Men and Fairies.

PUCK. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon! Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. Now the wasted brands do glow, Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the churchyard paths to glide: And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate’s team, From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic: not a mouse Shall disturb this hallowed house: I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter Oberon and Titania, with their Train. OBERON. Through this house give glimmering light, By the dead and drowsy fire: Every elf and fairy sprite Hop as light as bird from briar; And this ditty, after me, Sing, and dance it trippingly. TITANIA. First rehearse this song by rote: To each word a warbling note, Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place. Song and Dance. OBERON. Now, until the break of day, Through this house each fairy stray; To the best bride-bed will we, Which by us shall blessed be; And the issue there create Ever shall be fortunate; So shall all the couples three Ever true in loving be: And the blots of nature’s hand Shall not in their issue stand; Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, Nor mark prodigious, such as are Despised in nativity, Shall upon their children be.— With this field-dew consecrate, Every fairy take his gait; And each several chamber bless, Through this palace with sweet peace: E’er shall it in safety rest, And the owner of it blest. Trip away; Make no stay: Meet me all by break of day.

In Britain’s Isle, in Arthur’s days, When midnight fairies daunc’d the maze, Liv’d Edwin of the Green; Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, Endow’d with courage, sense, and truth, Though badly shap’d he’d been. His mountain back mote well be said, To measure height against his head, And lift itself above; Yet, spite of all that Nature did To make his uncouth form forbid, This creature dar’d to love. He felt the charms of Edith’s eyes, Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, Could ladies look within; But one Sir Topaz dress’d with art, And, if a shape could win a heart, He had a shape to win. Edwin, if right I read my song, With slighted passion pac’d along All in the moony light; ’Twas near an old enchanted court, Where sportive fairies made resort To revel out the night. His heart was drear, his hope was cross’d, ’Twas late, ’twas far, the path was lost That reach’d the neighbour town; With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolv’d, the darkling dome he treads, And drops his limbs adown. But scant he lays him on the floor When hollow winds remove the door, And trembling rocks the ground: And, well I ween to count aright, At once a hundred tapers light On all the walls around. Now sounding tongues assail his ear, Now sounding feet approachen near, And now the sounds increase; And from the corner where he lay He sees a train profusely gay Come prankling o’er the place. But (trust me, Gentles!) never yet Was dight a masquing half so neat, Or half so rich before; The country lent the sweet perfumes, The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, The town its silken store. Now, whilst he gaz’d, a gallant drest In flaunting robes above the rest, With awful accent cry’d; “What mortal of a wretched mind, Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, Has here presum’d to hide?” At this the swain, whose venturous soul No fears of magic art controul, Advanc’d in open sight; “Nor have I cause of dread,” he said, “Who view, by no presumption led, Your revels of the night. “’Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, Which made my steps unweeting rove Amid the nightly dew.” “’Tis well,” the gallant cries again, “We fairies never injure men Who dare to tell us true. “Exalt thy love-dejected heart, Be mine the task, or ere we part, To make thee grief resign; Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce; Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce, Be little Mable thine.” He spoke, and all a sudden there Light music floats in wanton air; The monarch leads the queen: The rest their fairy partners found; And Mable trimly tript the ground With Edwin of the Green. The dauncing past, the board was laid, And siker such a feast was made, As heart and lip desire, Withouten hands the dishes fly, The glasses with a wish come nigh, And with a wish retire. But, now to please the fairy king, Full every deal they daunce and sing, And antic feats devise; Some wind and tumble like an ape, And other some transmute their shape In Edwin’s wondering eyes. Till one at last, that Robin hight, Renown’d for pinching maids by night, Has bent him up aloof; And full against the beam he flung, Where by the back the youth he hung To sprawl uneath the roof. From thence, “Reverse my charm,” he cries, “And let it fairly now suffice The gambol has been shewn.” But Oberon answers with a smile, “Content thee, Edwin, for awhile, The vantage is thine own.” Here ended all the phantom-play; They smelt the fresh approach of day, And heard a cock to crow; The whirling wind that bore the crowd Has clapp’d the door, and whistled loud, To warn them all to go. Then screaming all at once they fly, And all at once the tapers die; Poor Edwin falls to floor; Forlorn his state, and dark the place, Was never wight in such a case Through all the land before. But soon as Dan Apollo rose, Full jolly creature home he goes, He feels his back the less; His honest tongue and steady mind Had rid him of the lump behind, Which made him want success. With lusty livelyhed he talks, He seems advancing as he walks, His story soon took wind; And beauteous Edith sees the youth Endowed with courage, sense, and truth, Without a bunch behind. The story told, Sir Topaz mov’d, The youth of Edith erst approv’d, To see the revel scene: At close of eve he leaves his home, And wends to find the ruin’d dome All on the gloomy plain. And there he bides, it so befel, The wind came rustling down a dell, A shaking seized the wall; Up spring the tapers as before, The fairies bragly foot the floor, And music fills the hall. But certes sorely sunk with woe Sir Topaz sees the Elphin show, His spirits in him die; When Oberon crys, “A man is near, A mortal passion, cleeped fear, Hangs flagging in the sky.” With that, Sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents faultering, aye for ruth, Intreats them pity grant; For als he been a mister wight Betray’d by wandering in the night To tread the circled haunt; “A Losell vile,” at once they roar, “And little skill’d of fairy lore, Thy cause to come we know; Now has thy kestrel courage fell, And fairies, since a lie you tell, Are free to work thee woe.” Then Will, who bears the wispy fire To trail the swains among the mire, The caitiff upward flung; There, like a tortoise in a shop, He dangled from the chamber top, Where whilome Edwin hung. The revel now proceeds apace, Deftly they strut it o’er the place, They sit, they drink, and eat; The time with frolic mirth beguile, And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while Till all the rout retreat. By this the stars began to wink, They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, And down y-drops the knight: For never spell by fairy laid With strong enchantment bound a glade, Beyond the length of night. Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, Till up the welkin rose the day, Then deem’d the dole was o’er: But wot ye well his harder lot? His seely back the bunch had got Which Edwin lost afore. This tale a Sybil-nurse ared; She softly stroak’d my youngling head, And when the tale was done, “Thus some are born, my son,” she cries, “With base impediments to rise, And some are born with none. “But virtue can itself advance To what the favourite fools of chance By fortune seem’d design’d; Virtue can gain the odds of fate, And from itself shake off the weight Upon th’ unworthy mind.”

