n And dreary was the place;\n But Janet stood, with eager wish,\n Her lover to embrace.\n\n Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,\n A north wind tore the bent;\n And she heard strange elritch sounds\n Upon that wind which went.\n\n About the dead hour o\u2019 the night\n She heard the bridles ring;\n And Janet was as glad o\u2019 that\n As any earthly thing.\n\n Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,\n The hemlock small blew clear;\n And louder notes from hemlock large,\n And bog-reed, struck the ear;\n But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,\n The Fairies cannot bear.\n\n They sing, inspired with love and joy,\n Like skylarks in the air;\n Of solid sense, or thought that\u2019s grave,\n You\u2019ll find no traces there.\n\n Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,\n The dreary heath upon;\n And louder, louder wax\u2019d the sound,\n As they came riding on.\n\n Will o\u2019-Wisp before them went,\n Sent forth a twinkling light;\n And soon she saw the Fairy bands\n All riding in her sight.\n\n And first gaed by the black, black steed,\n And then gaed by the brown;\n And fast she gript the milk-white steed,\n And pu\u2019d the rider down.\n\n She pu\u2019d him frae the milk-white steed,\n And loot the bridle fa\u2019;\n And up there raise an erlish cry\u2014\n \u201cHe\u2019s wan among us a\u2019!\u201d\u2014\n\n They shaped him in fair Janet\u2019s arms\n An esk, but and an adder;\n She held him fast in every shape\u2014\n To be her bairn\u2019s father.\n\n They shaped him in her arms at last\n A mother-naked man:\n She wrapp\u2019d him in her green mantle,\n And sae her lover wan!\n\n Up then spake the Queen o\u2019 Fairies,\n Out o\u2019 a bush o\u2019 broom\u2014\n \u201cShe that has borrow\u2019d young Tamlane,\n Has gotten a stately groom.\u201d\u2014\n\n Up then spake the Queen o\u2019 Fairies,\n Out o\u2019 a bush o\u2019 rye\u2014\n \u201cShe\u2019s ta\u2019en away the bonniest knight\n In a\u2019 my companie.\n\n \u201cBut had I kenn\u2019d, Tamlane,\u201d she says,\n \u201cA lady wad borrow\u2019d thee\u2014\n I wad ta\u2019en out thy twa grey e\u2019en,\n Put in twa e\u2019en o\u2019 tree.\n\n \u201cHad I but kenn\u2019d, Tamlane,\u201d she says,\n \u201cBefore ye came frae hame\u2014\n I wad ta\u2019en out your heart o\u2019 flesh,\n Put in a heart o\u2019 stane.\n\n \u201cHad I but had the wit yestreen\n That I hae coft the day\u2014\n I\u2019d paid my kanes seven times to hell\n Ere you\u2019d been won away!\u201d\n\n OLD BALLAD.\n\n\nTHE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH.\n\n There came a strange wight to our town-en\u2019,\n An\u2019 the fient a body did him ken;\n He tirled na lang, but he glided ben\n Wi\u2019 a dreary, dreary hum.\n\n His face did glow like the glow o\u2019 the west,\n When the drumly cloud has it half o\u2019ercast;\n Or the struggling moon when she\u2019s sair distrest,\n O sirs, \u2019twas Aiken-drum.\n\n I trow the bauldest stood aback,\n Wi\u2019 a gape an\u2019 a glower till their lugs did crack,\n As the shapeless phantom mum\u2019ling spak\u2014\n \u201cHae ye wark for Aiken-drum!\u201d\n\n Oh, had ye seen the bairns\u2019s fright,\n As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wight;\n As they skulkit in \u2019tween the dark and the light,\n And graned out, \u201cAiken-drum!\u201d\n\n The black dog, growling, cowered his tail,\n The lassie swarfed, loot fa\u2019 the pail;\n Rob\u2019s lingle brak as he mendit the flail,\n At the sight o\u2019 Aiken-drum.\n\n His matted head on his breast did rest,\n A lang blue beard wan\u2019ered down like a vest;\n But the glare o\u2019 his ee hath nae bard exprest,\n Nor the skimes o\u2019 Aiken-drum.\n\n Roun\u2019 his hairy form there was naething seen\n But a philabeg o\u2019 the rashes green,\n An\u2019 his knotted knees played aye knoit between\u2014\n What a sight was Aiken-drum!\n\n On his wauchie arms three claws did meet,\n As they trailed on the grun\u2019 by his taeless feet;\n E\u2019en the old gudeman himsel\u2019 did sweat\n To look at Aiken-drum.\n\n But he drew a score, himsel\u2019 did sain;\n The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;\n While the young one closer clasped her wean,\n And turned frae Aiken-drum.\n\n But the canty auld wife cam till her breath,\n And she thocht the Bible might ward aff scaith,\n Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith\u2014\n But it feared na Aiken-drum.\n\n \u201cHis presence protect us!\u201d quoth the old gudeman;\n \u201cWhat wad ye, whare won ye, by sea or by lan\u2019?\n I conjure ye, speak, by the beuk in my han\u2019!\u201d\n What a grane gae Aiken-drum!\n\n \u201cI lived in a lan\u2019 where we saw nae sky,\n I dwelt in a spot where a burn rins na by;\n But I\u2019se dwall now wi\u2019 you if ye like to try\u2014\n Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll shiel a\u2019 your sheep i\u2019 the mornin\u2019 sune,\n I\u2019ll berry your crap by the light o\u2019 the moon,\n An\u2019 ba the bairns wi\u2019 an unkenned tune,\n If ye\u2019ll keep puir Aiken-drum.\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll loup the linn where ye canna wade,\n I\u2019ll kirn the kirn, an\u2019 I\u2019ll turn the bread;\n An\u2019 the wildest filly that ever ran rede,\n I\u2019se tame\u2019t,\u201d quoth Aiken-drum.\n\n \u201cTo wear the tod frae the flock on the fell,\n To gather the dew frae the heather-bell,\n An\u2019 to look at my face i\u2019 your clear crystal well,\n Might gie pleasure to Aiken-drum.\n\n \u201cI\u2019se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark;\n I use nae beddin\u2019, shoon, nor sark;\n But a cogfu\u2019 o\u2019 brose \u2019tween the light an\u2019 the dark,\n Is the wage o\u2019 Aiken-drum.\u201d\n\n Quoth the wylie auld wife: \u201cThe thing speaks weel;\n Our workers are scant\u2014we hae routh o\u2019 meal;\n Gif he\u2019ll do as he says\u2014be he man, be he deil\u2014\n Now! we\u2019ll try this Aiken-drum.\u201d\n\n But the wenches skirled: \u201cHe\u2019s no be here!\n His eldritch look gars us swarf wi\u2019 fear;\n An\u2019 the feint a ane will the house come near,\n If they think but o\u2019 Aiken-drum.\u201d\n\n \u201cPuir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit;\n Is\u2019t na Hallowmas now, an\u2019 the crap out yet?\u201d\n Sae she silenced them a\u2019 wi\u2019 a stamp o\u2019 her fit\u2014\n \u201cSit yer wa\u2019s down, Aiken-drum.\u201d\n\n Roun\u2019 a\u2019 that side what wark was dune\n By the streamer\u2019s gleam, or the glance o\u2019 the moon;\n A word, or a wish, an\u2019 the brownie cam sune,\n Sae helpfu\u2019 was Aiken-drum....\n\n On Blednoch banks, an\u2019 on crystal Cree,\n For mony a day a toiled wight was he;\n While the bairns played harmless roun\u2019 his knee,\n Sae social was Aiken-drum.\n\n But a new-made wife, fu\u2019 o\u2019 frippish freaks,\n Fond o\u2019 a\u2019 things feat for the first five weeks,\n Laid a mouldy pair o\u2019 her ain man\u2019s breeks\n By the brose o\u2019 Aiken-drum.\n\n Let the learned decide when they convene\n What spell was him an\u2019 the breeks between;\n For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen,\n An\u2019 sair missed was Aiken-drum.\n\n He was heard by a herd gaun by Thrieve,\n Crying: \u201cLang, lang now may I greet an\u2019 grieve:\n For, alas! I hae gotten baith fee an\u2019 leave\u2014\n Oh, luckless Aiken-drum.\u201d\n\n Awa\u2019, ye wrangling sceptic tribe,\n Wi\u2019 your pros an\u2019 your cons wad ye decide\n \u2019Gain the \u2019sponsible voice o\u2019 a hail country-side,\n On the facts \u2019bout Aiken-drum!\n\n Though the \u201cBrownie o\u2019 Blednoch\u201d lang be gane,\n The mark o\u2019 his feet\u2019s left on mony a stane;\n An\u2019 mony a wife an\u2019 mony a wean\n Tell the feats o\u2019 Aiken-drum.\n\n E\u2019en now, light loons that jibe an\u2019 sneer\n At spiritual guests an\u2019 a\u2019 sic gear,\n At the Glashnoch mill hae swat wi\u2019 fear,\n An\u2019 looked roun\u2019 for Aiken-drum.\n\n An\u2019 guidly folks hae gotten a fright,\n When the moon was set, an\u2019 the stars gied nae light,\n At the roaring linn, in the howe o\u2019 the night,\n Wi\u2019 sighs like Aiken-drum.\n\n WILLIAM NICHOLSON.\n\n\nLA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.\n\nI.\n\n Ah, what can ail thee wretched wight,\n Alone and palely loitering;\n The sedge is wither\u2019d from the lake,\n And no birds sing.\n\nII.\n\n Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight.\n So haggard and so woe-begone?\n The squirrel\u2019s granary is full\n And the harvest\u2019s done.\n\nIII.\n\n I see a lily on thy brow,\n With anguish moist and fever dew;\n And on thy cheek a fading rose\n Fast withereth too.\n\nIV.\n\n I met a lady in the meads,\n Full beautiful, a faery\u2019s child;\n Her hair was long, her foot was light,\n And her eyes were wild.\n\nV.\n\n I set her on my pacing steed,\n And nothing else saw all day long;\n For sideways would she lean, and sing\n A faery\u2019s song.\n\nVI.\n\n I made a garland for her head,\n And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;\n She look\u2019d at me as she did love,\n And made sweet moan.\n\nVII.\n\n She found me roots of relish sweet,\n And honey wild, and manna dew;\n And sure in language strange she said,\n I love thee true.\n\nVIII.\n\n She took me to her elfin grot,\n And there she gaz\u2019d and sighed deep,\n And there I shut her wild sad eyes\u2014\n So kiss\u2019d to sleep.\n\nIX.\n\n And there we slumber\u2019d on the moss,\n And there I dream\u2019d, ah woe betide,\n The latest dream I ever dream\u2019d\n On the cold hill-side.\n\nX.\n\n I saw pale kings, and princes too,\n Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;\n Who cry\u2019d\u2014\u201cLa belle Dame sans merci\n Hath thee in thrall!\u201d\n\nXI.\n\n I saw their starv\u2019d lips in the gloom\n With horrid warning gaped wide,\n And I awoke, and found me here\n On the cold hill-side.\n\nXII.\n\n And this is why I sojourn here\n Alone and palely loitering,\n Though the sedge is wither\u2019d from the lake,\n And no birds sing.\n\n JOHN KEATS.\n\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN SPRITE.\n\n In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,\n A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,\n Till spells came o\u2019er him, and, day and night,\n He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite!\n\n As once, by moonlight, he wandered o\u2019er\n The golden sands of that island shore,\n A foot-print sparkled before his sight\u2014\n \u2019Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!\n\n Beside a fountain, one sunny day,\n As bending over the stream he lay,\n There peep\u2019d down o\u2019er him two eyes of light,\n And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.\n\n He turn\u2019d, but lo, like a startled bird,\n That spirit fled!\u2014and the youth but heard\n Sweet music, such as marks the flight\n Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.\n\n One night, still haunted by that bright look,\n The boy, bewilder\u2019d, his pencil took,\n And, guided only by memory\u2019s light,\n Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.\n\n \u201cOh thou, who lovest the shadow,\u201d cried\n A voice, low whisp\u2019ring by his side,\n \u201cNow turn and see,\u201d\u2014here the youth\u2019s delight\n Seal\u2019d the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.\n\n \u201cOf all the Spirits of land and sea,\u201d\n Then rapt he murmur\u2019d, \u201cthere\u2019s none like thee,\n And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light\n In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!\u201d\n\n THOMAS MOORE.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY BOY.\n\n A mother came when stars were paling,\n Wailing round a lonely spring;\n Thus she cried while tears were falling,\n Calling on the Fairy King:\n\n \u201cWhy with spells my child caressing,\n Courting him with fairy joy;\n Why destroy a mother\u2019s blessing,\n Wherefore steal my baby boy?\n\n \u201cO\u2019er the mountain, through the wild wood,\n Where his childhood loved to play;\n Where the flowers are freshly springing,\n There I wander, day by day.\n\n \u201cThere I wander, growing fonder\n Of the child that made my joy;\n On the echoes wildly calling\n To restore my fairy boy.\n\n \u201cBut in vain my plaintive calling\n Tears are falling all in vain!\n He now sports with fairy pleasure,\n He\u2019s the treasure of their train!\n\n \u201cFare thee well, my child, for ever,\n In this world I\u2019ve lost my joy,\n But in the _next_ we ne\u2019er shall sever,\n _There_ I\u2019ll find my angel boy!\u201d\n\n SAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY TEMPTER.\n\n A fair girl was sitting in the greenwood shade,\n List\u2019ning to the music the spring birds made;\n When sweeter by far than the birds on the tree,\n A voice murmur\u2019d near her, \u201cOh come, love, with me\u2014\n In earth or air,\n A thing so fair\n I have not seen as thee!\n Then come, love, with me.\u201d\n\n \u201cWith a star for thy home, in a palace of light,\n Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night;\n Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold,\n I will show thee the birthplace of jewels and gold\u2014\n And pearly caves\n Beneath the waves,\n All these, all these are thine,\n If thou wilt be mine.\u201d\n\n Thus whisper\u2019d a fairy to tempt the fair girl,\n But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl;\n For she said, \u201cTho\u2019 thy gifts to a poor girl were dear,\n My father, my mother, my sisters are here:\n Oh! what would be\n Thy gifts to me\n Of earth, and sea, and air,\n If my heart were not there?