Number two Joy Street

THE PRINCESS OF KENSINGTON By MADELEINE NIGHTINGALE

Reading edition

When, very long ago, Oberon held his court in Kensington Gardens, the King of this Island had a son named Albion. Now, as everyone knows, fairies have a dreadful habit of stealing mortal babies and leaving small elfin changelings in their stead. This is just what happened to Albion, and he was brought up in Fairyland. When he was nineteen years old (according to human countings) he fell in love with Oberon’s daughter; but since no fairy may marry a mortal, Oberon was very angry and banished the young man from his fairy empire. So dearly, however, did Albion love the Princess that, rather than give her up, he sought the help of Neptune, and was slain by the elves in the great battle that followed. In revenge, Neptune destroyed Oberon’s kingdom, driving out the elves so that they live now only in the hills and the dales and the sea-caves and the rivers and the woods. The Princess remained and sought to bring her lover back to life by means of a magic herb. It is said that no sooner did the juice of it touch Albion’s body than it changed into a snowdrop. But we are afraid that, in her love and sorrow, the poor little Princess has forgotten.

Illustration from Number two Joy Street: a medley of prose & verse for boys and girls

A dark, high-contrast illustration featuring a queen walking on a cobblestone path, followed by a child carrying her train, attendants, and a majestic peacock.

The Princess of Kensington

Goes down the cobbled street;

Listen to the patter

Of her small brocaded feet.

Her peacock, her page-boy,

And maids-of-honour two,

From dawn to dusk they follow her

London through.

The fairies of Kensington

Are driven out and gone.

From Hyde Park to Holland Park

There’s left but only one;

And she—she’s lost her lover

And searches up and down

The highways and byways

Of London town.

73The night-watch of Kensington

A-calling on his round,

“Two o’ the clock and starlight!”

—It is a pleasant sound.

But, ah, the little Princess,

How softly whispers she,

“Albion! Albion!

Where can—where can he be?”

The children of Kensington

Lazily they lie,

Fast and warm within their beds,

And hear her passing by.

But not a child will draw his blind

And shout, “Oh, don’t you know?

He’s hiding in the Green Park

Where the snowdrops grow.”

A high-contrast, dark illustration of a queen in a flowing gown with a bright pink trim, kneeling in a wooded area near grazing sheep.

A black-and-white illustration of a young girl sitting on a grassy hill near a bare tree, looking up at a boy standing nearby holding a staff.