“O swift and swifter far he speeds Than earthly steed can run; But I hear not the feet of his courser fleet, As he glides o’er the moorland dun.” Lone was the strath where he crossed their path, And wide did the heath extend, The Knight in Green on that moor is seen At every seven years’ end. And swift is the speed of his coal-black steed, As the leaf before the gale, But never yet have that courser’s feet Been heard on hill or dale. But woe to the wight who meets the Green Knight, Except on his faulchion arm Spell-proof he bear, like the brave St. Clair, The holy Trefoil’s charm; For then shall fly his gifted eye, Delusions false and dim; And each unblessed shade shall stand portrayed In ghostly form and limb. O swifter, and swifter far he speeds Than earthly steed can run; “He skims the blue air,” said the brave St. Clair, “Instead of the heath so dun. “His locks are as bright as the streamer’s light, His cheeks like the rose’s hue; The Elfin-King, like the merlin’s wing Are his pinions of glossy blue.” “No Elfin-King, with azure wing, On the dark brown moor I see; But a courser keen, and a Knight in Green, And full fair I ween is he. “Nor Elfin-King, nor azure wing, Nor ringlets sparkling bright;” Sir Geoffrey cried, and forward hied To join the stranger Knight. He knew not the path of the lonely strath, Where the Elfin-King went his round; Or he never had gone with the Green Knight on, Nor trod the charmèd ground. How swift they flew! no eye could view Their track on heath or hill; Yet swift across both moor and moss St. Clair did follow still. And soon was seen a circle green, Where a shadowy wassel crew Amid the ring did dance and sing, In weeds of watchet blue. And the windlestrae,[2] so limber and grey, Did shiver beneath the tread Of the coursers’ feet, as they rushed to meet The morrice of the dead. “Come here, come here, with thy green fere, Before the bread be stale; To roundel dance with speed advance, And taste our wassel ale.” Then up to the Knight came a grizly wight, And sounded in his ear, “Sir Knight, eschew this goblin crew, Nor taste their ghostly cheer.” The tabors rung, the lilts were sung, And the Knight the dance did lead; But the maidens fair seemed round him to stare, With eyes like the glassy bead. The glance of their eye, so cold and so dry, Did almost his heart appal; Their motion is swift, but their limbs they lift Like stony statues all. Again to the Knight came the grizly wight, When the rounded dance was o’er; “Sir Knight, eschew this goblin crew, Or rue for evermore.” But forward pressed the dauntless guest To the tables of ezlar red, And there was seen the Knight in Green, To grace the fair board head. And before that Knight was a goblet bright Of emerald smooth and green, The fretted brim was studded full trim With mountain rubies’ sheen. Sir Geoffrey the Bold of the cup laid hold With health-ale mantling o’er; And he saw as he drank that the ale never shrank But mantled as before. Then Sir Geoffrey grew pale as he quaffed the ale, And cold as the corpse of clay; And with horny beak the ravens did shriek, And fluttered o’er their prey. But soon throughout the revel rout A strange commotion ran, For beyond the round they heard the sound Of the steps of an uncharmed man. And soon to St. Clair the grim wight did repair, From the midst of the wassel crew; “Sir Knight, beware of the revellers there, Nor do as they bid thee do.” “What woeful wight art thou?” said the Knight, “To haunt this wassel fray?” “I was once,” quoth he, “a mortal, like thee, Though now I’m an elfin grey. “And the Knight so bold as the corpse lies cold, Who trode the greensward ring; He must wander along with that restless throng, For aye, with the Elfin-King. “With the restless crew, in weeds so blue, The hapless Knight must wend; Nor ever be seen on haunted green Till the weary seven years’ end. “Fair is the mien of the Knight in Green, And bright his sparkling hair; ’Tis hard to believe how malice can live In the breast of aught so fair. “And light and fair are the fields of air, Where he wanders to and fro; Still doomed to fleet from the regions of heat To the realms of endless snow. “When high overhead fall the streamers[3] red, He views the blessed afar; And in stern despair darts through the air To earth, like a falling star. “With his shadowy crew, in weeds so blue, That Knight for aye must run; Except thou succeed in a perilous deed, Unseen by the holy sun. “Who ventures the deed, and fails to succeed, Perforce must join the crew.” “Then brief, declare,” said the brave St. Clair, “A deed that a Knight may do.” “’Mid the sleet and the rain thou must here remain By the haunted greensward ring, Till the dance wax slow, and the song faint and low, Which the crew unearthly sing. “Then right at the time of the matin chime, Thou must tread the unhallowed ground, And with mystic pace the circles trace That inclose it nine times round. “And next thou must pass the rank green grass To the tables of ezlar red; And the goblet clear away thou must bear, Nor behind thee turn thy head. “And ever anon as thou treadest upon The sward of the green charmed ring, Be no word expressed in that space unblessed That ’longeth of holy thing. “For the charmed ground is all unsound, And the lake spreads wide below, And the Water-Fiend there, with the Fiend of Air, Is leagued for mortals’ woe.” ’Mid the sleet and the rain did St. Clair remain Till the evening star did rise; And the rout so gay did dwindle away To the eldritch dwarfy size. When the moonbeams pale fell through the white hail, With a wan and a watery ray, Sad notes of woe seemed round him to grow, The dirge of the elfins grey. And right at the time of the matin chime His mystic pace began, And murmurs deep around him did creep Like the moans of a murdered man. The matin bell was tolling farewell When he reached the central ring, And there he beheld, to ice congealed, That crew, with the Elfin-King. For aye, at the knell of the matin bell, When the black monks wend to pray, The spirits unblessed have a glimpse of rest Before the dawn of day. The sigh of the trees, and the rush of the breeze, Then pause on the lonely hill; And the frost of the dead clings round their head, And they slumber cold and still. The Knight took up the emerald cup, And the ravens hoarse did scream, And the shuddering elfins half rose up, And murmured in their dream: They inwardly mourned, and the thin blood returned To every icy limb; And each frozen eye, so cold and so dry, ’Gan roll with lustre dim. Then brave St. Clair did turn him there To retrace the mystic track, He heard the sigh of his lady fair, Who sobbed behind his back. He started quick and his heart beat thick, And he listened in wild amaze; But the parting bell on his ear it fell, And he did not turn to gaze. With panting breast as he forward pressed, He trod on a mangled head; And the skull did scream, and the voice did seem The voice of his mother dead. He shuddering trode: on the great name of God He thought—but he nought did say; And the greensward did shrink, as about to sink, And loud laughed the Elfins grey. And loud did resound, o’er the unblessed ground, The wings of the blue Elf-King; And the ghostly crew to reach him flew, But he crossed the charméd ring; The morning was grey, and dying away Was the sound of the matin bell; And far to the west the fays that ne’er rest, Fled where the moonbeams fell. And Sir Geoffrey the Bold, on the unhallowed mould, Arose from the green witch-grass; And he felt his limbs, like a dead man’s, cold, And he wist not where he was. And that cup so rare, which the brave St. Clair Did bear from the ghostly crew, Was suddenly changed, from the emerald fair, To the ragged whinstone blue; And instead of the ale that mantled there Was the murky midnight dew.

“O I forbid ye, maidens a’ That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tamlane is there. “There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh, But maun leave him a wad, Either gowd rings or green mantles, Or else their maidenheid. “Now gowd rings ye may buy, maidens, Green mantles ye may spin; But, gin ye lose your maidenheid, Ye’ll ne’er get that agen.”— But up then spake her, fair Janet, The fairest o’ a’ her kin; “I’ll cum and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o’ him.” Janet has kilted her green kirtle, A little abune her knee; And she has braided her yellow hair, A little abune her bree. And when she came to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well; And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsell. She hadna pu’d a red red rose, A rose but barely three; Till up and starts a wee wee man, At lady Janet’s knee. Says—“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet? What gars ye break the tree? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Withouten leave o’ me?”— Says—“Carterhaugh it is mine ain; My daddie gave it me; I’ll come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o’ thee.” He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand, Among the leaves sae green; And what they did, I cannot tell— The green leaves were between. He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand, Among the roses red; And what they did, I cannot say— She ne’er return’d a maid. When she came to her father’s ha’, She looked pale and wan; They thought she’d dreed some sair sickness, Or been with some leman. She didna comb her yellow hair, Nor make meikle o’ her head; And ilka thing that lady took, Was like to be her deid. It’s four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba’; Janet, the brightest of them anes, Was faintest o’ them a’. Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess; And out there came the fair Janet, As green as any grass. Out and spak an old grey-headed knight Lay o’er the castle wa’— “And ever, alas! for thee, Janet, But we’ll be blamed a’!” “Now hand your tongue, ye auld grey knight! And an ill deid may ye die, Father my bairn on whom I will I’ll father nane on thee.” Out then spake her father dear, And he spake meek and mild— “And ever, alas! my sweet Janet, I fear ye gae with child.” “And if I be with child, father, Mysell maun bear the blame; There’s ne’er a knight about your ha’ Shall hae the bairnie’s name. “And if I be with child, father, ’Twill prove a wondrous birth, For weel I swear I’m not wi’ bairn To any man on earth. “If my love were an earthly knight, As he’s an elfin grey, I wadna gie my ain true love For nae lord that ye hae.” She prink’d hersell and prinn’d hersell, By the ae light o’ the moon, And she’s away to Carterhaugh, To speak wi’ young Tamlane. And when she came to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well; But there she saw the steed standing, But away was himsell. She hadna pu’d a double rose, A rose but only twae, When up and started young Tamlane, Says—“Lady, thou pu’s nae mae! “Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet, Within this garden grene, And a’ to kill the bonny babe, That we got us between?” “The truth ye’ll tell to me, Tamlane, A word ye mauna lie; Gin e’er ye was in haly chapel, Or sained in Christentie?”— “The truth I’ll tell to thee, Janet, A word I winna lie; A knight me got, and a lady me bore, As well as they did thee. “Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire, Dunbar, Earl March, is thine; We loved when we were children small, Which yet you well may mind. “When I was a boy just turn’d of nine, My uncle sent for me, To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, And keep him companie. “There came a wind out of the north, A sharp wind and a snell; And a deep sleep came over me, And frae my horse I fell. “The Queen of Fairies keepit me, In yon green hill to dwell; And I’m a fairy, lyth and limb; Fair lady, view me well. “But we, that live in Fairyland, No sickness know, nor pain; I quit my body when I will, And take to it again. “I quit my body when I please, Or unto it repair; We can inhabit, at our ease, In either earth or air. “Our shapes and size we can convert To either large or small; An old nutshell’s the same to us As is the lofty hall. “We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet, We revel in the stream; We wanton lightly on the wind, Or glide on a sunbeam. “And all our wants are well supplied From every rich man’s store, Who thankless sins the gifts he gets, And vainly grasps for more. “Then would I never tire, Janet, In elfish land to dwell; But aye, at every seven years, They pay the teind to hell; And I’m sae fat and fair of flesh, I fear ’twill be mysell. “This night is Hallowe’en, Janet, The morn is Hallowday; And, gin ye dare your true love win, Ye hae nae time to stay. “The night it is good Hallowe’en, When fairy folk will ride; And they that wad their true love win, At Miles Cross they maun bide.”— “But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane? Or how shall I thee knaw, Amang so many unearthly knights, The like I never saw?”— “The first company that passes by. Say na, and let them gae; The next company that passes by, Say na, and do right sae; The third company that passes by, Then I’ll be ane o’ thae. “First, let pass the black, Janet, And syne let pass the brown; But grip ye to the milk-white steed, And pu’ the rider down. “For I ride on the milk-white steed, And aye nearest the town; Because I was a christen’d knight, They gave me that renown. “My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare; And these the tokens I gie thee, Nae doubt I will be there. “They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake, But haud me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye would buy me maik. “They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an ask; They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, A bale that burns fast. “They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, A red-hot gad o’ airn; But haud me fast, let me not pass, For I’ll do you no harm. “First dip me in a stand o’ milk, And then in a stand o’ water; But haud me fast, let me not pass— I’ll be your bairn’s father. “And, next, they’ll shape me in your arms A tod, but and an eel; But haud me fast, nor let me gang, As you do love me weel. “They’ll shape me in your arms, Janet, A dove, but and a swan; And last they’ll shape me in your arms A mother-naked man: Cast your green mantle over me— I’ll be myself again.”— Gloomy, gloomy was the night, And eiry was the way, As fair Janet, in her green mantle, To Miles Cross she did gae. The heavens were black, the night was dark, And dreary was the place; But Janet stood, with eager wish, Her lover to embrace. Betwixt the hours of twelve and one, A north wind tore the bent; And she heard strange elritch sounds Upon that wind which went. About the dead hour o’ the night She heard the bridles ring; And Janet was as glad o’ that As any earthly thing. Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill, The hemlock small blew clear; And louder notes from hemlock large, And bog-reed, struck the ear; But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts, The Fairies cannot bear. They sing, inspired with love and joy, Like skylarks in the air; Of solid sense, or thought that’s grave, You’ll find no traces there. Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved, The dreary heath upon; And louder, louder wax’d the sound, As they came riding on. Will o’-Wisp before them went, Sent forth a twinkling light; And soon she saw the Fairy bands All riding in her sight. And first gaed by the black, black steed, And then gaed by the brown; And fast she gript the milk-white steed, And pu’d the rider down. She pu’d him frae the milk-white steed, And loot the bridle fa’; And up there raise an erlish cry— “He’s wan among us a’!”— They shaped him in fair Janet’s arms An esk, but and an adder; She held him fast in every shape— To be her bairn’s father. They shaped him in her arms at last A mother-naked man: She wrapp’d him in her green mantle, And sae her lover wan! Up then spake the Queen o’ Fairies, Out o’ a bush o’ broom— “She that has borrow’d young Tamlane, Has gotten a stately groom.”— Up then spake the Queen o’ Fairies, Out o’ a bush o’ rye— “She’s ta’en away the bonniest knight In a’ my companie. “But had I kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says, “A lady wad borrow’d thee— I wad ta’en out thy twa grey e’en, Put in twa e’en o’ tree. “Had I but kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says, “Before ye came frae hame— I wad ta’en out your heart o’ flesh, Put in a heart o’ stane. “Had I but had the wit yestreen That I hae coft the day— I’d paid my kanes seven times to hell Ere you’d been won away!”