\u201d\n\n SAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW. A MIDSUMMER LEGEND.\n\n \u201cAnd where have you been, my Mary,\n And where have you been from me?\u201d\n \u201cI\u2019ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low,\n The midsummer night to see!\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd what did you see, my Mary,\n All up on the Caldon-Low?\u201d\n \u201cI saw the blithe sunshine come down,\n And I saw the merry winds blow.\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd what did you hear, my Mary,\n All up on the Caldon-Hill?\u201d\n \u201cI heard the drops of the water made,\n And the green corn ears to fill.\u201d\n\n \u201cOh, tell me all, my Mary\u2014\n All, all that ever you know;\n For you must have seen the fairies,\n Last night on the Caldon-Low.\u201d\n\n \u201cThen take me on your knee, mother,\n And listen, mother of mine:\n A hundred fairies danced last night,\n And the harpers they were nine.\n\n \u201cAnd merry was the glee of the harp-strings,\n And their dancing feet so small;\n But, oh, the sound of their talking\n Was merrier far than all!\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd what were the words, my Mary,\n That you did hear them say?\u201d\n \u201cI\u2019ll tell you all, my mother\u2014\n But let me have my way!\n\n \u201cAnd some they played with the water,\n And rolled it down the hill;\n \u2018And this,\u2019 they said, \u2018shall speedily turn\n The poor old miller\u2019s mill;\n\n \u201c\u2018For there has been no water,\n Ever since the first of May;\n And a busy man shall the miller be\n By the dawning of the day!\n\n \u201c\u2018Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,\n When he sees the mill-dam rise!\n The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,\n Till the tears fill both his eyes!\u2019\n\n \u201cAnd some they seized the little winds,\n That sounded over the hill,\n And each put a horn into his mouth,\n And blew so sharp and shrill:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018And there,\u2019 said they, \u2018the merry winds go,\n Away from every horn;\n And those shall clear the mildew dank\n From the blind old widow\u2019s corn.\n\n \u201c\u2018Oh, the poor blind old widow\u2014\n Though she has been blind so long,\n She\u2019ll be merry enough when the mildew\u2019s gone,\n And the corn stands stiff and strong.\u2019\n\n \u201cAnd some they brought the brown lintseed,\n And flung it down from the Low\u2014\n \u2018And this,\u2019 said they, \u2018by the sunrise,\n In the weaver\u2019s croft shall grow!\n\n \u201c\u2018Oh, the poor, lame weaver,\n How will he laugh outright,\n When he sees his dwindling flax-field\n All full of flowers by night!\u2019\n\n \u201cAnd then upspoke a brownie,\n With a long beard on his chin\u2014\n \u2018I have spun up all the tow,\u2019 said he,\n \u2018And I want some more to spin.\n\n \u201c\u2018I\u2019ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,\n And I want to spin another\u2014\n A little sheet for Mary\u2019s bed,\n And an apron for her mother!\u2019\n\n \u201cAnd with that I could not help but laugh,\n And I laughed out loud and free:\n And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,\n There was no one left but me.\n\n \u201cAnd all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,\n The mists were cold and grey,\n And nothing I saw but the mossy stones\n That round about me lay.\n\n \u201cBut, as I came down from the hill-top,\n I heard, afar below,\n How busy the jolly miller was,\n And how merry the wheel did go.\n\n \u201cAnd I peeped into the widow\u2019s field;\n And, sure enough, was seen\n The yellow ears of the mildewed corn\n All standing stiff and green.\n\n \u201cAnd down by the weaver\u2019s cot I stole,\n To see if the flax were high;\n But I saw the weaver at his gate,\n With the good news in his eye!\n\n \u201cNow, this is all I heard, mother,\n And all that I did see;\n So, prithee, make my bed, mother,\n For I\u2019m tired as I can be.\u201d\n\n MARY HOWITT.\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES\u2019 PASSAGE.\n\nI.\n\n Tapp, tapp! Rapp, rapp! \u201cGet up, Gaffer Ferryman.\u201d\n \u201cEh? who is there?\u201d The clock strikes Three.\n \u201cGet up, do, Gaffer! You are the very man\n We have been long\u2014long\u2014longing to see.\u201d\n The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling,\n And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling,\n Over the wares in his way to the door.\n But he sees no more\n Than he saw before,\n Till a voice is heard\u2014\u201cO Ferryman, dear!\n Here we are waiting, all of us here!\n We are a wee, wee colony, we;\n Some two hundred in all, or three.\n Ferry us over the river Lee\n Ere dawn of day,\n And we will pay\n The most we may,\n In our own wee way!\u201d\n\nII.\n\n \u201cWho are you? Whence came you? What place are you going to?\u201d\n \u201cO, we have dwelt over-long in this land.\n The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too;\n Nothing at all but they now understand;\n We are daily vanishing under the thunder\n Of some huge engine or iron wonder;\n That iron\u2014O, it has entered our souls!\u201d\n \u201c\u2014\u2014Your souls? O, Goles!\n You queer little drolls!\n Do you mean\u2014\u2014?\u201d \u201cGood Gaffer, do aid us with speed,\n For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!\n And a very long way we have to go,\n Eight or ten thousand miles or so,\n Hither and thither, and to and fro;\n With our pots and pans,\n And little gold cans;\n But our light caravans\n Run swifter than man\u2019s!\u201d\n\nIII.\n\n \u201cWell, well, you may come!\u201d said the Ferryman, affably;\n \u201cPatrick, turn out, and get ready the barge!\u201d\n Then again to the little folk\u2014\u201cThough you seem laughably\n Small, I don\u2019t mind, if your coppers be large.\u201d\n O, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing\n (The waterman making vain efforts at hushing\n The hubbub the while) there followed these words!\n What clapping of boards!\n What strapping of cords!\n What stowing away of children and wives,\n And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives!\n Till all had safely got into the boat,\n And the Ferryman clad in his tip-top coat,\n And his wee little fairies were fairly afloat!\n Then ding! ding! ding!\n And kling! kling! kling!\n How the coppers did ring\n In the tin pitcherling!\n\nIV.\n\n Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,\n Smoothly, and so forth, but after a while\n It swayed and it swagged this way and that way, and presently\n Chest after chest, and pile after pile,\n Of the little folks\u2019 goods began tossing and rolling,\n And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling!\n O, Mab! if the hubbub was great before,\n It was now some two or three million times more;\n Crash went the wee crocks, and the clocks, and the locks,\n Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;\n And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries\u2014\n \u201cTake care!\u201d\u2014\u201cSee there!\u201d\u2014\u201cOh, dear! my eyes!\u201d\n \u201cI am killed!\u201d\u2014\u201cI am drowned!\u201d\u2014with groans and sighs;\n Till to land they drew;\n \u201cYeo hoe! Pull to!\n Tiller-rope, thro\u2019 and thro\u2019!\u201d\n And all\u2019s right anew.\n\nV.\n\n \u201cNow, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities,\n ... Eh! what is this? Where are they at all?\n Where are they and where are their tiny commodities?\n Well! as I live!\u201d He looks blank as a wall,\n The poor Ferryman! Round him, and round him he gazes,\n But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes\n Of utter bewilderment! All, all are gone\u2014\n And he stands alone,\n Like a statue of stone,\n In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,\n And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear\n With other odd sounds\u2014\u201cHa! ha! ha! ha!\n Tol, lol; zid, ziddle\u2014quee, quee\u2014bah! bah!\n Fizzigigiggidy! phse! sha! sha!\u201d\n \u201cO, ye thieves, ye thieves! ye rascally thieves!\u201d\n The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,\n And there, alas! to his horror perceives,\n That the little folks\u2019 mode of making him richer\n Had been to pay with him\u2014withered leaves!\n\n CLARENCE MANGAN.\n\n\nTHUBBER-NA-SHIE; OR, THE FAIRY WELL.\n\n[Amongst the many old and fanciful superstitions embodied in the\ntraditions of our peasantry, some of the most poetical are those\nconnected with spring wells, which in Ireland have been invested with\nsomething of a sacred character ever since the days of Druidical worship.\nIt is in some parts of the country an article of popular belief, that\nthe desecration of a spring by any unworthy use is followed invariably\nby some misfortune to the offender; and that the well itself, which is\nregarded as the source of fruitfulness and prosperity, moves altogether\nout of the fields in which the violation has been committed.\u2014_Dublin\nUniversity Magazine_, vol. viii., p. 449.]\n\n Oh! Peggy Bawn was innocent,\n And wild as any roe;\n Her cheek was like the summer rose,\n Her neck was like the snow:\n\n And every eye was in her head\n So beautiful and bright,\n You\u2019d almost think they\u2019d light her through\n Glencarrigy by night.\n\n Among the hills and mountains,\n Above her mother\u2019s home,\n The long and weary summer day\n Young Peggy Blake would roam;\n\n And not a girl in all the town,\n From Dhua to Glenlur,\n Could wander through the mountain\u2019s heath\n Or climb the rocks with her.\n\n The Lammas sun was shinin\u2019 on\n The meadows all so brown;\n The neighbours gathered far and near\n To cut the ripe crops down;\n\n And pleasant was the mornin\u2019,\n And dewy was the dawn,\n And gay and lightsome-hearted\n To the sunny fields they\u2019re gone.\n\n The joke was passing lightly,\n And the laugh was loud and free;\n There was neither care nor trouble\n To disturb their hearty glee;\n\n When, says Peggy, resting in among\n The sweet and scented hay,\n \u201cI wonder is there one would brave\n The Fairy well to-day!\u201d\n\n She looked up with her laughin\u2019 eyes,\n So soft at Willy Rhu;\n Och murdher! that she didn\u2019t need\n His warnin\u2019 kind and true!\n\n But all the boys and girls laughed,\n And Willy Rhu looked shy;\n God help you, Willy! sure they saw\n The throuble in your eye.\n\n \u201cNow, by my faith!\u201d young Connell says\u2014\n \u201cI like your notion well\u2014\n There\u2019s a power more than gospel\n In what crazy gossips tell.\u201d\n\n Oh, my heavy hatred fall upon\n Young Connell of Sliabh-Mast!\n He took the cruel vengeance\n For his scorned love at last.\n\n The jokin\u2019 and the jibin\u2019\n And the banterin\u2019 went on,\n One girl dared another,\n And they all dared Peggy Bawn.\n\n Till, leaping up, away she flew\n Down to the hollow green\u2014\n Her bright locks, floating in the wind,\n Like golden lights were seen.\n\n They saw her at the Fairy-well\u2014\n Their laughin\u2019 died away,\n They saw her stoop above its brink\n With heart as cold as clay.\n\n Oh! mother, mother, never stand\n Upon your cabin floor!\n You heard the cry that through your heart\n Will ring for evermore;\n\n For when she came up from the well,\n No one could stand her look:\n Her eye was wild\u2014her cheek was pale\u2014\n They saw her mind was shook:\n\n And the gaze she cast around her\n Was so ghastly and so sad\u2014\n \u201cO Christ preserve us!\u201d shouted all,\n \u201cPoor Peggy Blake\u2019s gone mad!\u201d\n\n The moon was up\u2014the stars were out,\n And shining through the sky,\n When young and old stood mourning round\n To see their darling die.\n\n Poor Peggy from her death-bed rose\u2014\n Her face was pale and cold,\n And down about her shoulders hung\n The lovely locks of gold.\n\n \u201cAll you that\u2019s here this night,\u201d she said,\n \u201cTake warnin\u2019 by my fate,\n Whoever braves the Fairies\u2019 wrath,\n Their sorrow comes too late.\u201d\n\n The tear was startin\u2019 in her eye,\n She clasp\u2019d her throbbin\u2019 head,\n And when the sun next mornin\u2019 rose\n Poor Peggy Bawn was dead.\n\n JAMES TEELING.\n\n\nTHE HAUNTED SPRING.\n\n[It is said, Fays have the power to assume various shapes for the purpose\nof luring mortals into Fairyland; hunters seem to have been particularly\nthe objects of the lady fairies\u2019 fancies.]\n\n Gaily through the mountain glen\n The hunter\u2019s horn did ring,\n As the milk-white doe\n Escaped his bow,\n Down by the haunted spring.\n In vain his silver horn he wound,\u2014\n \u2019Twas echo answered back;\n For neither groom nor baying hound\n Were on the hunter\u2019s track\n In vain he sought the milk-white doe\n That made him stray, and \u2019scaped his bow;\n For, save himself, no living thing\n Was by the silent haunted spring.\n\n The purple heath-bells, blooming fair,\n Their fragrance round did fling,\n As the hunter lay\n At close of day,\n Down by the haunted spring.\n A lady fair, in robe of white,\n To greet the hunter came;\n She kissed a cup with jewels bright,\n And pledged him by his name;\n \u201cOh, lady fair,\u201d the hunter cried,\n \u201cBe thou my love, my blooming bride,\n A bride that well may grace a king!\n Fair lady of the haunted spring.\u201d\n\n In the fountain clear she stoop\u2019d,\n And forth she drew a ring;\n And that loved Knight\n His faith did plight\n Down by the haunted spring.\n But since that day his chase did stray,\n The hunter ne\u2019er was seen,\n And legends tell, he now doth dwell\n Within the hills so green;[4]\n But still the milk-white doe appears,\n And wakes the peasants\u2019 evening fears,\n While distant bugles faintly ring\n Around the lonely haunted spring.\n\n SAMUEL LOVER.\n\n[4] Fays and fairies are supposed to have their dwelling-places within\nold green hills.\n\n\nTHE ROMANCE OF THE FAIRY CURE.\n\nI.\n\n Nelly Phelan\u2019s child is ailing;\n Hour by hour, the babe is failing;\n Squeeling, kicking, biting, whining,\n To an atomy he\u2019s pining.\n\nII.\n\n Once he was a fine, wee fellow;\n Now he\u2019s wrinkled, thin, and yellow.\n Playful then he was, and civil;\n Now he\u2019s cross-grained, as the devil.\n\nIII.\n\n To a wise woman Nell\u2019s walking;\n Long time they\u2019re in secret talking;\n First she heard all Nell\u2019s description;\n Then she wrote out a prescription.\n\nIV.\n\n \u201cTake this cure, although a strange one;\n It is needed when they change one;\n By it you\u2019ll the fairies bother,\n Get your child, and choke the other.\n\nV.\n\n \u201cYou must make the fairy speak out,\n Ere your child, from them, you take out.\n If you follow what\u2019s here written,\n You shall find the biter bitten.\u201d\n\nVI.\n\n Cried Nell, \u201cBe sure that I\u2019ll observe it;\n If I fail I\u2019ll not deserve it:\n I would walk the wide world over,\n If my child I could recover.\u201d\n\nVII.\n\n Five hundred egg-shells Nelly chooses\n In a pot, the shells she bruises;\n In spring water now they\u2019re boiling,\n Stirring round the pot she\u2019s toiling.\n\nVIII.\n\n Red-hot now the poker\u2019s ready;\n While Nell stirs the pot, so steady:\n From the child, in cradle lying,\n Nell now hears a strange voice crying\u2014\n\nIX.\n\n \u201cMammy! Mammy! what\u2019s that boiling?\n Why with potstick are you toiling?\u201d\n Nell, with fright, to drop was ready,\n Yet she answered, cool, and steady\u2014\n\nX.\n\n \u201cEgg-shells, deary! I am brewing,\n Cock\u2019s broth for my babe I\u2019m stewing.\n When I skim off all the dripping,\n Then it will be fit for sipping.\u201d\n\nXI.\n\n \u201cThough five hundred years I\u2019m chewing,\n Egg-shells never saw I brewing;\n Though five centuries I\u2019m cheating,\n Ne\u2019er have I seen cock\u2019s broth eating.\u201d\n\nXII.\n\n Quick the poker Nelly seizes;\n To the cradle now she races;\n Red-hot down its throat she crams it;\n With her might and main she rams it.\n\nXIII.\n\n Gone like lightning is the fairy;\n In its stead, there lies her deary\u2014\n Her brave boy\u2014her darling Terry,\n With his lip and cheek of cherry.\n\n JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY NURSE.\n\n Sweet babe! a golden cradle holds thee,\n And soft the snow-white fleece enfolds thee;\n In airy bower I\u2019ll watch thy sleeping.\n Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.\n Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!\n\n When mothers languish broken-hearted,\n When young wives are from husbands parted,\n Ah! little think the keeners lonely,\n They weep some time-worn fairy only.\n Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!\n\n Within our magic halls of brightness,\n Trips many a foot of snowy whiteness;\n Stolen maidens, queens of fairy\u2014\n And kings and chiefs a sluagh shee airy.\n Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!\n\n Rest thee, babe! I love thee dearly,\n And as thy mortal mother nearly;\n Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest,\n That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest.\n Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!\n\n Rest, thee, babe! for soon thy slumbers\n Shall flee at the magic Koelshie\u2019s numbers;\n In airy bower I\u2019ll watch thy sleeping,\n Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.\n Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!\n\n EDWARD WALSH.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY THORN. AN ULSTER BALLAD.\n\n \u201cGet up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel;\n For your father\u2019s on the hill, and your mother is asleep:\n Come up above the crags, and we\u2019ll dance a highland reel\n Around the fairy thorn on the steep.\u201d\n\n At Anna Grace\u2019s door \u2019twas thus the maidens cried,\n Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;\n And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,\n The fairest of the four, I ween.\n\n They\u2019re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve,\n Away in milky wavings of the neck and ankle bare;\n The merry-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,\n And the crags in the ghostly air:\n\n And linking hand and hand, and singing as they go,\n The maids along the hill-side have ta\u2019en their fearless way\n Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow\n Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.\n\n The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim,\n Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;\n The rowan berries cluster o\u2019er her low head grey and dim,\n In ruddy kisses sweet to see.\n\n The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,\n Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem,\n And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go,\n Oh, never carolled bird like them!\n\n But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze\n That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,\n And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes,\n And dreamier the gloaming grows.\n\n And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky\n When the falcon\u2019s shadow saileth across the open shaw,\n Are hushed the maidens\u2019 voices, as cowering down they lie\n In the flutter of their sudden awe.\n\n For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath,\n And from the mountain-ashes and the old whitethorn between,\n A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe\n And they sink down together on the green.\n\n They sink together silent, and stealing side by side,\n They fling their lovely arms o\u2019er their drooping necks so fair,\n Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,\n For their shrinking necks again are bare.\n\n Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed,\n Soft o\u2019er their bosoms beating\u2014the only human sound\u2014\n They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd,\n Like a river in the air, gliding round.\n\n Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say,\n But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three\u2014\n For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,\n By whom they dare not look to see.\n\n They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold,\n And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws;\n They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold,\n But they dare not look to see the cause:\n\n For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies\n Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze;\n And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes\n Or their limbs from the cold ground raise.\n\n Till out of Night the earth has rolled her dewy side,\n With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;\n When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide,\n The maidens\u2019 trance dissolveth so.\n\n Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,\n And told their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain\u2014\n They pined away and died within the year and day,\n And ne\u2019er was Anna Grace seen again.\n\n SAMUEL FERGUSON, M.R.I.A.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY WELL OF LAGNANAY.\n\nI.\n\n Mournfully, sing mournfully\u2014\n \u201cO listen, Ellen, sister dear;\n Is there no help at all for me,\n But only ceaseless sigh and tear?\n Why did not he who left me here,\n With stolen hope steal memory?\n O listen, Ellen, sister dear,\n (Mournfully, sing mournfully)\u2014\n I\u2019ll go away to Sleamish hill,\n I\u2019ll pluck the fairy hawthorne tree,\n And let the spirits work their will;\n I care not if for good or ill,\n So they but lay the memory\n Which all my heart is haunting still!\n (Mournfully, sing mournfully)\u2014\n The Fairies are a silent race,\n And pale as lily flowers to see;\n I care not for a blanched face,\n Nor wandering in a dreaming place,\n So I but banish memory:\u2014\n I wish I were with Anna Grace!\u201d\n Mournfully, sing mournfully!\u2014\n\nII.\n\n Hearken to my tale of woe\u2014\n \u2019Twas thus to weeping Ellen Con,\n Her sister said in accents low,\n Her only sister, Una bawn:\n \u2019Twas in their bed before the dawn,\n And Ellen answered sad and slow,\u2014\n \u201cOh Una, Una, be not drawn\n (Hearken to my tale of woe)\u2014\n To this unholy grief I pray,\n Which makes me sick at heart to know,\n And I will help you if I may:\n \u2014The Fairy Well of Lagnanay\u2014\n Lie nearer me, I tremble so,\u2014\n Una, I\u2019ve heard wise women say\n (Hearken to my tale of woe)\u2014\n That if before the dews arise,\n True maiden in its icy flow\n With pure hand bathe her bosom thrice,\n Three lady-brackens pluck likewise,\n And three times round the fountain go,\n She straight forgets her tears and sighs.\u201d\n Hearken to my tale of woe!\n\nIII.\n\n All, alas! and well-away!\n \u201cOh, sister Ellen, sister sweet,\n Come with me to the hill I pray,\n And I will prove that blessed freet!\u201d\n They rose with soft and silent feet,\n They left their mother where she lay,\n Their mother and her care discreet,\n (All, alas! and well-away!)\n And soon they reached the Fairy Well,\n The mountain\u2019s eye, clear, cold, and grey,\n Wide open in the dreary fell:\n How long they stood \u2019twere vain to tell,\n At last upon the point of day,\n Bawn Una bares her bosom\u2019s swell,\n (All, alas! and well-away!)\n Thrice o\u2019er her shrinking breasts she laves\n The gliding glance that will not stay\n Of subtly-streaming fairy waves:\u2014\n And now the charm three brackens craves,\n She plucks them in their fringed array:\u2014\n Now round the well her fate she braves,\n (All, alas! and well-away!)\n\nIV.\n\n Save us all from Fairy thrall!\n Ellen sees her face the rim\n Twice and thrice, and that is all\u2014\n Fount and hill and maiden swim,\n All together melting dim!\n \u201cUna! Una!\u201d thou may\u2019st call,\n Sister sad! but lith or limb\n (Save us all from Fairy thrall!)\n Never again of Una bawn\n Where now she walks in dreamy hall\n Shall eye of mortal look upon!\n Oh! can it be the guard was gone,\n That better guard than shield or wall?\n Who knows on earth save Turlagh Daune?\n (Save us all from Fairy thrall!)\n Behold the banks are green and bare,\n No pit is here wherein to fall:\n Aye\u2014at the fount you well may stare,\n But nought save pebbles smooth is there,\n And small streams twirling one and all.\n Hie thee home, and be thy pray\u2019r,\n Save us all from Fairy thrall!\n\n SAMUEL FERGUSON, LL.D., M.R.I.A.\n\n\nTHE KELPIE OF CORRIEVRECKAN.\n\nI.\n\n He mounted his steed of the water clear,\n And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere;\n He held his bridle of strings of pearl,\n Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl.\n\nII.\n\n He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth,\n Soft and dainty as velvet cloth,\n And donn\u2019d his mantle of sand so white,\n And grasp\u2019d his sword of the coral bright.\n\nIII.\n\n And away he gallop\u2019d, a horseman free,\n Spurring his steed through the stormy sea,\n Clearing the billows with bound and leap\u2014\n Away, away, o\u2019er the foaming deep!\n\nIV.\n\n By Scarba\u2019s rock, by Lunga\u2019s shore,\n By Garveloch isles where the breakers roar,\n With his horse\u2019s hoofs he dash\u2019d the spray,\n And on to Loch Buy, away, away!\n\nV.\n\n On to Loch Buy all day he rode,\n And reach\u2019d the shore as sunset glow\u2019d,\n And stopp\u2019d to hear the sounds of joy\n That rose from the hills and glens of Moy.\n\nVI.\n\n The morrow was May, and on the green\n They\u2019d lit the fire of Beltan E\u2019en,\n And danced around, and piled it high\n With peat and heather and pine-tops dry.\n\nVII.\n\n A piper play\u2019d a lightsome reel,\n And timed the dance with toe and heel;\n While wives look\u2019d on, as lad and lass\n Trod it merrily o\u2019er the grass.\n\nVIII.\n\n And Jessie (fickle and fair was she)\n Sat with Evan beneath a tree,\n And smiled with mingled love and pride,\n And half agreed to be his bride.\n\nIX.\n\n The Kelpie gallop\u2019d o\u2019er the green\u2014\n He seemed a knight of noble mien,\n And old and young stood up to see,\n And wonder\u2019d who the knight could be.\n\nX.\n\n His flowing locks were auburn bright,\n His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flash\u2019d light;\n And as he sprang from his good gray steed,\n He look\u2019d a gallant youth indeed.\n\nXI.\n\n And Jessie\u2019s fickle heart beat high,\n As she caught the stranger\u2019s glancing eye:\n And when he smiled, \u201cAh well,\u201d thought she,\n \u201cI wish this knight came courting me!\u201d\n\nXII.\n\n He took two steps towards her seat\u2014\n \u201cWilt thou be mine, O maiden sweet?\u201d\n He took her lily-white hand, and sigh\u2019d,\n \u201cMaiden, maiden, be my bride!\u201d\n\nXIII.\n\n And Jessie blush\u2019d, and whisper\u2019d soft\u2014\n \u201cMeet me to-night when the moon\u2019s aloft;\n I\u2019ve dream\u2019d, fair knight, long time of thee\u2014\n I thought thou earnest courting me.\u201d\n\nXIV.