There came a strange wight to our town-en’, An’ the fient a body did him ken; He tirled na lang, but he glided ben Wi’ a dreary, dreary hum. His face did glow like the glow o’ the west, When the drumly cloud has it half o’ercast; Or the struggling moon when she’s sair distrest, O sirs, ’twas Aiken-drum. I trow the bauldest stood aback, Wi’ a gape an’ a glower till their lugs did crack, As the shapeless phantom mum’ling spak— “Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum!” Oh, had ye seen the bairns’s fright, As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wight; As they skulkit in ’tween the dark and the light, And graned out, “Aiken-drum!” The black dog, growling, cowered his tail, The lassie swarfed, loot fa’ the pail; Rob’s lingle brak as he mendit the flail, At the sight o’ Aiken-drum. His matted head on his breast did rest, A lang blue beard wan’ered down like a vest; But the glare o’ his ee hath nae bard exprest, Nor the skimes o’ Aiken-drum. Roun’ his hairy form there was naething seen But a philabeg o’ the rashes green, An’ his knotted knees played aye knoit between— What a sight was Aiken-drum! On his wauchie arms three claws did meet, As they trailed on the grun’ by his taeless feet; E’en the old gudeman himsel’ did sweat To look at Aiken-drum. But he drew a score, himsel’ did sain; The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane; While the young one closer clasped her wean, And turned frae Aiken-drum. But the canty auld wife cam till her breath, And she thocht the Bible might ward aff scaith, Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith— But it feared na Aiken-drum. “His presence protect us!” quoth the old gudeman; “What wad ye, whare won ye, by sea or by lan’? I conjure ye, speak, by the beuk in my han’!” What a grane gae Aiken-drum! “I lived in a lan’ where we saw nae sky, I dwelt in a spot where a burn rins na by; But I’se dwall now wi’ you if ye like to try— Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum? “I’ll shiel a’ your sheep i’ the mornin’ sune, I’ll berry your crap by the light o’ the moon, An’ ba the bairns wi’ an unkenned tune, If ye’ll keep puir Aiken-drum. “I’ll loup the linn where ye canna wade, I’ll kirn the kirn, an’ I’ll turn the bread; An’ the wildest filly that ever ran rede, I’se tame’t,” quoth Aiken-drum. “To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell, To gather the dew frae the heather-bell, An’ to look at my face i’ your clear crystal well, Might gie pleasure to Aiken-drum. “I’se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark; I use nae beddin’, shoon, nor sark; But a cogfu’ o’ brose ’tween the light an’ the dark, Is the wage o’ Aiken-drum.” Quoth the wylie auld wife: “The thing speaks weel; Our workers are scant—we hae routh o’ meal; Gif he’ll do as he says—be he man, be he deil— Now! we’ll try this Aiken-drum.” But the wenches skirled: “He’s no be here! His eldritch look gars us swarf wi’ fear; An’ the feint a ane will the house come near, If they think but o’ Aiken-drum.” “Puir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit; Is’t na Hallowmas now, an’ the crap out yet?” Sae she silenced them a’ wi’ a stamp o’ her fit— “Sit yer wa’s down, Aiken-drum.” Roun’ a’ that side what wark was dune By the streamer’s gleam, or the glance o’ the moon; A word, or a wish, an’ the brownie cam sune, Sae helpfu’ was Aiken-drum.... On Blednoch banks, an’ on crystal Cree, For mony a day a toiled wight was he; While the bairns played harmless roun’ his knee, Sae social was Aiken-drum. But a new-made wife, fu’ o’ frippish freaks, Fond o’ a’ things feat for the first five weeks, Laid a mouldy pair o’ her ain man’s breeks By the brose o’ Aiken-drum. Let the learned decide when they convene What spell was him an’ the breeks between; For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen, An’ sair missed was Aiken-drum. He was heard by a herd gaun by Thrieve, Crying: “Lang, lang now may I greet an’ grieve: For, alas! I hae gotten baith fee an’ leave— Oh, luckless Aiken-drum.” Awa’, ye wrangling sceptic tribe, Wi’ your pros an’ your cons wad ye decide ’Gain the ’sponsible voice o’ a hail country-side, On the facts ’bout Aiken-drum! Though the “Brownie o’ Blednoch” lang be gane, The mark o’ his feet’s left on mony a stane; An’ mony a wife an’ mony a wean Tell the feats o’ Aiken-drum. E’en now, light loons that jibe an’ sneer At spiritual guests an’ a’ sic gear, At the Glashnoch mill hae swat wi’ fear, An’ looked roun’ for Aiken-drum. An’ guidly folks hae gotten a fright, When the moon was set, an’ the stars gied nae light, At the roaring linn, in the howe o’ the night, Wi’ sighs like Aiken-drum.

I. Ah, what can ail thee wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing. II. Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight. So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full And the harvest’s done. III. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too. IV. I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful, a faery’s child; Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. V. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing A faery’s song. VI. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look’d at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. VII. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said, I love thee true. VIII. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gaz’d and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes— So kiss’d to sleep. IX. And there we slumber’d on the moss, And there I dream’d, ah woe betide, The latest dream I ever dream’d On the cold hill-side. X. I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cry’d—“La belle Dame sans merci Hath thee in thrall!” XI. I saw their starv’d lips in the gloom With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill-side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing.

In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, Till spells came o’er him, and, day and night, He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite! As once, by moonlight, he wandered o’er The golden sands of that island shore, A foot-print sparkled before his sight— ’Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite! Beside a fountain, one sunny day, As bending over the stream he lay, There peep’d down o’er him two eyes of light, And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite. He turn’d, but lo, like a startled bird, That spirit fled!—and the youth but heard Sweet music, such as marks the flight Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite. One night, still haunted by that bright look, The boy, bewilder’d, his pencil took, And, guided only by memory’s light, Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite. “Oh thou, who lovest the shadow,” cried A voice, low whisp’ring by his side, “Now turn and see,”—here the youth’s delight Seal’d the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite. “Of all the Spirits of land and sea,” Then rapt he murmur’d, “there’s none like thee, And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!”

A mother came when stars were paling, Wailing round a lonely spring; Thus she cried while tears were falling, Calling on the Fairy King: “Why with spells my child caressing, Courting him with fairy joy; Why destroy a mother’s blessing, Wherefore steal my baby boy? “O’er the mountain, through the wild wood, Where his childhood loved to play; Where the flowers are freshly springing, There I wander, day by day. “There I wander, growing fonder Of the child that made my joy; On the echoes wildly calling To restore my fairy boy. “But in vain my plaintive calling Tears are falling all in vain! He now sports with fairy pleasure, He’s the treasure of their train! “Fare thee well, my child, for ever, In this world I’ve lost my joy, But in the next we ne’er shall sever, There I’ll find my angel boy!”

A fair girl was sitting in the greenwood shade, List’ning to the music the spring birds made; When sweeter by far than the birds on the tree, A voice murmur’d near her, “Oh come, love, with me— In earth or air, A thing so fair I have not seen as thee! Then come, love, with me.” “With a star for thy home, in a palace of light, Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night; Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold, I will show thee the birthplace of jewels and gold— And pearly caves Beneath the waves, All these, all these are thine, If thou wilt be mine.” Thus whisper’d a fairy to tempt the fair girl, But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl; For she said, “Tho’ thy gifts to a poor girl were dear, My father, my mother, my sisters are here: Oh! what would be Thy gifts to me Of earth, and sea, and air, If my heart were not there?”