\n\n When the moon her yellow horn display\u2019d,\n Alone to the trysting went the maid;\n When all the stars were shining bright,\n Alone to the trysting went the knight.\n\nXV.\n\n \u201cI have loved thee long, I have loved thee well,\n Maiden, oh more than words can tell!\n Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine;\n Maiden, maiden, be thou mine!\u201d\n\nXVI.\n\n \u201cFair sir, thy suit I\u2019ll ne\u2019er deny\u2014\n Though poor my lot, my hopes are high;\n I scorn a lover of low degree\u2014\n None but a knight shall marry me.\u201d\n\nXVII.\n\n He took her by the hand so white,\n And gave her a ring of the gold so bright;\n \u201cMaiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine\u2014\n Maiden, maiden, now thou\u2019rt mine!\u201d\n\nXVIII.\n\n He lifted her on his steed of gray,\n And they rode till morning away, away\u2014\n Over the mountain and over the moor,\n And over the rocks, to the dark sea-shore.\n\nXIX.\n\n \u201cWe have ridden east, we have ridden west\u2014\n I\u2019m weary, fair knight, and I fain would rest,\n Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea?\n Hast thou a good ship waiting for me?\u201d\n\nXX.\n\n \u201cI have no dwelling beyond the sea,\n I have no good ship waiting for thee;\n Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam,\n And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home.\u201d\n\nXXI.\n\n The gray steed plunged in the billows clear,\n And the maiden\u2019s shrieks were sad to hear.\n \u201cMaiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine\u2014\n Maiden, maiden, now thou\u2019rt mine!\u201d\n\nXXII.\n\n Loud the cold sea-blast did blow,\n As they sank \u2019mid the angry waves below\u2014\n Down to the rocks where the serpents creep,\n Twice five hundred fathoms deep.\n\nXXIII.\n\n At morn a fisherman, sailing by,\n Saw her pale corse floating high;\n He knew the maid by her yellow hair\n And her lily skin so soft and fair.\n\nXXIV.\n\n Under a rock on Scarba\u2019s shore,\n Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers roar,\n They dug her a grave by the water clear,\n Among the sea-weed salt and sere.\n\nXXV.\n\n And every year at Beltan E\u2019en,\n The Kelpie gallops across the green,\n On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind,\n With Jessie\u2019s mournful ghost behind.\n\nXXVI.\n\n I warn you, maids, whoever you be,\n Beware of pride and vanity;\n And ere on change of love you reckon,\n Beware the Kelpie of Corrievreckan.\n\n CHARLES MACKAY.\n\n\nTHE ELF OF THE WOODLANDS. A CHILD\u2019S STORY.\n\n In his bed the summer sun is sleeping,\n And the air is murky and cool;\n The vapours o\u2019er the grass are creeping,\n Or hanging above the pool;\n But a timid gleam,\n Like a half-awake dream,\n Comes peering and peeping soon;\n Till dew-drops trickle gay\n In the spider\u2019s web to play,\n And swing in his spangled festoon.\n A soft beam tips the trunks and leaves\n Of this green silent wood,\n And presently a net-work weaves,\n And presently a hood;\n A net-work and a hood of gold,\n Spread in many a lovely fold,\n And many a gleaming band,\n Silently as minutes, told\n Into a Lover\u2019s hand.\n\n Oh, it is a silent wood\n In this early summer morning!\n Even the birds are not half awake,\n But whisper their chirrups in the brake,\n Like a prelude of sweet warning.\n It is as if the placid hours\n Hung their heads like folded flowers,\n Or like sweet flowers in bud,\n Still and happy, smiling and good,\n As children in a morning dream,\n Who move not\u2014yet awake they seem,\n Their close lids gilded by the beam.\n\n There is a pretty cottage white,\n Which also seems asleep,\n Dreaming in the early light\u2014\n Its very roof and windows sleep!\n Each gentle shade that fades away,\n Before the rays that following creep,\n Is nothing more than dreaming play\u2014\n The cottage surely _is_ asleep!\n\n What buzzing tickles yon oak-tree\u2019s foot,\n Bustling and busy, with nought to be seen!\n There\u2019s something fidgeting at the root,\n With a foo-fooing sound like a school-boy\u2019s flute,\n And a rattling like pods of dry bean!\n See! see! there\u2019s a thing scarce five inches high,\n With a comical motion and funny bright eye,\n And a look both roguish and bold\u2014\n His limbs are all antics\u2014he skips like a flea\u2014\n His body is brown as the bark of a tree,\n Mix\u2019d with green streaks and tarnish\u2019d gold!\n\n With little legs straddling,\n He dances about\u2014\n Pretends to be waddling\u2014\n Then leaps with a flout\n At something he sees in the bright quiet air,\n And in front of the cottage he makes antics rare!\n He dances, he prances,\n Gives hiccups and kick-ups,\n But all without noise is his merriment made;\n He laughs at the little cot!\n Threatens the chimney-pot!\n But soft as a moth, or as light plays with shade.\n\n Now he stops\u2014\n Now he hops\u2014\n Now cautiously trips!\n On tip-toe,\n And slip-toe\n He skuttles and skips;\n Along the grass gliding,\n Half-dancing\u2014half-sliding\u2014\n Oft stooping\u2014half hiding\u2014\n Then bolt upright walks,\n And whispering talks\n To himself,\n Pretty elf;\n And quaint sounds he utters,\n Till close to the shutters\n Of the cot that\u2019s still sleeping,\n He climbs up close, peeping,\n And pokes in each crevice his sharp little nose;\n Till one shutter creaks,\n And opening squeaks,\n And the elfin springs down, and dances and crows!\n Till softly again,\n He climbs to the lattice,\n Taps once, twice, and thrice!\n Puffs and blows\u2014\n And through the crack\u2019d pane\n In he goes!\n\n Within this cottage lived a child\u2014\n \u201cToody\u201d her name\u2014she was not very big\n You might judge by the plants and shrubs that grew wild,\n And o\u2019er her head nodded or lifted a sprig.\n Within the same cot there also resided\n Her cousins\u2014in love they were never divided\u2014\n Kitty and Crocus, Tiny and Twig.\n But accurate words in good time to employ,\n We say \u201cTiny\u2019s\u201d a small dog, and not a small boy;\n And likewise explain that Grandmama Grey,\n In spectacles, tucker, and flower\u2019d chintz gown,\n Took care of them all\u2014often grave, seldom gay,\n Yet she always half smiled when trying to frown.\n\n Five o\u2019clock in the morning!\n \u201cWhat noise do I hear below?\u201d\n Cried Grandmama Grey. \u201cAlthough it\u2019s broad day,\n There\u2019s no one up, I know.\u201d\n Then her head\u2019s complete adorning\u2014\n Her turret cover\u2019d with snow,\n Skull-cap and bandage, and double-frill\u2019d night-cap,\n With puff-crown and ribbon, bows, broad-strings, and all,\n Not stopping to think, and not caring what might hap,\n She cast off, and threw at the opposite wall!\n Crying loudly, \u201cCome, children! jump up with me\u2014\n There\u2019s a rat in the dairy! run quickly and see!\n Down with me, each one, as blithe as a grig\u2014\n Toody and Kitty, and Crocus and Twig!\u201d\n At once down the stairs they ran scrambling and fumbling,\n In night-gowns and night-caps\u2014all laughing and jumbling,\n With Tiny between their legs, barking and tumbling.\n\n Down at last they are safely landed,\n Dusky the parlour\u2014the shutters closed,\n Though one swings a-jar (which the Elfin\u2019s hand did),\n By green blinds the light is still opposed.\n So one by one, some rosy, some pale\u2014\n As Indians cautiously pass through a mead,\n Holding each other by night-gown tail,\n Dame Grey and the children in silence proceed.\n\n They reach the dairy\u2014pause at the door;\n They look at each other, then clap their hands,\n And in they bounce, as a wave on the shore\n Scatters its foam on the lonely sands,\n On all sides they spread, and stare round about,\n But soon they huddle together in fear,\n For behind a milk-jug, under the spout,\n They see a small figure that\u2019s wondrous queer!\n\n It is golden, and greenish, and earthy brown,\n With a perking nose and a pointed chin,\n It has very bright eyes and a funny frown,\n With a russetin, apple\u2019s network skin.\n They see him! they see him!\n He knows it, too well!\u2014\n They flee him! they flee him!\u2014\n In terror pell-mell!\n But Tiny springs up\u2014and around a milk-pan\n Gives chase!\u2014now they scour round as fast as they can!\u2014\n\n They whirl round so swift their two bodies seem one,\n And like a dark band on a humming-top spun.\n Dame Grey and the children ran back from their nook,\u2014\n The chase takes away their breath as they look!\n Till at length with a noise like a bark, laugh, and scream,\n The elf leapt in!\u2014and swam across three pans of cream!\n On the opposite side,\n He had quickly espied\n In the wall a small shelf,\n And there landed himself.\n \u201cWe\u2019ve lost him! we\u2019ve lost him!\u201d\n The children all cried!\n But Grandmama Grey,\n I am happy to say,\n Being in her own dairy,\n Was wise as a fairy,\n And quick with a jelly-bag,\n At the shelf\u2019s end,\n Into its belly-swag\n Swept our small friend!\n\n Now you must know that good Dame Grey\n Had prudence at her fingers\u2019 ends,\n And to the parlour leads the way,\n But no one knows what she intends.\n\n Said she, \u201cNow, all go up and dress,\n I\u2019ll leave the bag upon the floor\n Mouth downwards; Tiny\u2019s watchfulness\n Shall guard the window, chimney, door.\u201d\n So Tiny came, and gravely stood\n With both ears cock\u2019d, and nose down bent,\n While with as fix\u2019d an attitude\n The pointed bag stood, like a tent!\n\n Soon they were dress\u2019d, and down they came;\n Breakfast was ready, the tea-kettle singing;\n Toast, hot rolls, water-cresses, and ham,\u2014\n And the parlour-bell still for more egg-cups ringing!\n But mute as a tree, with a truant notching it!\n Stood the jelly-bag tent, with Tiny watching it.\n\n Up rose little Toody, and said, \u201cDon\u2019t you think\n An Elf of the woods would like something to drink?\n Coffee or tea, by way of exhorter\n Not to turn sulky\u2014perhaps, milk-and-water!\u201d\n So under one edge of the jelly-bag tent\n Toody a saucer cautiously push\u2019d,\n Then roll\u2019d an egg under with merriment,\n Though silently all in the room sat hush\u2019d.\n Ten minutes they listened\u2014and then\u2014shall I tell?\n They all plainly heard the crack of a shell.\n\n \u201cAway with the tea-things!\u201d said Grandmama Grey;\n In a twinkling the tea-things were taken away!\n And Martha ran back to see what they meant\n To do with the small rogue under the tent.\n Cried Dame Grey, \u201cBring the bird-cage\u2014look sharp\u2014and run quicker!\u201d\n It once was a blackbird\u2019s, and made of white wicker.\n\n The bird-cage was brought, and Grandmama Grey\n Took the jelly-bag up in her carefullest way,\n Clapt its mouth to the open door\u2014shook it\u2014at last\n In popp\u2019d the Elf!\u2014the cage-door was made fast!\n Now, what do you think the small prisoner did?\n Shed many tears, and jibber\u2019d, and groan\u2019d?\n Crouch\u2019d at the bottom, d\u2019ye fancy he did,\n And there his sad capture and fate bemoan\u2019d?\n Nothing like this: with one spring and ten kicks\n He climbed to the perch, and himself he seated,\n Like a young thing practising calisthenics,\n With his hands on his pole, as if tired and heated.\n\n Toddy ran close to the cage\u2014so did Crocus;\n Twig cried, \u201cHere\u2019s mischief and hocus-pocus!\u201d\n And Kitty stared smiling; her soft hazel eyes\n With wonder seem\u2019d double their natural size.\n But the Elf met their looks without a wince,\n While his cheek was yellow and tart as quince,\n And his tongue at one side thrust a bulb on the skin\n As the sight of his left eye slid out and in.\n He sat on his perch, not the least in despair,\n But swinging his little legs\u2014and, I declare,\n With a perking, half-winking, impertinent air.\n\n Dame Grey with her spectacles now rose up,\n \u201cWho are you, little sir? and what may you be?\n Do you know you have broken my best China cup,\n And spoilt all my cream?\u2014now, answer to me!\n Tell us your story from first to last\u2014\n Where you were born\u2014where educated\u2014\n Or here a captive for life you stay fast!\u2014\n Begin, sir, at once\u2014all must be stated.\u201d\n\n Rough the crown of the Elf did bristle,\n His brutus rose like a flowering thistle,\n Till his anger through his nose did whistle;\n But his feelings he master\u2019d, and tried to look\n Demure as a good child over his book.\n Some yellow of egg he rubb\u2019d off his chin,\n And stuck like a buttercup on his shin,\n Then shrugg\u2019d his shoulders up in a hunch,\n With a wheezing squeal, and a noise like Punch,\n Though not half so loud. And now with a sneeze,\n Like a parrot\u2019s, who suffers much from a cold,\n His account of his life among the trees\n He thus, in his way, began to unfold.\n\n \u201cNine white witches sat in a circle close,\n With their backs against a greenwood tree,\n As around the dead-nettle\u2019s summer stem\n Its woolly white blossoms you see.\n _Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee!_\n Rills and hills,\n Lawns and horns,\n Hedges, sedges,\n Rushes, thrushes,\n _Twangle dee!_\n\n \u201cWith hooded heads bent \u2019neath the broad green shade,\n And hands laid flat on each knee,\n They sat, as around the death-nettle\u2019s stem\n Its beldame-shaped bloom you may see.\n _Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee!_\n Woods and broods,\n Birds and herds,\n Eggs and curds,\n Osiers, rosiers,\u2014\n _Tangle dee!_\n\n \u201cNow the witches so white they worked a charm\n For the life of my mother and me,\n And said in the woodlands we ever should dwell,\n From man\u2019s knavish fingers free.\n _Tangle fangle, jangle hangle, wrangle see!_\n Guns and runs,\n Hops and pops,\n Nettings, frettings,\n Pools and fools\u2014\n _Dangle dee!_\n\n \u201cThen from hedges and ditches, these old lady-witches,\n Took bird-weed and rag-weed, and spear-grass for me,\n And they wove me a bower, \u2019gainst the snow-storm or shower,\n In a dry old hollow beech tree.\n _Tangle dangle, suns and funs, twangle tee!_\n Sticks and tricks,\n Light and sprites,\n Moons, festoons,\n Glooms, mushrooms,\n _Tangle dee!_\n\n \u201cMy nest-home inside, is dark, warm, and soft\n As the sable-hair\u2019d breast of a panting bee;\n And never in my life will I have an elfin wife,\n Till the prettiest comes to court me.\n _Twangle tangle, kisses blisses, tangle tee!_\n Courts and sports,\n Eyes and sighs,\n Peeps and leaps,\n Hands and bands,\n Huts and nuts\u2014\n _Twangle twee!_\n Ivy wreaths,\n Flowering heaths,\n Jays and fays,\n Owls and fogs,\n Bats and frogs,\n Holes and moles,\n Music sound\n Under ground\u2014\n _Twangle dee!_\n Twining, shining,\n Dances, prances,\n Berries, cherries,\n Sorrels, laurels,\n Reed-pipe, seed ripe,\n Burrows, furrows,\n Habits, rabbits,\n Paths and crosses,\n Plots and mosses,\n Hares and stags,\n Dwarfs and hags,\n Shrubs all burry,\n Creatures furry,\n Wren and titmouse,\n Wasp and woodlouse\u2014\n _Twangle tee!_\n Races, graces,\n Woodland faces,\n Quaint grimaces,\n Silver gushes,\n Tall bull-rushes,\n Rambles, scrambles,\n Bogs and brambles,\n Buzzes, fuzzes,\n Trailing briers,\n Red wood-fires,\n Squirrels, jackdaws,\n Things with black claws,\n Legs, horns, eyes,\n Blythe butterflies,\n Rush-knot shoe-tie,\n Peeps of blue sky,\n Distant steeple,\n Bee and beetle,\n Fairy people,\n Small legs fleetest,\n Echoes sweetest,\n Joy completest\u2014\n _Twangle tee!_\n _Ri-rigdum, dingle shade-laugh, tingle dee!_\u201d\n\n Each look\u2019d at the other\u2014none knew what to say.\n \u201cThis won\u2019t do for me!\u201d said Grandmama Grey;\n \u201cNone of your hoaxing about white witches,\n Nettles and nonsense, and hedges and ditches;\n I never before heard so clever a blade\n At an answer in genuine rhodomontade.\n Why do you prattle of woodland and stream?\n What do I care how your small heels you kick up?\n You know you came here to steal _cake_ and drink _cream_;\n And, besides, you have broken a china tea-cup!\u201d\n\n Hereat the Elf gazed up on high,\n Through the cage-top bars with rueful gloom,\n And then he gave a little sigh,\n Fixing his eyes on Martha\u2019s broom;\n And meditated thoughtfully.\n But presently he cast a glance\n At Toody, who was winking nigh;\n And now this Elf with nonchalance\n Look\u2019d round and shouted pleasantly,\n \u201cI vow, by the tom-tit\u2019s foolish ways,\n By the mole\u2019s front claws and his pin-hole eye,\n The woodpecker\u2019s thorn-tongue and groundless dismays,\n I have told my biography faithfully.\u201d\n Again at Toody a look he stole,\n Then coolly resumed his rigmarole.\n\n \u201cLoitering once in a wood,\u201d he said,\n Cocking his nose with a side-bent head,\u2014\n \u201cA wood full of rabbit-runs, spaces, and turns,\n And crowded regiments of feathery ferns,\n With all sorts of groundlings pleasant to see,\n Such as cup-moss and wild anemone,\u2014\n I sat me down in a silent nook,\n By a rill that pearl\u2019d from a grassy dell,\n And being in want of an excellent book,\n I took up a pebble, which did as well.\n I pondered much on its class and merit;\n Its natural secrets my heart did ferret,\u2014\n I consider\u2019d it in a learned spirit;\n And while I was thus at study,\n I heard near at hand a fussing and spirting,\n And a ruffling sound of dipping and flirting,\n \u2019Neath a morning sky all ruddy.\n\n On tiptoe I trip\u2014o\u2019er the bushes I look\u2014\n And close at the red-gravell\u2019d edge of the brook,\n There stood a robin bathing!\n He ruffled his feathers with a spattering sound,\n And made himself look like a fussy round,\n Or some fairy\u2019s curious plaything,\n With a spangly shower all flying and splashing,\n In a circle of water-drops showering and flashing!\n But presently\u2014\n His eye\u2014his eye!\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n \u201cHis eye\u2014his eye!\u201d all the children cried\u2014\n \u201cWhat of his eye?\u201d The Elf, aside,\n Once more at Toody stole a glance,\n And Toody a quiet nod gave askance,\n As much as to say, \u201cI\u2019ll find you a chance.\u201d\n And then the Elf gave a downward squint\n At the close cage-door, by way of a hint;\n And, after scratching his apricot cheek,\n Of the robin again he proceeded to speak,\u2014\n Jumping down to the floor of the cage,\n And acting a \u201crobin\u201d as if on the stage.\n\n \u201cHis eye! his eye!\n The clear round mirror of jet and light,\n Caught a glimpse of me.\n He bobbed\u2014took wing\u2014and was out of sight.\n Well, good folks\u2014well!\n I have more to tell!\n Then I stood up in the rabbit-path,\n Winding along the low banks of the rill,\n Where I saw the robin taking his bath,\n And I fancy I see him still!\n\n True, as I say, he came back once more,\n With a fluster\u2019d air, and in anger; I vow\n He look\u2019d like an alderman lecturing the poor,\n But meaning at last to\u2014_unlock the cage-door_!\n Methinks, I see him now!\n Along and across, he hops and he flits\n Just so!\u2014on my word\u2014just so!\n Then suddenly\u2014look, there he sits\n Upon a topmost twig!\n He took a flight\u2014and then a hop\u2014\n Again a flight,\n Then perch\u2019d so light\n Upon the twig\u2019s tip-top!\n Look at his large bright eye,\n Very round and very black;\n Now he bobs, and now he bows,\n Incessantly,\n With head, and tail, and back;\n Bob, tail\u2014and now bob, nose,\n Up and down he goes,\n Then off he flies in a crack!\n Upon a tall tree bough,\n There\u2014there! I see him now!\n Come, Bob, come!\n He sits quite dumb\u2014\n What cares he for a crumb\u2014\n Look at his breast so red!\n Again he bows his head,\n Bobs and bows\u2014ruffles his wings\u2014\n Now smoothes them down, and then he sings.\n How he sings and warbles sweet!\n No more bobbing,\n Hob-and-nobbing,\n Quiet he sits, and fills the air\n With music delicate and rare;\n And now he glances at his feet,\n Then like a gentleman complete\n He bobs again\u2014gives one quick bow,\n As I do now!\u2014\n Points down his tail, and up his nose\u2014\n And _off_ he goes!\u201d\n\n \u201cRun, Tiny\u2014run!\u2014Oh, Kitty, Twig, and Crocus!\n The little wretch is gone!\u2014oh, villain, thus to joke us!\n Run, Toody\u2014run!\u2014you, you are the deceiver\n That loosen\u2019d the cage-door!\u2014I\u2019m surely in a fever!\n Tiny, chase him\u2014Tiny, catch him!\n Oh, Kitty, Twig, and Crocus\u2014\n The robin redbreast story was only meant to hoax us!\n\n Away\u2014away\u2014away!\n Come all into the wood!\n Follow me, I say, I say, I say,\n Through brambles, weeds, and mud!\u201d\n Oh, none shall run to-day\n So fast as Granny Grey,\n She hath the youngest blood!\n\n Off they all ran trooping,\n And hallooing and hooping,\n Beneath the low boughs stooping,\n Right through the wood,\n For Grandmama Grey,\n Like an old duck, led the way,\n When a string of ducks trudge to a flood.\n Then came Kitty, side by side\n With Toody, who oft cried,\n \u201cOh, Kitty dear, was ever such rare fun, fun, fun!\u201d\n And Crocus close to Twig,\n Both scampered in a jig,\n For they knew the Elf his freedom-race had won, won, won.\n\n As for him, the roguish Elf,\n He took good care of himself;\n His mites of legs they twinkled as he fled, fled, fled!\n He was scarcely seen, indeed,\n He so glistened with his speed,\n And his hair streamed out like silver grass behind his head!\n\n Now leaping here, now there,\n Tiny barking everywhere,\n Through undergrowth and thicket made his way with nose and claw,\n Till suddenly the party\n Met, full drive, with laughter hearty,\n Florry, Pay, Bow, Carry, Minnie, Ganner, Andy, Ock, and Daw!\n\n Such a meeting\u2014such quick greeting\u2014\n Such explaining and repeating!\n All confusion, no one listening, but all for the chase;\n So off the party pack\n To follow the Elf\u2019s track,\n And Granny Grey was foremost still in this mad race!\n\n Now flew buttons, laces, bands,\n While with burning face and hands,\n Through and through, and up and down, they troop with shout and crow!\n Under, over, and across\n Shrubs, tangles, trunks, and moss,\n Till their hearts are almost bursting, and they gasp, and puff, and blow!\n They struggle and they strive,\n Droop\u2014lag\u2014and then revive;\n And once again they speed along and wish for wings to fly;\n They grow deaf and dizzy-eyed\u2014\n With pains in head and side;\n But the Elf they cannot overtake\u2014\u2019tis all in vain to try!\n\n So the party wild with heat,\n And defeat\u2014so complete\u2014\n To the cottage stagger and retreat\u2014\n Oh, oh, oh!\n And, with fagg\u2019d and streaming faces, they all sit down on the floor,\n Their clothes green from bark of trees\u2014\n Torn and mudded to the knees\u2014\n\n With faces like red-lion signs, and feet all sore!\n There they sit, a good long hour,\n As for moving!\u2014they have no such power;\n And Martha with hot water comes, each hand and face to wash.\n And then, still lounging on the ground,\n Cups of tea are handed round,\n Their dinners they had lost, while they hunted brake and bush.\n\n All hungry as young hawks,\n How the toast and butter \u201cwalks,\u201d\n With legs of fowl down hunters\u2019 throats, who seem\u2019d just now half dead;\n But soon they laugh and shout,\n Eat and drink, and loll about.\n Till at last with laughing kisses they all troop off to bed.\n\n But where to sleep none knew,\n For the cottage was but small,\n Yet by Dame Grey\u2019s arrangement\n There was room enough for all.\n Three slept upon the floor\n Of the largest room upstairs,\n And in the parlour, four,\n On sofa, rug, and chairs.\n The night was warm and pleasant\u2014\n One filled the window seat;\n And two slept in the summer-house\u2014\n And, oh, it was so sweet!\n\n Within a very little nook\n Toody always slept alone;\n Its strip of window stole a look\n Over the lawn and hay-rick cone.\n Within the open lattice crept\n Some jasmine from the cottage wall,\n And to the breathing of her sleep,\n Softly swayed, with rise and fall.\n But something else comes creeping in,\n As softly from the starry night,\u2014\n The Elf!\u2014\u2019tis he!\u2014first peeping in,\n Now like a moth doth he alight!\n He trips up to the little bed,\n And near it hangs a full-blown rose,\n Then in the middle of the flower\n Places a light that gleams and glows.\n It is a glow-worm from the lea,\n And lighting up the rose\u2019s heart,\n A fairy grot it seems to be\u2014\n Where dream-thoughts live and ne\u2019er depart.\n And now the Elf once more is gone\n Into the woodlands wild,\n Leaving his blessing thus to shine\n Upon the dreaming child.\n\n R. H. HORNE.\n\n\nTWO FAIRIES IN A GARDEN.\n\n 1. \u201cWhither goest, brother Elf?\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cThe sun is weak\u2014to warm myself\n In a thick red tulip\u2019s core.\n Whither thou?\u201d\n\n 1. \u201cTill day be o\u2019er,\n To the dim and deep snow-palace\n Of the closest lily-chalice,\n Where is veil\u2019d the light of noon\n To be like my Lady\u2019s moon.\n Thou art of the day, I ween?\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cYet I not disown our Queen,\n Nor at Lysc\u2019 am backward found,\n When the mighty Feast comes round;\n When She spreads abroad her power\n To proclaim a midnight hour\n For the pale blue Fays like thee\n And the ruddy Elves like me\n To mingle in a charm\u00e8d ring\n With a perfect welcoming;\n Guarded from the moon-stroke cold,\n And wisp that scares us on the wold.\u201d\n\n 1. \u201cSwift that Night is drawing near,\n When your abrupt and jovial cheer,\n Mixes in our misty dance,\n Meeting else by rarest chance.\n We love dark undew\u2019d recesses\n Of the leafy wildernesses,\n Or to hide in some cold flow\u2019r,\n Shelter\u2019d from the sunlight hour,\n And more afflictive mortal eye.\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cGladly, gladly, do I spy\n Human children playing nigh,\n Feel, and so must you, the grace\n Of a loving human face.\n Else why come you in this place?\n O, my Sister, if we might\n Show ourselves to mortal sight\n Far more often! if they knew\n Half the friendly turns we do!\n Even now, a gentle thought\n Would pay my service dimly wrought,\n Round these winding garden-walks,\n Fruits and flow\u2019rs and leaves and stalks.\n Paler favourites of the noon,\n Can ye give or take such boon?\u201d\n\n 1. \u201cChantings, Brother, hear you might,\n Softly sung through still of night;\n Calling from the w\u00ebird North\n Dreams like distant echoes forth,\n Till through curtain\u2019d shades they creep,\n To inlay the gloomy floor of sleep\n For babes, and souls that babe-like are:\n So we bless them from afar\n Like a faint but favouring star.\n \u2014But tell me how in fields or bowers\n Thou hast spent these morning hours?\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cThrough the tall hedge I have been,\n Shadowy wall of crusted green,\n Within whose heart the birds are seen.\n Speeding swiftly thence away\n To the crowning chestnut-spray,\n I watch\u2019d a Tyrant steal along\n Would slay the sweet Thrush in her song;\n Warned, she soon broke off from singing,\n There we left the branchlet swinging.\n Whispering Robin, down the walk,\n News of poising, pouncing Hawk,\n The Sycamore I next must strew\n On every leaf with honey-dew.