“And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?” “I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low, The midsummer night to see!” “And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Low?” “I saw the blithe sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow.” “And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Hill?” “I heard the drops of the water made, And the green corn ears to fill.” “Oh, tell me all, my Mary— All, all that ever you know; For you must have seen the fairies, Last night on the Caldon-Low.” “Then take me on your knee, mother, And listen, mother of mine: A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine. “And merry was the glee of the harp-strings, And their dancing feet so small; But, oh, the sound of their talking Was merrier far than all!” “And what were the words, my Mary, That you did hear them say?” “I’ll tell you all, my mother— But let me have my way! “And some they played with the water, And rolled it down the hill; ‘And this,’ they said, ‘shall speedily turn The poor old miller’s mill; “‘For there has been no water, Ever since the first of May; And a busy man shall the miller be By the dawning of the day! “‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh, When he sees the mill-dam rise! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh, Till the tears fill both his eyes!’ “And some they seized the little winds, That sounded over the hill, And each put a horn into his mouth, And blew so sharp and shrill:— “‘And there,’ said they, ‘the merry winds go, Away from every horn; And those shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow’s corn. “‘Oh, the poor blind old widow— Though she has been blind so long, She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone, And the corn stands stiff and strong.’ “And some they brought the brown lintseed, And flung it down from the Low— ‘And this,’ said they, ‘by the sunrise, In the weaver’s croft shall grow! “‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver, How will he laugh outright, When he sees his dwindling flax-field All full of flowers by night!’ “And then upspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin— ‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he, ‘And I want some more to spin. “‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another— A little sheet for Mary’s bed, And an apron for her mother!’ “And with that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free: And then on the top of the Caldon-Low, There was no one left but me. “And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low, The mists were cold and grey, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay. “But, as I came down from the hill-top, I heard, afar below, How busy the jolly miller was, And how merry the wheel did go. “And I peeped into the widow’s field; And, sure enough, was seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stiff and green. “And down by the weaver’s cot I stole, To see if the flax were high; But I saw the weaver at his gate, With the good news in his eye! “Now, this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, prithee, make my bed, mother, For I’m tired as I can be.”

I. Tapp, tapp! Rapp, rapp! “Get up, Gaffer Ferryman.” “Eh? who is there?” The clock strikes Three. “Get up, do, Gaffer! You are the very man We have been long—long—longing to see.” The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling, And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling, Over the wares in his way to the door. But he sees no more Than he saw before, Till a voice is heard—“O Ferryman, dear! Here we are waiting, all of us here! We are a wee, wee colony, we; Some two hundred in all, or three. Ferry us over the river Lee Ere dawn of day, And we will pay The most we may, In our own wee way!” II. “Who are you? Whence came you? What place are you going to?” “O, we have dwelt over-long in this land. The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too; Nothing at all but they now understand; We are daily vanishing under the thunder Of some huge engine or iron wonder; That iron—O, it has entered our souls!” “——Your souls? O, Goles! You queer little drolls! Do you mean——?” “Good Gaffer, do aid us with speed, For our time, like our stature, is short indeed! And a very long way we have to go, Eight or ten thousand miles or so, Hither and thither, and to and fro; With our pots and pans, And little gold cans; But our light caravans Run swifter than man’s!” III. “Well, well, you may come!” said the Ferryman, affably; “Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge!” Then again to the little folk—“Though you seem laughably Small, I don’t mind, if your coppers be large.” O, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing (The waterman making vain efforts at hushing The hubbub the while) there followed these words! What clapping of boards! What strapping of cords! What stowing away of children and wives, And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives! Till all had safely got into the boat, And the Ferryman clad in his tip-top coat, And his wee little fairies were fairly afloat! Then ding! ding! ding! And kling! kling! kling! How the coppers did ring In the tin pitcherling! IV. Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly, Smoothly, and so forth, but after a while It swayed and it swagged this way and that way, and presently Chest after chest, and pile after pile, Of the little folks’ goods began tossing and rolling, And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling! O, Mab! if the hubbub was great before, It was now some two or three million times more; Crash went the wee crocks, and the clocks, and the locks, Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks; And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries— “Take care!”—“See there!”—“Oh, dear! my eyes!” “I am killed!”—“I am drowned!”—with groans and sighs; Till to land they drew; “Yeo hoe! Pull to! Tiller-rope, thro’ and thro’!” And all’s right anew. V. “Now, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities, ... Eh! what is this? Where are they at all? Where are they and where are their tiny commodities? Well! as I live!” He looks blank as a wall, The poor Ferryman! Round him, and round him he gazes, But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes Of utter bewilderment! All, all are gone— And he stands alone, Like a statue of stone, In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer, And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear With other odd sounds—“Ha! ha! ha! ha! Tol, lol; zid, ziddle—quee, quee—bah! bah! Fizzigigiggidy! phse! sha! sha!” “O, ye thieves, ye thieves! ye rascally thieves!” The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher, And there, alas! to his horror perceives, That the little folks’ mode of making him richer Had been to pay with him—withered leaves!

Oh! Peggy Bawn was innocent, And wild as any roe; Her cheek was like the summer rose, Her neck was like the snow: And every eye was in her head So beautiful and bright, You’d almost think they’d light her through Glencarrigy by night. Among the hills and mountains, Above her mother’s home, The long and weary summer day Young Peggy Blake would roam; And not a girl in all the town, From Dhua to Glenlur, Could wander through the mountain’s heath Or climb the rocks with her. The Lammas sun was shinin’ on The meadows all so brown; The neighbours gathered far and near To cut the ripe crops down; And pleasant was the mornin’, And dewy was the dawn, And gay and lightsome-hearted To the sunny fields they’re gone. The joke was passing lightly, And the laugh was loud and free; There was neither care nor trouble To disturb their hearty glee; When, says Peggy, resting in among The sweet and scented hay, “I wonder is there one would brave The Fairy well to-day!” She looked up with her laughin’ eyes, So soft at Willy Rhu; Och murdher! that she didn’t need His warnin’ kind and true! But all the boys and girls laughed, And Willy Rhu looked shy; God help you, Willy! sure they saw The throuble in your eye. “Now, by my faith!” young Connell says— “I like your notion well— There’s a power more than gospel In what crazy gossips tell.” Oh, my heavy hatred fall upon Young Connell of Sliabh-Mast! He took the cruel vengeance For his scorned love at last. The jokin’ and the jibin’ And the banterin’ went on, One girl dared another, And they all dared Peggy Bawn. Till, leaping up, away she flew Down to the hollow green— Her bright locks, floating in the wind, Like golden lights were seen. They saw her at the Fairy-well— Their laughin’ died away, They saw her stoop above its brink With heart as cold as clay. Oh! mother, mother, never stand Upon your cabin floor! You heard the cry that through your heart Will ring for evermore; For when she came up from the well, No one could stand her look: Her eye was wild—her cheek was pale— They saw her mind was shook: And the gaze she cast around her Was so ghastly and so sad— “O Christ preserve us!” shouted all, “Poor Peggy Blake’s gone mad!” The moon was up—the stars were out, And shining through the sky, When young and old stood mourning round To see their darling die. Poor Peggy from her death-bed rose— Her face was pale and cold, And down about her shoulders hung The lovely locks of gold. “All you that’s here this night,” she said, “Take warnin’ by my fate, Whoever braves the Fairies’ wrath, Their sorrow comes too late.” The tear was startin’ in her eye, She clasp’d her throbbin’ head, And when the sun next mornin’ rose Poor Peggy Bawn was dead.

Gaily through the mountain glen The hunter’s horn did ring, As the milk-white doe Escaped his bow, Down by the haunted spring. In vain his silver horn he wound,— ’Twas echo answered back; For neither groom nor baying hound Were on the hunter’s track In vain he sought the milk-white doe That made him stray, and ’scaped his bow; For, save himself, no living thing Was by the silent haunted spring. The purple heath-bells, blooming fair, Their fragrance round did fling, As the hunter lay At close of day, Down by the haunted spring. A lady fair, in robe of white, To greet the hunter came; She kissed a cup with jewels bright, And pledged him by his name; “Oh, lady fair,” the hunter cried, “Be thou my love, my blooming bride, A bride that well may grace a king! Fair lady of the haunted spring.” In the fountain clear she stoop’d, And forth she drew a ring; And that loved Knight His faith did plight Down by the haunted spring. But since that day his chase did stray, The hunter ne’er was seen, And legends tell, he now doth dwell Within the hills so green;[4] But still the milk-white doe appears, And wakes the peasants’ evening fears, While distant bugles faintly ring Around the lonely haunted spring.