\n And hither now from clouds I run,\n For all my morning work is done.\u201d\n\n 1. \u201cAlas, I wither in the sun,\n Witless drawn to leave my nest\n Ere the day be laid to rest!\n But to-night we lightly troop\n By the young Moon\u2019s silver hoop;\n Weaving wide our later ranks\n As on evening river-banks\n Shifting crowds of midges glance\n Through mazes of their airy dance:\n O might you come, O might you see\n All our shadow\u2019d revelry!\n Yet the next night shall be rarer,\n Next and next and next, still fairer;\n We are waxing every night,\n Till our joy be full and bright;\n Then as slowly do we wane\n With gentle loss that makes no pain,\n For thus are we with life endued:\n Ye, I trow, have rougher food.\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cYes: with fragrant soul we\u2019re fed\n Of every flower whose cheek is red,\n Shunning yellow, blue, and white;\n And southward go, at the nightingale\u2019s flight.\n Many the Faery Nations be.\n Oh! how I long, I long to see\n The moon\u00e8d midnight of our Feast,\n Flushing amber through the east,\n When every cap in Elfindom\n Into that great ring shall come,\n Owf and Elf and Fairy blended.\n Till th\u2019 imperial time be ended!\n Even those fantastic Sprites\n Lay aside their dear delights\n Of freakish mischief and annoyance\n In the universal joyance,\n One of whom I saw of late\n As I peep\u2019d through window-grate,\n (Under roof I may not enter)\n Haunt the housewife to torment her,\n Tangle up her skeins of silk,\n Throw a mouse into her milk,\n Hide her thimble, scorch her roast,\n Quickly drive her mad almost;\n And I too vex\u2019d, because I would\n Have brought her succour if I could.\n \u2014But where shall this be holden, say?\n Far away?\u201d\n\n 1. \u201cO, far away,\n Over river must we fly,\n Over the sea, and the mountain high,\n Over city, seen afar\n Like a low and misty star,\u2014\n Soon beneath us glittering\n Like million spark-worms. But our wing,\n For the flight will ne\u2019er suffice.\n Some are training Flittermice,\n I a Silver Moth.\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cBe ware\n How I\u2019ll thrid the vaulted air!\n A Dragon-fly with glassy wings,\n Born beside the meadow-springs,\n That can arrow-swiftly glide\n Thorough the glowing eventide,\n Nor at twilight-fall grow slack,\n Shall bear me on his long blue back.\n Dew-stars, meteors of the night,\n May not strike him with affright,\n He can needle through the wood,\n That\u2019s like a green earth-chain\u00e8d cloud,\n Mountain-summits deftly rake,\n Draw swift line o\u2019er plain and lake.\n If at Lysco I be last,\n Other elves must journey fast.\n Lu a vo!\u201d\n\n 1. \u201cBut, Elf, I rede,\n Of all your Herbs take special heed.\n Our Mistress tholes no garden flowers,\n Though we have freedom of these bowers.\n Tell me what you mean to treasure,\n Each in \u2019s atom?\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cGold-of-Pleasure,\n Medic, Plumeseed, Fountain-arrow,\n Vervain, Hungry-grass, and Yarrow,\n Quatrefoil and Melilot.\u201d\n\n 1. \u201cThese are well. And I have got\n Moonwort and the Filmy Fern,\n Gather\u2019d nicely on the turn.\n Wo to Fairy that shall bring\n Bugloss for an offering,\n Toad-flax, Barley of the Wall,\n Enchanter\u2019s Nightshade, worst of all.\n \u2014Oh, brother, hush! I faint with fear!\n A mortal footstep threatens near.\u201d\n\n 2. \u201cNone can see us, none can hear.\n Yet, to make thee less afraid,\n Hush we both as thou hast pray\u2019d.\n I will seek the verse to spell\n Written round my dark flow\u2019r\u2019s bell,\n To sing at sunset. So, Farewell!\u201d\n\n WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\nELFIN SONG.\n\nI.\n\n Far in the western ocean\u2019s breast\n The summer fairies have found a nest;\n The heavens ever unclouded smile\n Over the breadth of their beautiful isle;\n Through it a hundred streamlets flow,\n In spangled paths, to the sea below,\n And woo the vales that beside them lie\n With a low and tremulous minstrelsy.\n The elfin brood have homes they love\n In the earth below and skies above;\n But the haunt which of all they love the best\n Is the palm-crowned isle, in the ocean\u2019s breast,\n That mortals call Canary;\n And many an Ariel, blithesome, airy,\n And each laughing fay and lithesome fairy,\n Know well the mystical way in the West\n To the sweet isle of Canary.\n\nII.\n\n With an ever-sounding choral chant,\n And a clear, cerulean, wild desire\n To clasp that fairy island nigher,\n The sinuous waves of ocean pant;\n For here all natural things are free\n To mingle in passionate harmony.\n The light from their mirror turns away\n With a golden splendour, in the day,\n But nightly, when coroneted Even\n Marshals the shining queen of heaven,\n There gleams a silvery scenery,\n From the rim of the great prismatic sea\n Around the isle of Canary\n To the central crags of Pisgatiri,\n Where the crested eagle builds his eyry,\n Scanning the shores of sweet Canary.\n\nIII.\n\n Lustrously sailing here and there,\n Afloat in the beatific air,\n Birds, of purple and blue and gold,\n Pour out their music manifold;\n All day long in the leas they sing,\n While the sun-kissed flowers are blossoming;\n At eve, when the dew-drop feeds the rose,\n And the fragrant water-lilies close,\n The marvellous-throated nightingale\n With a dying music floods each vale,\n Till the seaward breezes, listening, stay\n To catch the harmony of his lay\n And cool the air of Canary;\n And thus the melodies ever vary,\n In the vales of the ocean aviary,\n In the blissful valleys of sweet Canary.\n\nIV.\n\n The Elle-King\u2019s palace was builded there\n By elves of water and earth and air;\n Lovingly worked each loyal sprite,\n And it grew to life in a summer night.\n Over the sheen of its limpid moat,\n Wafted along, in a magic boat,\n By fairy wings that fan the sails,\n And eddying through enchanted vales,\n Through walls of amber and crystal gates,\n We come where a fairy warder waits;\n And so, by many a winding way\n Where sweet bells jingle and fountains play,\n To the inmost, royalest room of all,\u2014\n The elfin monarch\u2019s reception-hall,\n The pearl and pride of Canary!\n To guard its fastness the elves are wary,\n And no weird thing, of pleasure chary,\n Can enter with evil in sweet Canary!\n\nV.\n\n All that saddens, and care and pain,\n Are banished far from that fair domain;\n There forever, by day and night,\n Is naught but pleasance and love\u2019s delight;\n Daily, the Genii of the flowers\n Shade with beauty a hundred bowers;\n Nightly, the Gnomes of precious stones\n Emblazon and light a hundred thrones;\n And the Elves of the field, so swift and mute,\n Bring wine and honey and luscious fruit;\n And the Sylphs of the air, at noontide, cool\n The depths of each bower and vestibule;\n And all are gay,\u2014from the tricksome Fay\n Who flutters in woodlands far away,\n To the best-beloved attendant Elf,\n And the royal heart of the king himself,\n Who rules in bright Canary;\n And the labouring Fairies are blithe and merry,\n Who press the juice from the swollen berry\n That reddens the vines of sweet Canary.\n\nVI.\n\n What if there be a fated day\n When the Fa\u00ebry Isle shall pass away,\n And its beautiful groves and fountains seem\n The myths of a long, delicious dream!\n A century\u2019s joys shall first repay\n Our hearts, for the evil of that day;\n And the Elfin-King has sworn to wed\n A daughter of Earth, whose child shall be,\n By cross and water hallow\u00e9d,\n From the fairies\u2019 doom forever free.\n What if there be a fated day!\n It is far away! it is far away!\n Maiden, fair Maiden, I, who sing\n Of this summer isle, am the island king.\n I come from its joys to make thee mine:\n Half of my kingdom shall be thine;\n Our horses of air and ocean wait\u2014\n Then hasten, and share the Elle-King\u2019s state\n In the sweet isle of Canary;\n And many an Ariel, blithsome, airy,\n And each laughing fay and lithesome fairy,\n Shall rovingly hover around and over thee,\n And the love of a king shall evermore cover thee,\n Nightly and daily in sweet Canary.\n\n EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.\n\n\nTHE FERLIE.\n\n A Ferlie came ben to me yestreen,\n A lady jimp an\u2019 sma\u2019,\n Wi\u2019 a milk-white snood an\u2019 a kirtle green,\n Yellow an\u2019 roun were her bonny e\u2019en,\n And she said, \u201cWill ye come awa\u2019?\n\n \u201cWill ye gang wi\u2019 me to the Elflyn Knowe,\n To milk our queene\u2019s coo?\u201d\n \u201cNa, na,\u201d quo\u2019 I, \u201cI maun shear my sheep,\n I\u2019ve my barn to bigg, an\u2019 my corn to reap,\n Sae I canna come the noo.\u201d\n\n The ferlie skirled as she turned to gae,\n For an angry elf was she,\n \u201cO a wilfu\u2019 man maun hae his way,\n An I mak\u2019 sma\u2019 doot but ye\u2019ll rue the day\n That ye wouldna gang wi\u2019 me.\u201d\n\n \u201cO, ance again will ye speir at me\n An\u2019 I\u2019ll aiblins come awa\u2019?\u201d\n \u201cO I\u2019ll come again to your yetts,\u201d quo\u2019 she,\n \u201cWhen broom blooms bright on yon rowan-tree\n An\u2019 the laverock sings i\u2019 th\u2019 snaw!\u201d\n\n GRAHAM R. TOMSON.\n\n\n\n\nMiscellaneous.\n\n\nTHE FOUNTAIN OF THE FAIRIES.\n\n There is a fountain in the forest call\u2019d\n The Fountain of the Fairies: when a child\n With a delightful wonder I have heard\n Tales of the elfin tribe who on its banks\n Hold midnight revelry. An ancient oak,\n The goodliest of the forest, grows beside;\n Alone it stands, upon a green grass plat,\n By the woods bounded like some little isle.\n It ever hath been deem\u2019d their favourite tree,\n They love to lie and rock upon its leaves,\n And bask in moonshine. Here the woodman leads\n His boy, and showing him the green-sward mark\u2019d\n With darker circlets, says the midnight dance\n Hath traced the rings, and bids him spare the tree.\n Fancy had cast a spell upon the place\n Which made it holy; and the villagers\n Would say that never evil thing approach\u2019d\n Unpunish\u2019d there. The strange and fearful pleasure\n Which fill\u2019d me by that solitary spring,\n Ceased not in riper years; and now it wakes\n Deeper delight, and more mysterious awe.\n\n ROBERT SOUTHEY.\n\n\nSONGS OF THE PIXIES.\n\n[The Pixies, in the superstitions of Devonshire, are a race of beings\ninvisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance\nfrom a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an\nexcavation, called the Pixies\u2019 parlour. The roots of old trees form its\nceiling; and on its sides are innumerable ciphers, among which the author\ndiscovered his own cipher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of\ntheir childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. To this\nplace the author conducted a party of young ladies, during the summer\nmonths of the year 1793; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of\ncomplexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen: on which\noccasion, and at which time, the following irregular ode was written.]\n\nI.\n\n Whom the untaught shepherds call\n PIXIES in their madrigal,\n Fancy\u2019s children, here we dwell:\n Welcome, ladies! to our cell.\n Here the wren of softest note\n Builds its nest and warbles well;\n Here the blackbird strains his throat;\n Welcome, ladies! to our cell.\n\nII.\n\n When fades the moon all shadowy-pale,\n And scuds the cloud before the gale,\n Ere morn with living gems bedight\n Streaks the East with purple light,\n We sip the furze flowers fragrant dews,\n Clad in robes of rainbow hues\n Richer than the deepened bloom\n That glows on summer\u2019s scented plume:\n Or sport amid the rosy gleam,\n Soothed by the distant-tinkling team,\n While lusty labour, scouting sorrow,\n Bids the dame a glad good-morrow,\n Who jogs th\u2019 accustomed road along,\n And paces cheery to her cheering song.\n\nIII.\n\n But not our filmy pinion\n We scorch amid the blaze of day\n When noon-tide\u2019s fiery-tressed minion\n Flashes the fervid ray.\n Aye from the sultry heat\n We to the cave retreat,\n O\u2019ercanopied by huge roots intertwined\n With wildest texture, blackened o\u2019er with age;\n Round them their mantles green the ivies bind,\n Beneath whose foliage pale,\n Fanned by the unfrequent gale,\n We shield us from the tyrant\u2019s mid-day rage.\n\nIV.\n\n Thither while the murmuring throng\n Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,\n By indolence and fancy brought,\n A youthful bard, \u201cunknown to fame,\u201d\n Woos the queen of solemn thought,\n And heaves the gentle mis\u2019ry of a sigh,\n Gazing with tearful eye,\n As round our sandy grot appear\n Many a rudely sculptured name\n To pensive mem\u2019ry dear!\n Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue\n We glance before his view:\n O\u2019er his hushed soul our soothing witch\u2019ries shed,\n And twine our faery garlands round his head.\n\nV.\n\n When evening\u2019s dusky car\n Crowned with her dewy star\n Steals o\u2019er the fading sky in shadowy flight;\n On leaves of aspen trees\n We tremble to the breeze,\n Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight.\n Or, haply at the visionary hour,\n Along our wild sequestered walk,\n We listen to th\u2019 enamoured rustic\u2019s talk;\n Heave with the heavings of the maiden\u2019s breast,\n Where young-eyed loves have built their turtle nest;\n Or guide of soul-subduing power\n Th\u2019 electric flash, that from the melting eye\n Darts the fond question and the soft reply.\n\nVI.