I. Nelly Phelan’s child is ailing; Hour by hour, the babe is failing; Squeeling, kicking, biting, whining, To an atomy he’s pining. II. Once he was a fine, wee fellow; Now he’s wrinkled, thin, and yellow. Playful then he was, and civil; Now he’s cross-grained, as the devil. III. To a wise woman Nell’s walking; Long time they’re in secret talking; First she heard all Nell’s description; Then she wrote out a prescription. IV. “Take this cure, although a strange one; It is needed when they change one; By it you’ll the fairies bother, Get your child, and choke the other. V. “You must make the fairy speak out, Ere your child, from them, you take out. If you follow what’s here written, You shall find the biter bitten.” VI. Cried Nell, “Be sure that I’ll observe it; If I fail I’ll not deserve it: I would walk the wide world over, If my child I could recover.” VII. Five hundred egg-shells Nelly chooses In a pot, the shells she bruises; In spring water now they’re boiling, Stirring round the pot she’s toiling. VIII. Red-hot now the poker’s ready; While Nell stirs the pot, so steady: From the child, in cradle lying, Nell now hears a strange voice crying— IX. “Mammy! Mammy! what’s that boiling? Why with potstick are you toiling?” Nell, with fright, to drop was ready, Yet she answered, cool, and steady— X. “Egg-shells, deary! I am brewing, Cock’s broth for my babe I’m stewing. When I skim off all the dripping, Then it will be fit for sipping.” XI. “Though five hundred years I’m chewing, Egg-shells never saw I brewing; Though five centuries I’m cheating, Ne’er have I seen cock’s broth eating.” XII. Quick the poker Nelly seizes; To the cradle now she races; Red-hot down its throat she crams it; With her might and main she rams it. XIII. Gone like lightning is the fairy; In its stead, there lies her deary— Her brave boy—her darling Terry, With his lip and cheek of cherry.

Sweet babe! a golden cradle holds thee, And soft the snow-white fleece enfolds thee; In airy bower I’ll watch thy sleeping. Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping. Shuheen, sho, lulo lo! When mothers languish broken-hearted, When young wives are from husbands parted, Ah! little think the keeners lonely, They weep some time-worn fairy only. Shuheen, sho, lulo lo! Within our magic halls of brightness, Trips many a foot of snowy whiteness; Stolen maidens, queens of fairy— And kings and chiefs a sluagh shee airy. Shuheen, sho, lulo lo! Rest thee, babe! I love thee dearly, And as thy mortal mother nearly; Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest, That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest. Shuheen, sho, lulo lo! Rest, thee, babe! for soon thy slumbers Shall flee at the magic Koelshie’s numbers; In airy bower I’ll watch thy sleeping, Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping. Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!

“Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel; For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep: Come up above the crags, and we’ll dance a highland reel Around the fairy thorn on the steep.” At Anna Grace’s door ’twas thus the maidens cried, Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green; And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside, The fairest of the four, I ween. They’re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve, Away in milky wavings of the neck and ankle bare; The merry-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave, And the crags in the ghostly air: And linking hand and hand, and singing as they go, The maids along the hill-side have ta’en their fearless way Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey. The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim, Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee; The rowan berries cluster o’er her low head grey and dim, In ruddy kisses sweet to see. The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row, Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem, And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go, Oh, never carolled bird like them! But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze That drinks away their voices in echoless repose, And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes, And dreamier the gloaming grows. And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw, Are hushed the maidens’ voices, as cowering down they lie In the flutter of their sudden awe. For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath, And from the mountain-ashes and the old whitethorn between, A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe And they sink down together on the green. They sink together silent, and stealing side by side, They fling their lovely arms o’er their drooping necks so fair, Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide, For their shrinking necks again are bare. Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed, Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound— They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd, Like a river in the air, gliding round. Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say, But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three— For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, By whom they dare not look to see. They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold, And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws; They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold, But they dare not look to see the cause: For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze; And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes Or their limbs from the cold ground raise. Till out of Night the earth has rolled her dewy side, With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below; When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide, The maidens’ trance dissolveth so. Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may, And told their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain— They pined away and died within the year and day, And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again.

I. Mournfully, sing mournfully— “O listen, Ellen, sister dear; Is there no help at all for me, But only ceaseless sigh and tear? Why did not he who left me here, With stolen hope steal memory? O listen, Ellen, sister dear, (Mournfully, sing mournfully)— I’ll go away to Sleamish hill, I’ll pluck the fairy hawthorne tree, And let the spirits work their will; I care not if for good or ill, So they but lay the memory Which all my heart is haunting still! (Mournfully, sing mournfully)— The Fairies are a silent race, And pale as lily flowers to see; I care not for a blanched face, Nor wandering in a dreaming place, So I but banish memory:— I wish I were with Anna Grace!” Mournfully, sing mournfully!— II. Hearken to my tale of woe— ’Twas thus to weeping Ellen Con, Her sister said in accents low, Her only sister, Una bawn: ’Twas in their bed before the dawn, And Ellen answered sad and slow,— “Oh Una, Una, be not drawn (Hearken to my tale of woe)— To this unholy grief I pray, Which makes me sick at heart to know, And I will help you if I may: —The Fairy Well of Lagnanay— Lie nearer me, I tremble so,— Una, I’ve heard wise women say (Hearken to my tale of woe)— That if before the dews arise, True maiden in its icy flow With pure hand bathe her bosom thrice, Three lady-brackens pluck likewise, And three times round the fountain go, She straight forgets her tears and sighs.” Hearken to my tale of woe! III. All, alas! and well-away! “Oh, sister Ellen, sister sweet, Come with me to the hill I pray, And I will prove that blessed freet!” They rose with soft and silent feet, They left their mother where she lay, Their mother and her care discreet, (All, alas! and well-away!) And soon they reached the Fairy Well, The mountain’s eye, clear, cold, and grey, Wide open in the dreary fell: How long they stood ’twere vain to tell, At last upon the point of day, Bawn Una bares her bosom’s swell, (All, alas! and well-away!) Thrice o’er her shrinking breasts she laves The gliding glance that will not stay Of subtly-streaming fairy waves:— And now the charm three brackens craves, She plucks them in their fringed array:— Now round the well her fate she braves, (All, alas! and well-away!) IV. Save us all from Fairy thrall! Ellen sees her face the rim Twice and thrice, and that is all— Fount and hill and maiden swim, All together melting dim! “Una! Una!” thou may’st call, Sister sad! but lith or limb (Save us all from Fairy thrall!) Never again of Una bawn Where now she walks in dreamy hall Shall eye of mortal look upon! Oh! can it be the guard was gone, That better guard than shield or wall? Who knows on earth save Turlagh Daune? (Save us all from Fairy thrall!) Behold the banks are green and bare, No pit is here wherein to fall: Aye—at the fount you well may stare, But nought save pebbles smooth is there, And small streams twirling one and all. Hie thee home, and be thy pray’r, Save us all from Fairy thrall!

I. He mounted his steed of the water clear, And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere; He held his bridle of strings of pearl, Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl. II. He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth, Soft and dainty as velvet cloth, And donn’d his mantle of sand so white, And grasp’d his sword of the coral bright. III. And away he gallop’d, a horseman free, Spurring his steed through the stormy sea, Clearing the billows with bound and leap— Away, away, o’er the foaming deep! IV. By Scarba’s rock, by Lunga’s shore, By Garveloch isles where the breakers roar, With his horse’s hoofs he dash’d the spray, And on to Loch Buy, away, away! V. On to Loch Buy all day he rode, And reach’d the shore as sunset glow’d, And stopp’d to hear the sounds of joy That rose from the hills and glens of Moy. VI. The morrow was May, and on the green They’d lit the fire of Beltan E’en, And danced around, and piled it high With peat and heather and pine-tops dry. VII. A piper play’d a lightsome reel, And timed the dance with toe and heel; While wives look’d on, as lad and lass Trod it merrily o’er the grass. VIII. And Jessie (fickle and fair was she) Sat with Evan beneath a tree, And smiled with mingled love and pride, And half agreed to be his bride. IX. The Kelpie gallop’d o’er the green— He seemed a knight of noble mien, And old and young stood up to see, And wonder’d who the knight could be. X. His flowing locks were auburn bright, His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flash’d light; And as he sprang from his good gray steed, He look’d a gallant youth indeed. XI. And Jessie’s fickle heart beat high, As she caught the stranger’s glancing eye: And when he smiled, “Ah well,” thought she, “I wish this knight came courting me!” XII. He took two steps towards her seat— “Wilt thou be mine, O maiden sweet?” He took her lily-white hand, and sigh’d, “Maiden, maiden, be my bride!” XIII. And Jessie blush’d, and whisper’d soft— “Meet me to-night when the moon’s aloft; I’ve dream’d, fair knight, long time of thee— I thought thou earnest courting me.” XIV. When the moon her yellow horn display’d, Alone to the trysting went the maid; When all the stars were shining bright, Alone to the trysting went the knight. XV. “I have loved thee long, I have loved thee well, Maiden, oh more than words can tell! Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine; Maiden, maiden, be thou mine!” XVI. “Fair sir, thy suit I’ll ne’er deny— Though poor my lot, my hopes are high; I scorn a lover of low degree— None but a knight shall marry me.” XVII. He took her by the hand so white, And gave her a ring of the gold so bright; “Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine— Maiden, maiden, now thou’rt mine!” XVIII. He lifted her on his steed of gray, And they rode till morning away, away— Over the mountain and over the moor, And over the rocks, to the dark sea-shore. XIX. “We have ridden east, we have ridden west— I’m weary, fair knight, and I fain would rest, Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea? Hast thou a good ship waiting for me?” XX. “I have no dwelling beyond the sea, I have no good ship waiting for thee; Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam, And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home.” XXI. The gray steed plunged in the billows clear, And the maiden’s shrieks were sad to hear. “Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine— Maiden, maiden, now thou’rt mine!” XXII. Loud the cold sea-blast did blow, As they sank ’mid the angry waves below— Down to the rocks where the serpents creep, Twice five hundred fathoms deep. XXIII. At morn a fisherman, sailing by, Saw her pale corse floating high; He knew the maid by her yellow hair And her lily skin so soft and fair. XXIV. Under a rock on Scarba’s shore, Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers roar, They dug her a grave by the water clear, Among the sea-weed salt and sere. XXV. And every year at Beltan E’en, The Kelpie gallops across the green, On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind, With Jessie’s mournful ghost behind. XXVI. I warn you, maids, whoever you be, Beware of pride and vanity; And ere on change of love you reckon, Beware the Kelpie of Corrievreckan.