\n\n Or thro\u2019 the mystic ringlets of the vale\n We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank;\n Or, silent-sandalled, pay our defter court\n Circling the spirit of the western gale,\n Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport,\n Supine he slumbers on a violet bank!\n Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam,\n By lonely Otter\u2019s sleep-persuading stream;\n Or where his wave with loud unquiet song\n Dashed o\u2019er the rocky channel froths along;\n Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest,\n The tall tree\u2019s shadow sleeps upon his breast.\n\nVII.\n\n Hence! thou lingerer, light!\n Eve saddens into night.\n Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view\n The sombre hours, that round thee stand\n With down-cast eyes (a duteous band!),\n Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew.\n Sorceress of the ebon throne!\n Thy power the Pixies own,\n When round thy raven brow\n Heaven\u2019s lucent roses glow,\n And clouds, in wat\u2019ry colours drest,\n Float in light drapery o\u2019er thy sable vest;\n What time the pale moon sheds a softer ray,\n Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam:\n For \u2019mid the quiv\u2019ring light \u2019tis ours to play,\n Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.\n\nVIII.\n\n Welcome, ladies! to the cell,\n Where the blameless Pixies dwell,\n But thou, sweet nymph! proclaimed our faery queen,\n With what obeisance meet\n Thy presence shall we greet?\n For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen\n Graceful ease in artless stole,\n And white-robed purity of soul,\n With honour\u2019s softer mien:\n Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair\n And meek-eyed pity eloquently fair,\n Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view,\n As snow-drop wet with dew.\n\nIX.\n\n Unboastful Maid! tho\u2019 now the lily pale\n Transparent grace thy beauties meek;\n Yet ere again along the impurpling vale,\n The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove,\n Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws,\n We\u2019ll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek!\n And haply from the nectar-breathing rose\n Extract a blush of love!\n\n SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.\n\n\nFAIRY FAVOURS.\n\n Would\u2019st thou wear the gift of immortal bloom?\n Would\u2019st thou smile in scorn at the shadowy tomb?\n Drink of this cup! it is richly fraught\n With balm from the gardens of genii brought;\n Drink, and the spoiler shall pass thee by,\n When the young all scattered like rose-leaves lie.\n\n And would not the youth of my soul be gone,\n If the loved had left me, one by one?\n Take back the cup that may never bless,\n The gift that would make me brotherless;\n How should I live with no kindred eye\n To reflect mine immortality?\n\n Would\u2019st thou have empire, by sign or spell,\n Over the mighty in air that dwell?\n Would\u2019st thou call the spirits of shore and steep\n To fetch thee jewels from ocean\u2019s deep?\n Wave but this rod, and a viewless band,\n Slaves to thy will, shall around thee stand.\n\n And would not fear, at my coming then,\n Hush every voice in the homes of men?\n Would not bright eyes in my presence quail?\n Young cheeks with a nameless thrill turn pale?\n No gift be mine that aside would turn\n The human love for whose founts I yearn!\n\n Would\u2019st thou then read through the hearts of those\n Upon whose faith thou hast sought repose?\n Wear this rich gem! it is charm\u2019d to show\n When a change comes over affection\u2019s glow,\n Look on its flushing or fading hue,\n And learn if the trusted be false or true!\n\n Keep, keep the gem, that I still may trust,\n Though my heart\u2019s wealth be but pour\u2019d on dust!\n Let not a doubt in my soul have place,\n To dim the light of a loved one\u2019s face;\n Leave to the earth its warm sunny smile\u2014\n That glory would pass could I look on guile!\n\n Say, then, what boon of my power shall be,\n Favour\u2019d of spirits! pour\u2019d forth on thee?\n Thou scornest the treasures of wave and mine,\n Thou wilt not drink of the cup divine,\n Thou art fain with a mortal\u2019s lot to rest\u2014\n Answer me! how may I grace it best?\n\n Oh! give me no sway o\u2019er the powers unseen,\n But a human heart where my own may lean!\n A friend, one tender and faithful friend,\n Whose thoughts\u2019 free current with mine may blend,\n And leaving not either on earth alone,\n Bid the bright calm close of our lives be one!\n\n FELICIA HEMANS.\n\n\nWATER-LILIES: A FAIRY SONG.\n\n Come away, elves! while the dew is sweet,\n Come to the dingles where fairies meet;\n Know that the lilies have spread their bells\n O\u2019er all the pools in our forest dells;\n Stilly and lightly their vases rest\n On the quivering sleep of the water\u2019s breast,\n Catching the sunshine through leaves that throw\n To their scented bosoms an emerald glow;\n And a star from the depth of each pearly cup,\n A golden star unto heaven looks up,\n As if seeking its kindred where bright they lie,\n Set in the blue of the summer sky.\n \u2014Come away! under arching boughs we\u2019ll float,\n Making those urns each a fairy boat;\n We\u2019ll row them with reeds o\u2019er the fountains free,\n And a tall flag-leaf shall our streamer be,\n And we\u2019ll send out wild music so sweet and low,\n It shall seem from the bright flower\u2019s heart to flow,\n As if \u2019twere a breeze with a flute\u2019s low sigh,\n Or water drops train\u2019d into melody.\n \u2014Come away! for the midsummer sun grows strong,\n And the life of the lily may not be long.\n\n FELICIA HEMANS.\n\n\nFANTASIES.\n\nI.\n\n I\u2019m weary, I\u2019m weary,\u2014this cold world of ours;\n I will go dwell afar, with fairies and flowers.\n Farewell to the festal, the hall of the dance,\n Where each step is a study, a falsehood each glance;\n Where the vain are displaying, the vapid are yawning;\n Where the beauty of night, the glory of dawning,\n Are wasted, as Fashion, that tyrant, at will\n Makes war on sweet nature, and exiles her still.\n\nII.\n\n I\u2019m weary, I\u2019m weary,\u2014I\u2019m off with the wind:\n Can I find a worse fate than the one left behind?\n \u2014Fair beings of moonlight, gay dwellers in air,\n O show me your kingdom! O let me dwell there!\n I see them, I see them!\u2014how sweet it must be\n To sleep in yon lily!\u2014is there room in\u2019t for me?\n I have flung my clay fetters; and now I but wear\n A shadowy seeming, a likeness of air.\n\nIII.\n\n Go harness my chariot, the leaf of an oak;\n A butterfly stud, and a tendril my yoke.\n Go swing me a hammock, the poles mignionette;\n I\u2019ll rock with its scent in the gossamer net.\n Go fetch me a courser: yon reed is but slight,\n Yet far is the distance \u2019twill bear me to-night.\n I must have a throne,\u2014ay, yon mushroom may stay,\n It has sprung in a night, \u2019twill be gather\u2019d next day:\n And fit is such throne for my brief fairy reign;\n For alas! I\u2019m but dreaming, and dreams are but vain.\n\n L. E. L.\n\n\nTHE CITY OF GOLD.\n\n Years onward have swept,\n Aye, long ages have rolled\u2014\n Since the billows first slept\n O\u2019er the City of Gold!\n\n \u2019Neath its eddy of white\n Where the green wave is swelling,\n In their halls of delight\n Are the fairy tribes dwelling.\n\n And but seldom the eye\n Of a mortal may scan,\n Where those palaces high\n Rise unaided by man.\n\n Yet, at times the waves sever,\n And then you may view\n The yellow walls ever\n \u2019Neath the ocean\u2019s deep blue.\n\n But I warn thee, O man!\n Never seek to behold,\n Where the crystal streams ran\n In the City of Gold!\n\n Like a beauty with guile,\n When some young knight has found her,\n There is death in her smile,\n And dark ruin around her!\n\n Like a poet\u2019s first dream\n In his longings for glory;\n A dagger whose gleam\n With the life-blood is gory.\n\n Like wishes possessed,\n And for which we have panted,\n When we find us unblest,\n Tho\u2019 our prayers have been granted.\n\n Like ought that\u2019s forbidden\n Weak man to behold,\n Death and sorrow are hid in\n The City of Gold.\n\n Rash youth! dost thou view it,\n The ransom thou\u2019lt pay,\n Alas! thou must rue it,\n Death takes thee to-day!\n\n ANONYMOUS.\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES.\n\n Up the airy mountain,\n Down the rushy glen,\n We daren\u2019t go a-hunting\n For fear of little men;\n Wee folk, good folk,\n Trooping all together;\n Green jacket, red cap,\n And white owl\u2019s feather!\n\n Down along the rocky shore\n Some make their home,\n They live on crispy pancakes\n Of yellow tide-foam;\n Some in the reeds\n Of the black mountain lake,\n With frogs for their watch-dogs,\n All night awake.\n\n High on the hill-top\n The old King sits;\n He is now so old and gray\n He\u2019s nigh lost his wits.\n With a bridge of white mist\n Columbkill he crosses,\n On his stately journeys\n From Slieveleague to Rosses;\n Or going up with music\n On cold starry nights,\n To sup with the Queen\n Of the gay Northern Lights.\n\n They stole little Bridget\n For seven years long;\n When she came down again\n Her friends were all gone.\n They took her lightly back,\n Between the night and morrow,\n They thought that she was fast asleep,\n But she was dead with sorrow.\n They have kept her ever since\n Deep within the lake,\n On a bed of flag-leaves,\n Watching till she wake.\n\n By the craggy hill-side,\n Through the mosses bare,\n They have planted thorn-trees\n For pleasure here and there.\n Is any man so daring\n As dig up them in spite,\n He shall find their sharpest thorns\n In his bed at night.\n\n Up the airy mountain,\n Down the rushy glen,\n We daren\u2019t go a-hunting\n For fear of little men;\n Wee folk, good folk,\n Trooping all together;\n Green jacket, red cap,\n And white owl\u2019s feather!\n\n WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\nTHE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE.\n\n \u2019Twas when the spinning-room was here,\n Came Three Damsels clothed in white,\n With their spindles every night;\n Two and one, and Three fair Maidens,\n Spinning to a pulsing cadence,\n Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;\n Till the eleventh hour was told,\n Then departed through the wold.\n _Years ago, and years ago;_\n _And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._\n\n Three white Lilies, calm and clear,\n And they were loved by every one;\n Most of all, the Parson\u2019s son,\n Listening to their gentle singing,\n Felt his heart go from him, clinging,\n Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere;\n Sued each night to make them stay,\n Sadden\u2019d when they went away.\n _Years ago, and years ago;_\n _And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._\n\n Hands that shook with love and fear,\n Dared put back the village clock,\u2014\n Flew the spindle, turn\u2019d the rock,\n Flow\u2019d the song with subtle rounding,\n Till the false \u201celeven\u201d was sounding;\n Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere\n Swiftly, softly, left the room,\n Like three doves on snowy plume.\n _Years ago, and years ago;_\n _And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._\n\n One that night who wander\u2019d near\n Heard lamentings by the shore,\n Saw at dawn three stains of gore\n In the waters fade and dwindle.\n Nevermore with song and spindle\n Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere.\n The Pastor\u2019s Son did pine and die;\n Because true love should never lie.\n _Years ago, and years ago;_\n _And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._\n\n WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\n\n\nEpilogue.\n\n\nFAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES.\n\n Farewell rewards and fairies,\n Good housewives now may say,\n For now foul sluts in dairies\n Do fare as well as they.\n And though they sweep their hearths no less\n Than maids were wont to do,\n Yet who of late, for cleanliness,\n Finds sixpence in her shoe?\n\n Lament, lament, old abbeys,\n The fairies lost command;\n They did but change priests\u2019 babies,\n But some have changed your land;\n And all your children sprung from thence\n Are now grown Puritans;\n Who live as changelings ever since,\n For love of your domains.\n\n At morning and at evening both,\n You merry were and glad,\n So little care of sleep or sloth\n These pretty ladies had;\n When Tom came home from labour,\n Or Cis to milking rose,\n Then merrily went their tabour,\n And nimbly went their toes.\n\n Witness those rings and roundelays\n Of theirs, which yet remain,\n Were footed in Queen Mary\u2019s days\n On many a grassy plain;\n But since of late Elizabeth,\n And later, James came in,\n They never danced on any heath\n As when the time hath been.\n\n By which we note the fairies\n Were of the old profession,\n Their songs were Ave Maries,\n Their dances were procession:\n But now, alas! they all are dead,\n Or gone beyond the seas;\n Or farther for religion fled,\n Or else they take their ease.\n\n A tell-tale in their company\n They never could endure,\n And whoso kept not secretly\n Their mirth, was punished sore;\n It was a just and Christian deed\n To pinch such black and blue;\n Oh, how the Commonwealth doth need\n Such justices as you.\n\n RICHARD CORBET.\n\n\nFAIRY SONG.\n\n Have ye left the greenwood lone?\n Are your steps for ever gone?\n Fairy King and Elfin Queen,\n Come ye to the sylvan scene,\n From your dim and distant shore,\n Never more?\n\n Shall the pilgrim never hear\n With a thrill of joy and fear,\n In the hush of moonlight hours,\n Voices from the folded flowers,\n Faint sweet flute-notes as of yore,\n Never more?\n\n \u201cMortal! ne\u2019er shall bowers of earth\n Hear again our midnight mirth:\n By our brooks and dingles green\n Since unhallow\u2019d steps have been,\n Ours shall thread the forests hoar\n Never more.\n\n Ne\u2019er on earthborn lily\u2019s stem\n Will we hang the dewdrop\u2019s gem;\n Ne\u2019er shall reed or cowslip\u2019s head\n Quiver to our dancing tread,\n By sweet fount or murmuring shore,\n Never more!\u201d\n\n FELICIA HEMANS.\n\n\nAN INVOCATION.\n\n By the Moon-Queen\u2019s mystic light,\n By the hush of holy night,\n By the woodland deep and green,\n By the starlight\u2019s silver sheen,\n By the zephyr\u2019s whisper\u2019d spell,\n Brooding Powers Invisible,\n Fa\u00ebrie Court and Elfin Throng,\n Unto whom the groves belong,\n And by Laws of ancient date,\n Found in Scrolls of Fa\u00ebrie Fate,\n Stream and fount are dedicate,\n Wheresoe\u2019er your feet to-day,\n Far from haunts of men may stray,\n We adjure you, stay no more,\n Exiles on an alien shore,\n But with spells of magic birth\n Once again make glad the earth!\n\n Here in glade and dingle sweet\n Ye may find a snug retreat:\n Can ye wish for softer bed\n Than the moss that here is spread?\n Here the mavis\u2019 voice is heard,\n Every late and early bird;\n Many a tendril\u2019s slender string\n Here is fit for fairy swing;\n Purling brooks and founts that play\n Make sweet music night and day;\n In the lakes that stedfast lie\n Under Heaven\u2019s eternal eye,\n The blown lilies, waiting, float,\n Each will serve as elfin boat;\n Tender as a harper\u2019s string\n Is the low wind\u2019s lute-playing;\n Never do the evening dews\n Nectar to the flowers refuse:\n Who shall find a fairer spot?\n Linger, fairies, linger not!\n\n ...\n\n Still the woods are dark and lonely;\n There the throstle calleth only\u2014\n There alone the throstle calleth\n As the silent twilight falleth;\n All the magic spells are broken,\n All the ancient charms unspoken.\n Who to human tongues shall teach\n That forgotten fairy speech,\n By whose aid the world of old\n Did with Nature commune hold?\n \u2019Tis the pride of human hearts\n Whence the gentle fay departs!\n Ye who now their loss deplore,\n Ye who would their reign restore,\n Know that fervent faith and worth\n Elfin blessings bring to earth;\n Purest thoughts are brightest chrism\n In the mystical baptism,\n Which to those elected duly\n Lifts the veil, revealing truly\n Elfin worlds in \u2019rapt clairvoyance,\n Elfin marvels, Elfin joyance,\n Elfin vistas, Elfin vision,\n Elfin voices, dreams Elysian,\n Fay-built isles and seas that be\n Glamour all and gramarye.\n Where shall point the Elfin wing?\n Worlds of pure imagining;\n Then where virtue rules the heart\n Thence the Fairies ne\u2019er depart!\n\n PHILIP DAYRE.\n\n _Printed by WALTER SCOTT, Felling, Newcastle-on-Tyne._\n\n * * * * *\n\nNOW READY. PRICE 10/6.\n\n_On Thick Paper, quaintly bound in Vellum, with Silk Strings._\n\nA LOVER\u2019S LITANIES.\n\nBY ERIC MACKAY,\n\n_Author of \u201cLove Letters of a Violinist\u201d and \u201cGladys the Singer.\u201d_\n\nAVE MARIA!\n\n First Litany _Virgo Dulcis_.\n Second Litany _Vox Amoris_.\n Third Litany _Ad Te Clamavi!_\n Fourth Litany _Gratia Plena_.\n Fifth Litany _Salve Regina_.\n Sixth Litany _Benedicta Tu_.\n Seventh Litany _Stella Matutina_.\n Eighth Litany _Domina Exaudi_.\n Ninth Litany _Lilium inter Spinas_.\n Tenth Litany _Gloria in Excelsis_.\n\nAMEN!\n\n\u201cThe _Love Letters_ of Eric Mackay are the handiwork of a brilliant\nmetrical artist and poet born. The series of Letters in six-line stanzas\nis a beautiful and passionate work:\u2014its beauty that of construction,\nlanguage, imagery\u2014its passion characteristic of the artistic nature. The\npoem is quite original, its manner Elizabethan, freshened by a resort to\nthe Italian fountain, from which the clearest streams of English song\nhave so often flowed. Eric Mackay\u2019s poetic ability is of varied range. He\nis a natural lyrist with a singing faculty and a novel metrical form such\nas few lyrists have at command.\u201d\u2014_Stedman\u2019s Victorian Poets_, Revised\nEdition, 1887.\n\nLONDON: FIELD & TUER, \u201cTHE LEADENHALL PRESS,\u201d 50 LEADENHALL STREET, E.C.\n\n_NOTICE._\u2014_Copies of the FIRST VELLUM EDITION of \u201cLOVE LETTERS OF A\nVIOLINIST,\u201d as published by this firm, are now at a premium of Three\nGuineas. Book Collectors are respectfully informed that the present\nEdition of Eric Mackay\u2019s New Volume is strictly limited. Applications\nshould therefore be made at once._\n\n * * * * *\n\nTHE CANTERBURY POETS\n\nEDITED BY WILLIAM SHARP.\n\n_In_ SHILLING _Monthly Volumes. 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FREILIGRATH KROEKER, J.\nLOGIE ROBERTSON, M.A., SAMUEL WADDINGTON, etc.\n\n _Cloth, Red Edges_ 1s.\n _Cloth, Uncut Edges_ 1s.\n _Red Roan, Gilt Edges_ 2s. 6d.\n _Pad Morocco, Gilt Edges_ 5s.\n\nVOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED.\n\n =CHRISTIAN YEAR.=\n =COLERIDGE.=\n =LONGFELLOW.=\n =CAMPBELL.=\n =SHELLEY.=\n =WORDSWORTH.=\n =BLAKE.=\n =WHITTIER.=\n =POE.=\n =CHATTERTON.=\n =BURNS.= Songs.\n =BURNS.= Poems.\n =MARLOWE.=\n =KEATS.=\n =HERBERT.=\n =VICTOR HUGO.=\n =COWPER.=\n =SHAKESPEARE:= Songs, Poems, and Sonnets.\n =EMERSON.=\n =SONNETS OF THIS CENTURY.=\n =WHITMAN.=\n =SCOTT.= Marmion, &c.\n =SCOTT.= Lady of the Lake, &c.\n =PRAED.=\n =HOGG.=\n =GOLDSMITH.=\n =Mackay\u2019s Love Letters.=\n =SPENSER.=\n =Children of the Poets.=\n =BEN JONSON.=\n =BYRON (2 Vols.)=\n =DAYS OF THE YEAR.=\n =SONNETS OF EUROPE.=\n =ALLAN RAMSAY.=\n =SYDNEY DOBELL.=\n =POPE.=\n =HEINE.=\n =Beaumont and Fletcher.=\n =BOWLES, LAMB, &c.=\n =Early English Poetry.=\n =SEA MUSIC.=\n =HERRICK.=\n =Ballades and Rondeaus.=\n =IRISH MINSTRELSY.=\n =Milton\u2019s Paradise Lost.=\n =Jacobite Songs & Ballads.=\n =Australian Ballads.=\n =MOORE\u2019S POEMS.=\n =BORDER BALLADS.=\n =SONG-TIDE.=\n =ODES OF HORACE.=\n =OSSIAN.=\n =ELFIN MUSIC.=\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTHE CAMELOT SERIES.\n\nCLOTH, CUT OR UNCUT EDGES.\n\nNew Comprehensive Edition of Favourite Prose Works.\n\nEdited by ERNEST RHYS.\n\n_In SHILLING Monthly Volumes, Crown 8vo._\n\n_VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED._\n\n =ROMANCE OF KING ARTHUR.=\n =THOREAU\u2019S WALDEN.=\n =CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER.=\n =LANDOR\u2019S CONVERSATIONS.=\n =PLUTARCH\u2019S LIVES.=\n =SIR T. 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By RICHARD GARNETT, LL.D.\n LIFE OF GOETHE. By JAMES SIME.\n\n_Ready July 25th._\n\n LIFE OF CONGREVE. By EDMUND GOSSE.\n A complete Bibliography to each volume, compiled by J. P. Anderson\n of the British Museum.\n\nLIBRARY EDITION OF \u201cGREAT WRITERS.\u201d\n\nAn Issue of all the Volumes in this Series will be published, printed on\nlarge paper of extra quality, in handsome binding, Demy 8vo, price 2s.\n6d. per volume.\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWindsor Series of Poetical Anthologies.\n\n_Printed on Antique Paper. Crown 8vo. Bound in Blue Cloth, each with\nsuitable Emblematic Design on Cover, Price 3/6. Also in various Calf and\nMorocco Bindings._\n\n Women\u2019s Voices. An Anthology of the most Characteristic Poems\n by English, Scotch, and Irish Women. Edited by Mrs. William\n Sharp.\n\n Sonnets of this Century. With an Exhaustive and Critical Essay\n on the Sonnet. Edited by William Sharp.\n\n The Children of the Poets. An Anthology from English and\n American Writers of Three Centuries. Edited by Professor Eric\n S. Robertson.\n\n Sacred Song. A Volume of Religious Verse. Selected and\n arranged, with Notes, by Samuel Waddington.\n\n A Century of Australian Song. Selected and Edited by Douglas B.\n W. Sladen, B.A., Oxon.\n\n Jacobite Songs and Ballads. Selected and Edited, with Notes, by\n G. S. Macquoid.\n\n Irish Minstrelsy. Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by H.\n Halliday Sparling.\n\n The Sonnets of Europe. A Volume of Translations. Selected and\n arranged, with Notes, by Samuel Waddington.\n\n Early English and Scottish Poetry. Selected and Edited, with\n Introduction and Notes, by H. Macaulay Fitzgibbon.\n\n Ballads of the North Countrie. Edited, with Introduction, by\n Graham R. Tomson.\n\n Songs and Poems of the Sea. An Anthology of Poems Descriptive\n of the Sea. Edited by Mrs. William Sharp.\n\n Songs and Poems of Fairyland. An Anthology of English Fairy\n Poetry. Selected and arranged, with an Introduction, by Arthur\n Edward Waite.\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.\n\n * * * * *\n\nVOLS. I. TO IX. NOW READY.\n\nRE-ISSUE IN MONTHLY VOLUMES, ONE SHILLING EACH,\n\nSTRONGLY BOUND IN CLOTH,\n\n_Uniform in size and style with the Camelot Series_,\n\nWILSON\u2019S TALES OF THE BORDERS AND OF SCOTLAND: HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY,\nAND IMAGINATIVE.\n\nREVISED BY ALEXANDER LEIGHTON.\n\nNo collection of tales published in a serial form ever enjoyed so great a\npopularity as \u201cTHE TALES OF THE BORDERS;\u201d and the secret of their success\nlies in the fact that they are stories in the truest sense of the word,\nillustrating in a graphic and natural style the manners and customs,\ntrials and sorrows, sins and backslidings, of the men and women of whom\nthey treat. The heroes and heroines of these admirable stories belong to\nevery rank of life, from the king and noble to the humble peasant.\n\nThe _Scotsman_ says:\u2014\u201cThose who have read the tales in the unwieldy\ntomes in which they are to be found in the libraries will welcome the\npublication of this neat, handy, and well-printed edition.\u201d\n\nThe _Dundee Advertiser_ says:\u2014\u201cConsidering how attractive are these\ntales, whether regarded as illustrating Scottish life, or as entertaining\nitems of romance, there can be no doubt of their continued popularity. We\nlast read them in volumes the size of a family Bible, and we are glad to\nhave an opportunity to renew our acquaintance with them in a form so much\nmore handy and elegant.\u201d\n\nEACH VOLUME COMPLETE IN ITSELF.\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSEASON 1888.\n\n_Now Ready, Price (Cloth) 3/6._\n\nTHOROUGHLY REVISED, NEW ILLUSTRATIONS, STEAMER TIME TABLES, SKELETON\nTOURS.\n\nThe Land of the Vikings: A POPULAR GUIDE to NORWAY.\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_READY JULY 25th, 1888._\n\n_Square 8vo, Price One Shilling._\n\nOAK-BOUGH AND WATTLE-BLOSSOM\n\nEdited by A. PATCHETT MARTIN.\n\nSTORIES AND SKETCHES BY AUSTRALIANS IN ENGLAND.\n\nMrs. CAMPBELL PRAED; C. HADDON CHAMBERS; DOUGLAS B. W. SLADEN; S.\nOLDMIXON; EDMUND STANSFIELD RAWSON; PHILIP MENNELL.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA NEW NOVEL.\n\n_Square 8vo. One Shilling._\n\nPolice Sergeant C 21: THE STORY OF A CRIME.\n\nBy REGINALD BARNETT.\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Square 8vo, Price Sixpence._\n\nPARENTAL COMMANDMENTS\n\nOr, Warnings to Parents\n\nON THE PHYSICAL, INTELLECTUAL, AND MORAL TRAINING OF THEIR CHILDREN.\n\n_The Lancet._\u2014\u201cVery sensible advice\u2014terse, interesting, instructive, well\nconsidered and accurate.\u201d\n\n_Newcastle Chronicle._\u2014\u201cIf studied and acted upon, would quickly be\na more beneficial revolution of society than all the hosts of Social\nreformers can ever hope to accomplish.\u201d\n\n_Oscar Wilde._\u2014\u201cCharming little book\u2014full of wit and wisdom.\u201d\n\n_J. A. Froude._\u2014\u201cIt contains more sense in a short space than any book\nwhich I have read for a long time.\u201d\n\n_Dr. Samuel Smiles._\u2014\u201cCapital book, full of sound advice, should be\nwidely read.\u201d\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT. 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.\n\n * * * * *\n\n100th THOUSAND.\n\n_Crown 8vo, 440 Pages, Price One Shilling._\n\nTHE WORLD OF CANT.\n\n\u201c_Daily Telegraph._\u201d\u2014\u201cDecidedly a book with a purpose.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Scotsman._\u201d\u2014\u201cA vigorous, clever, and almost ferocious exposure, in the\nform of a story, of the numerous shams and injustices.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Newcastle Weekly Chronicle._\u201d\u2014\u201cTrenchant in sarcasm, warm in\ncommendation of high purpose.... A somewhat _remarkable book_.\u201d\n\n\u201c_London Figaro._\u201d\u2014\u201cIt cannot be said that the author is partial; clergy\nand Nonconformist divines, Liberals and Conservatives, lawyers and\ntradesmen, all come under his lash.... The sketches are worth reading.\nSome of the characters are portrayed with considerable skill.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay the Lord deliver us from all Cant: may the Lord, whatever else He do\nor forbear, teach us to look facts honestly in the face, and to beware\n(with a kind of shudder) of smearing them over with our despicable and\ndamnable palaver into irrecognisability, and so falsifying the Lord\u2019s own\nGospels to His unhappy blockheads of Children, all staggering down to\nGehenna and the everlasting Swine\u2019s-trough, for want of Gospels.\n\n\u201cHeaven! it is the most accursed sin of man; and done everywhere at\npresent, on the streets and high places at noonday! Verily, seriously\nI say and pray as my chief orison, May the Lord deliver us from\nit.\u201d\u2014_Letter from Carlyle to Emerson._\n\nLondon: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.","title":"Elfin music : $b An anthology of English fairy poetry","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":54761}