In his bed the summer sun is sleeping, And the air is murky and cool; The vapours o’er the grass are creeping, Or hanging above the pool; But a timid gleam, Like a half-awake dream, Comes peering and peeping soon; Till dew-drops trickle gay In the spider’s web to play, And swing in his spangled festoon. A soft beam tips the trunks and leaves Of this green silent wood, And presently a net-work weaves, And presently a hood; A net-work and a hood of gold, Spread in many a lovely fold, And many a gleaming band, Silently as minutes, told Into a Lover’s hand. Oh, it is a silent wood In this early summer morning! Even the birds are not half awake, But whisper their chirrups in the brake, Like a prelude of sweet warning. It is as if the placid hours Hung their heads like folded flowers, Or like sweet flowers in bud, Still and happy, smiling and good, As children in a morning dream, Who move not—yet awake they seem, Their close lids gilded by the beam. There is a pretty cottage white, Which also seems asleep, Dreaming in the early light— Its very roof and windows sleep! Each gentle shade that fades away, Before the rays that following creep, Is nothing more than dreaming play— The cottage surely is asleep! What buzzing tickles yon oak-tree’s foot, Bustling and busy, with nought to be seen! There’s something fidgeting at the root, With a foo-fooing sound like a school-boy’s flute, And a rattling like pods of dry bean! See! see! there’s a thing scarce five inches high, With a comical motion and funny bright eye, And a look both roguish and bold— His limbs are all antics—he skips like a flea— His body is brown as the bark of a tree, Mix’d with green streaks and tarnish’d gold! With little legs straddling, He dances about— Pretends to be waddling— Then leaps with a flout At something he sees in the bright quiet air, And in front of the cottage he makes antics rare! He dances, he prances, Gives hiccups and kick-ups, But all without noise is his merriment made; He laughs at the little cot! Threatens the chimney-pot! But soft as a moth, or as light plays with shade. Now he stops— Now he hops— Now cautiously trips! On tip-toe, And slip-toe He skuttles and skips; Along the grass gliding, Half-dancing—half-sliding— Oft stooping—half hiding— Then bolt upright walks, And whispering talks To himself, Pretty elf; And quaint sounds he utters, Till close to the shutters Of the cot that’s still sleeping, He climbs up close, peeping, And pokes in each crevice his sharp little nose; Till one shutter creaks, And opening squeaks, And the elfin springs down, and dances and crows! Till softly again, He climbs to the lattice, Taps once, twice, and thrice! Puffs and blows— And through the crack’d pane In he goes! Within this cottage lived a child— “Toody” her name—she was not very big You might judge by the plants and shrubs that grew wild, And o’er her head nodded or lifted a sprig. Within the same cot there also resided Her cousins—in love they were never divided— Kitty and Crocus, Tiny and Twig. But accurate words in good time to employ, We say “Tiny’s” a small dog, and not a small boy; And likewise explain that Grandmama Grey, In spectacles, tucker, and flower’d chintz gown, Took care of them all—often grave, seldom gay, Yet she always half smiled when trying to frown. Five o’clock in the morning! “What noise do I hear below?” Cried Grandmama Grey. “Although it’s broad day, There’s no one up, I know.” Then her head’s complete adorning— Her turret cover’d with snow, Skull-cap and bandage, and double-frill’d night-cap, With puff-crown and ribbon, bows, broad-strings, and all, Not stopping to think, and not caring what might hap, She cast off, and threw at the opposite wall! Crying loudly, “Come, children! jump up with me— There’s a rat in the dairy! run quickly and see! Down with me, each one, as blithe as a grig— Toody and Kitty, and Crocus and Twig!” At once down the stairs they ran scrambling and fumbling, In night-gowns and night-caps—all laughing and jumbling, With Tiny between their legs, barking and tumbling. Down at last they are safely landed, Dusky the parlour—the shutters closed, Though one swings a-jar (which the Elfin’s hand did), By green blinds the light is still opposed. So one by one, some rosy, some pale— As Indians cautiously pass through a mead, Holding each other by night-gown tail, Dame Grey and the children in silence proceed. They reach the dairy—pause at the door; They look at each other, then clap their hands, And in they bounce, as a wave on the shore Scatters its foam on the lonely sands, On all sides they spread, and stare round about, But soon they huddle together in fear, For behind a milk-jug, under the spout, They see a small figure that’s wondrous queer! It is golden, and greenish, and earthy brown, With a perking nose and a pointed chin, It has very bright eyes and a funny frown, With a russetin, apple’s network skin. They see him! they see him! He knows it, too well!— They flee him! they flee him!— In terror pell-mell! But Tiny springs up—and around a milk-pan Gives chase!—now they scour round as fast as they can!— They whirl round so swift their two bodies seem one, And like a dark band on a humming-top spun. Dame Grey and the children ran back from their nook,— The chase takes away their breath as they look! Till at length with a noise like a bark, laugh, and scream, The elf leapt in!—and swam across three pans of cream! On the opposite side, He had quickly espied In the wall a small shelf, And there landed himself. “We’ve lost him! we’ve lost him!” The children all cried! But Grandmama Grey, I am happy to say, Being in her own dairy, Was wise as a fairy, And quick with a jelly-bag, At the shelf’s end, Into its belly-swag Swept our small friend! Now you must know that good Dame Grey Had prudence at her fingers’ ends, And to the parlour leads the way, But no one knows what she intends. Said she, “Now, all go up and dress, I’ll leave the bag upon the floor Mouth downwards; Tiny’s watchfulness Shall guard the window, chimney, door.” So Tiny came, and gravely stood With both ears cock’d, and nose down bent, While with as fix’d an attitude The pointed bag stood, like a tent! Soon they were dress’d, and down they came; Breakfast was ready, the tea-kettle singing; Toast, hot rolls, water-cresses, and ham,— And the parlour-bell still for more egg-cups ringing! But mute as a tree, with a truant notching it! Stood the jelly-bag tent, with Tiny watching it. Up rose little Toody, and said, “Don’t you think An Elf of the woods would like something to drink? Coffee or tea, by way of exhorter Not to turn sulky—perhaps, milk-and-water!” So under one edge of the jelly-bag tent Toody a saucer cautiously push’d, Then roll’d an egg under with merriment, Though silently all in the room sat hush’d. Ten minutes they listened—and then—shall I tell? They all plainly heard the crack of a shell. “Away with the tea-things!” said Grandmama Grey; In a twinkling the tea-things were taken away! And Martha ran back to see what they meant To do with the small rogue under the tent. Cried Dame Grey, “Bring the bird-cage—look sharp—and run quicker!” It once was a blackbird’s, and made of white wicker. The bird-cage was brought, and Grandmama Grey Took the jelly-bag up in her carefullest way, Clapt its mouth to the open door—shook it—at last In popp’d the Elf!—the cage-door was made fast! Now, what do you think the small prisoner did? Shed many tears, and jibber’d, and groan’d? Crouch’d at the bottom, d’ye fancy he did, And there his sad capture and fate bemoan’d? Nothing like this: with one spring and ten kicks He climbed to the perch, and himself he seated, Like a young thing practising calisthenics, With his hands on his pole, as if tired and heated. Toddy ran close to the cage—so did Crocus; Twig cried, “Here’s mischief and hocus-pocus!” And Kitty stared smiling; her soft hazel eyes With wonder seem’d double their natural size. But the Elf met their looks without a wince, While his cheek was yellow and tart as quince, And his tongue at one side thrust a bulb on the skin As the sight of his left eye slid out and in. He sat on his perch, not the least in despair, But swinging his little legs—and, I declare, With a perking, half-winking, impertinent air. Dame Grey with her spectacles now rose up, “Who are you, little sir? and what may you be? Do you know you have broken my best China cup, And spoilt all my cream?—now, answer to me! Tell us your story from first to last— Where you were born—where educated— Or here a captive for life you stay fast!— Begin, sir, at once—all must be stated.” Rough the crown of the Elf did bristle, His brutus rose like a flowering thistle, Till his anger through his nose did whistle; But his feelings he master’d, and tried to look Demure as a good child over his book. Some yellow of egg he rubb’d off his chin, And stuck like a buttercup on his shin, Then shrugg’d his shoulders up in a hunch, With a wheezing squeal, and a noise like Punch, Though not half so loud. And now with a sneeze, Like a parrot’s, who suffers much from a cold, His account of his life among the trees He thus, in his way, began to unfold. “Nine white witches sat in a circle close, With their backs against a greenwood tree, As around the dead-nettle’s summer stem Its woolly white blossoms you see. Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee! Rills and hills, Lawns and horns, Hedges, sedges, Rushes, thrushes, Twangle dee! “With hooded heads bent ’neath the broad green shade, And hands laid flat on each knee, They sat, as around the death-nettle’s stem Its beldame-shaped bloom you may see. Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee! Woods and broods, Birds and herds, Eggs and curds, Osiers, rosiers,— Tangle dee! “Now the witches so white they worked a charm For the life of my mother and me, And said in the woodlands we ever should dwell, From man’s knavish fingers free. Tangle fangle, jangle hangle, wrangle see! Guns and runs, Hops and pops, Nettings, frettings, Pools and fools— Dangle dee! “Then from hedges and ditches, these old lady-witches, Took bird-weed and rag-weed, and spear-grass for me, And they wove me a bower, ’gainst the snow-storm or shower, In a dry old hollow beech tree. Tangle dangle, suns and funs, twangle tee! Sticks and tricks, Light and sprites, Moons, festoons, Glooms, mushrooms, Tangle dee! “My nest-home inside, is dark, warm, and soft As the sable-hair’d breast of a panting bee; And never in my life will I have an elfin wife, Till the prettiest comes to court me. Twangle tangle, kisses blisses, tangle tee! Courts and sports, Eyes and sighs, Peeps and leaps, Hands and bands, Huts and nuts— Twangle twee! Ivy wreaths, Flowering heaths, Jays and fays, Owls and fogs, Bats and frogs, Holes and moles, Music sound Under ground— Twangle dee! Twining, shining, Dances, prances, Berries, cherries, Sorrels, laurels, Reed-pipe, seed ripe, Burrows, furrows, Habits, rabbits, Paths and crosses, Plots and mosses, Hares and stags, Dwarfs and hags, Shrubs all burry, Creatures furry, Wren and titmouse, Wasp and woodlouse— Twangle tee! Races, graces, Woodland faces, Quaint grimaces, Silver gushes, Tall bull-rushes, Rambles, scrambles, Bogs and brambles, Buzzes, fuzzes, Trailing briers, Red wood-fires, Squirrels, jackdaws, Things with black claws, Legs, horns, eyes, Blythe butterflies, Rush-knot shoe-tie, Peeps of blue sky, Distant steeple, Bee and beetle, Fairy people, Small legs fleetest, Echoes sweetest, Joy completest— Twangle tee! Ri-rigdum, dingle shade-laugh, tingle dee!” Each look’d at the other—none knew what to say. “This won’t do for me!” said Grandmama Grey; “None of your hoaxing about white witches, Nettles and nonsense, and hedges and ditches; I never before heard so clever a blade At an answer in genuine rhodomontade. Why do you prattle of woodland and stream? What do I care how your small heels you kick up? You know you came here to steal cake and drink cream; And, besides, you have broken a china tea-cup!” Hereat the Elf gazed up on high, Through the cage-top bars with rueful gloom, And then he gave a little sigh, Fixing his eyes on Martha’s broom; And meditated thoughtfully. But presently he cast a glance At Toody, who was winking nigh; And now this Elf with nonchalance Look’d round and shouted pleasantly, “I vow, by the tom-tit’s foolish ways, By the mole’s front claws and his pin-hole eye, The woodpecker’s thorn-tongue and groundless dismays, I have told my biography faithfully.” Again at Toody a look he stole, Then coolly resumed his rigmarole. “Loitering once in a wood,” he said, Cocking his nose with a side-bent head,— “A wood full of rabbit-runs, spaces, and turns, And crowded regiments of feathery ferns, With all sorts of groundlings pleasant to see, Such as cup-moss and wild anemone,— I sat me down in a silent nook, By a rill that pearl’d from a grassy dell, And being in want of an excellent book, I took up a pebble, which did as well. I pondered much on its class and merit; Its natural secrets my heart did ferret,— I consider’d it in a learned spirit; And while I was thus at study, I heard near at hand a fussing and spirting, And a ruffling sound of dipping and flirting, ’Neath a morning sky all ruddy. On tiptoe I trip—o’er the bushes I look— And close at the red-gravell’d edge of the brook, There stood a robin bathing! He ruffled his feathers with a spattering sound, And made himself look like a fussy round, Or some fairy’s curious plaything, With a spangly shower all flying and splashing, In a circle of water-drops showering and flashing! But presently— His eye—his eye!——” “His eye—his eye!” all the children cried— “What of his eye?” The Elf, aside, Once more at Toody stole a glance, And Toody a quiet nod gave askance, As much as to say, “I’ll find you a chance.” And then the Elf gave a downward squint At the close cage-door, by way of a hint; And, after scratching his apricot cheek, Of the robin again he proceeded to speak,— Jumping down to the floor of the cage, And acting a “robin” as if on the stage. “His eye! his eye! The clear round mirror of jet and light, Caught a glimpse of me. He bobbed—took wing—and was out of sight. Well, good folks—well! I have more to tell! Then I stood up in the rabbit-path, Winding along the low banks of the rill, Where I saw the robin taking his bath, And I fancy I see him still! True, as I say, he came back once more, With a fluster’d air, and in anger; I vow He look’d like an alderman lecturing the poor, But meaning at last to—unlock the cage-door! Methinks, I see him now! Along and across, he hops and he flits Just so!—on my word—just so! Then suddenly—look, there he sits Upon a topmost twig! He took a flight—and then a hop— Again a flight, Then perch’d so light Upon the twig’s tip-top! Look at his large bright eye, Very round and very black; Now he bobs, and now he bows, Incessantly, With head, and tail, and back; Bob, tail—and now bob, nose, Up and down he goes, Then off he flies in a crack! Upon a tall tree bough, There—there! I see him now! Come, Bob, come! He sits quite dumb— What cares he for a crumb— Look at his breast so red! Again he bows his head, Bobs and bows—ruffles his wings— Now smoothes them down, and then he sings. How he sings and warbles sweet! No more bobbing, Hob-and-nobbing, Quiet he sits, and fills the air With music delicate and rare; And now he glances at his feet, Then like a gentleman complete He bobs again—gives one quick bow, As I do now!— Points down his tail, and up his nose— And off he goes!” “Run, Tiny—run!—Oh, Kitty, Twig, and Crocus! The little wretch is gone!—oh, villain, thus to joke us! Run, Toody—run!—you, you are the deceiver That loosen’d the cage-door!—I’m surely in a fever! Tiny, chase him—Tiny, catch him! Oh, Kitty, Twig, and Crocus— The robin redbreast story was only meant to hoax us! Away—away—away! Come all into the wood! Follow me, I say, I say, I say, Through brambles, weeds, and mud!” Oh, none shall run to-day So fast as Granny Grey, She hath the youngest blood! Off they all ran trooping, And hallooing and hooping, Beneath the low boughs stooping, Right through the wood, For Grandmama Grey, Like an old duck, led the way, When a string of ducks trudge to a flood. Then came Kitty, side by side With Toody, who oft cried, “Oh, Kitty dear, was ever such rare fun, fun, fun!” And Crocus close to Twig, Both scampered in a jig, For they knew the Elf his freedom-race had won, won, won. As for him, the roguish Elf, He took good care of himself; His mites of legs they twinkled as he fled, fled, fled! He was scarcely seen, indeed, He so glistened with his speed, And his hair streamed out like silver grass behind his head! Now leaping here, now there, Tiny barking everywhere, Through undergrowth and thicket made his way with nose and claw, Till suddenly the party Met, full drive, with laughter hearty, Florry, Pay, Bow, Carry, Minnie, Ganner, Andy, Ock, and Daw! Such a meeting—such quick greeting— Such explaining and repeating! All confusion, no one listening, but all for the chase; So off the party pack To follow the Elf’s track, And Granny Grey was foremost still in this mad race! Now flew buttons, laces, bands, While with burning face and hands, Through and through, and up and down, they troop with shout and crow! Under, over, and across Shrubs, tangles, trunks, and moss, Till their hearts are almost bursting, and they gasp, and puff, and blow! They struggle and they strive, Droop—lag—and then revive; And once again they speed along and wish for wings to fly; They grow deaf and dizzy-eyed— With pains in head and side; But the Elf they cannot overtake—’tis all in vain to try! So the party wild with heat, And defeat—so complete— To the cottage stagger and retreat— Oh, oh, oh! And, with fagg’d and streaming faces, they all sit down on the floor, Their clothes green from bark of trees— Torn and mudded to the knees— With faces like red-lion signs, and feet all sore! There they sit, a good long hour, As for moving!—they have no such power; And Martha with hot water comes, each hand and face to wash. And then, still lounging on the ground, Cups of tea are handed round, Their dinners they had lost, while they hunted brake and bush. All hungry as young hawks, How the toast and butter “walks,” With legs of fowl down hunters’ throats, who seem’d just now half dead; But soon they laugh and shout, Eat and drink, and loll about. Till at last with laughing kisses they all troop off to bed. But where to sleep none knew, For the cottage was but small, Yet by Dame Grey’s arrangement There was room enough for all. Three slept upon the floor Of the largest room upstairs, And in the parlour, four, On sofa, rug, and chairs. The night was warm and pleasant— One filled the window seat; And two slept in the summer-house— And, oh, it was so sweet! Within a very little nook Toody always slept alone; Its strip of window stole a look Over the lawn and hay-rick cone. Within the open lattice crept Some jasmine from the cottage wall, And to the breathing of her sleep, Softly swayed, with rise and fall. But something else comes creeping in, As softly from the starry night,— The Elf!—’tis he!—first peeping in, Now like a moth doth he alight! He trips up to the little bed, And near it hangs a full-blown rose, Then in the middle of the flower Places a light that gleams and glows. It is a glow-worm from the lea, And lighting up the rose’s heart, A fairy grot it seems to be— Where dream-thoughts live and ne’er depart. And now the Elf once more is gone Into the woodlands wild, Leaving his blessing thus to shine Upon the dreaming child.

1. “Whither goest, brother Elf?” 2. “The sun is weak—to warm myself In a thick red tulip’s core. Whither thou?” 1. “Till day be o’er, To the dim and deep snow-palace Of the closest lily-chalice, Where is veil’d the light of noon To be like my Lady’s moon. Thou art of the day, I ween?” 2. “Yet I not disown our Queen, Nor at Lysc’ am backward found, When the mighty Feast comes round; When She spreads abroad her power To proclaim a midnight hour For the pale blue Fays like thee And the ruddy Elves like me To mingle in a charmèd ring With a perfect welcoming; Guarded from the moon-stroke cold, And wisp that scares us on the wold.” 1. “Swift that Night is drawing near, When your abrupt and jovial cheer, Mixes in our misty dance, Meeting else by rarest chance. We love dark undew’d recesses Of the leafy wildernesses, Or to hide in some cold flow’r, Shelter’d from the sunlight hour, And more afflictive mortal eye.” 2. “Gladly, gladly, do I spy Human children playing nigh, Feel, and so must you, the grace Of a loving human face. Else why come you in this place? O, my Sister, if we might Show ourselves to mortal sight Far more often! if they knew Half the friendly turns we do! Even now, a gentle thought Would pay my service dimly wrought, Round these winding garden-walks, Fruits and flow’rs and leaves and stalks. Paler favourites of the noon, Can ye give or take such boon?” 1. “Chantings, Brother, hear you might, Softly sung through still of night; Calling from the wëird North Dreams like distant echoes forth, Till through curtain’d shades they creep, To inlay the gloomy floor of sleep For babes, and souls that babe-like are: So we bless them from afar Like a faint but favouring star. —But tell me how in fields or bowers Thou hast spent these morning hours?” 2. “Through the tall hedge I have been, Shadowy wall of crusted green, Within whose heart the birds are seen. Speeding swiftly thence away To the crowning chestnut-spray, I watch’d a Tyrant steal along Would slay the sweet Thrush in her song; Warned, she soon broke off from singing, There we left the branchlet swinging. Whispering Robin, down the walk, News of poising, pouncing Hawk, The Sycamore I next must strew On every leaf with honey-dew. And hither now from clouds I run, For all my morning work is done.” 1. “Alas, I wither in the sun, Witless drawn to leave my nest Ere the day be laid to rest! But to-night we lightly troop By the young Moon’s silver hoop; Weaving wide our later ranks As on evening river-banks Shifting crowds of midges glance Through mazes of their airy dance: O might you come, O might you see All our shadow’d revelry! Yet the next night shall be rarer, Next and next and next, still fairer; We are waxing every night, Till our joy be full and bright; Then as slowly do we wane With gentle loss that makes no pain, For thus are we with life endued: Ye, I trow, have rougher food.” 2. “Yes: with fragrant soul we’re fed Of every flower whose cheek is red, Shunning yellow, blue, and white; And southward go, at the nightingale’s flight. Many the Faery Nations be. Oh! how I long, I long to see The moonèd midnight of our Feast, Flushing amber through the east, When every cap in Elfindom Into that great ring shall come, Owf and Elf and Fairy blended. Till th’ imperial time be ended! Even those fantastic Sprites Lay aside their dear delights Of freakish mischief and annoyance In the universal joyance, One of whom I saw of late As I peep’d through window-grate, (Under roof I may not enter) Haunt the housewife to torment her, Tangle up her skeins of silk, Throw a mouse into her milk, Hide her thimble, scorch her roast, Quickly drive her mad almost; And I too vex’d, because I would Have brought her succour if I could. —But where shall this be holden, say? Far away?” 1. “O, far away, Over river must we fly, Over the sea, and the mountain high, Over city, seen afar Like a low and misty star,— Soon beneath us glittering Like million spark-worms. But our wing, For the flight will ne’er suffice. Some are training Flittermice, I a Silver Moth.” 2. “Be ware How I’ll thrid the vaulted air! A Dragon-fly with glassy wings, Born beside the meadow-springs, That can arrow-swiftly glide Thorough the glowing eventide, Nor at twilight-fall grow slack, Shall bear me on his long blue back. Dew-stars, meteors of the night, May not strike him with affright, He can needle through the wood, That’s like a green earth-chainèd cloud, Mountain-summits deftly rake, Draw swift line o’er plain and lake. If at Lysco I be last, Other elves must journey fast. Lu a vo!” 1. “But, Elf, I rede, Of all your Herbs take special heed. Our Mistress tholes no garden flowers, Though we have freedom of these bowers. Tell me what you mean to treasure, Each in ’s atom?” 2. “Gold-of-Pleasure, Medic, Plumeseed, Fountain-arrow, Vervain, Hungry-grass, and Yarrow, Quatrefoil and Melilot.” 1. “These are well. And I have got Moonwort and the Filmy Fern, Gather’d nicely on the turn. Wo to Fairy that shall bring Bugloss for an offering, Toad-flax, Barley of the Wall, Enchanter’s Nightshade, worst of all. —Oh, brother, hush! I faint with fear! A mortal footstep threatens near.” 2. “None can see us, none can hear. Yet, to make thee less afraid, Hush we both as thou hast pray’d. I will seek the verse to spell Written round my dark flow’r’s bell, To sing at sunset. So, Farewell!”

I. Far in the western ocean’s breast The summer fairies have found a nest; The heavens ever unclouded smile Over the breadth of their beautiful isle; Through it a hundred streamlets flow, In spangled paths, to the sea below, And woo the vales that beside them lie With a low and tremulous minstrelsy. The elfin brood have homes they love In the earth below and skies above; But the haunt which of all they love the best Is the palm-crowned isle, in the ocean’s breast, That mortals call Canary; And many an Ariel, blithesome, airy, And each laughing fay and lithesome fairy, Know well the mystical way in the West To the sweet isle of Canary. II. With an ever-sounding choral chant, And a clear, cerulean, wild desire To clasp that fairy island nigher, The sinuous waves of ocean pant; For here all natural things are free To mingle in passionate harmony. The light from their mirror turns away With a golden splendour, in the day, But nightly, when coroneted Even Marshals the shining queen of heaven, There gleams a silvery scenery, From the rim of the great prismatic sea Around the isle of Canary To the central crags of Pisgatiri, Where the crested eagle builds his eyry, Scanning the shores of sweet Canary. III. Lustrously sailing here and there, Afloat in the beatific air, Birds, of purple and blue and gold, Pour out their music manifold; All day long in the leas they sing, While the sun-kissed flowers are blossoming; At eve, when the dew-drop feeds the rose, And the fragrant water-lilies close, The marvellous-throated nightingale With a dying music floods each vale, Till the seaward breezes, listening, stay To catch the harmony of his lay And cool the air of Canary; And thus the melodies ever vary, In the vales of the ocean aviary, In the blissful valleys of sweet Canary. IV. The Elle-King’s palace was builded there By elves of water and earth and air; Lovingly worked each loyal sprite, And it grew to life in a summer night. Over the sheen of its limpid moat, Wafted along, in a magic boat, By fairy wings that fan the sails, And eddying through enchanted vales, Through walls of amber and crystal gates, We come where a fairy warder waits; And so, by many a winding way Where sweet bells jingle and fountains play, To the inmost, royalest room of all,— The elfin monarch’s reception-hall, The pearl and pride of Canary! To guard its fastness the elves are wary, And no weird thing, of pleasure chary, Can enter with evil in sweet Canary! V. All that saddens, and care and pain, Are banished far from that fair domain; There forever, by day and night, Is naught but pleasance and love’s delight; Daily, the Genii of the flowers Shade with beauty a hundred bowers; Nightly, the Gnomes of precious stones Emblazon and light a hundred thrones; And the Elves of the field, so swift and mute, Bring wine and honey and luscious fruit; And the Sylphs of the air, at noontide, cool The depths of each bower and vestibule; And all are gay,—from the tricksome Fay Who flutters in woodlands far away, To the best-beloved attendant Elf, And the royal heart of the king himself, Who rules in bright Canary; And the labouring Fairies are blithe and merry, Who press the juice from the swollen berry That reddens the vines of sweet Canary. VI. What if there be a fated day When the Faëry Isle shall pass away, And its beautiful groves and fountains seem The myths of a long, delicious dream! A century’s joys shall first repay Our hearts, for the evil of that day; And the Elfin-King has sworn to wed A daughter of Earth, whose child shall be, By cross and water hallowéd, From the fairies’ doom forever free. What if there be a fated day! It is far away! it is far away! Maiden, fair Maiden, I, who sing Of this summer isle, am the island king. I come from its joys to make thee mine: Half of my kingdom shall be thine; Our horses of air and ocean wait— Then hasten, and share the Elle-King’s state In the sweet isle of Canary; And many an Ariel, blithsome, airy, And each laughing fay and lithesome fairy, Shall rovingly hover around and over thee, And the love of a king shall evermore cover thee, Nightly and daily in sweet Canary.