CHAPTER XVIFAILURE
“We are much bound to them that do succeed;But, in a more pathetic sense, are boundTo such as fail. They all our loss expound;They comfort us for work that will not speed,And life—itself a failure. Ay, his deed,Sweetest in story, who the dusk profoundOf Hades flooded with entrancing sound,Music’s own tears, was failure. Doth it readTherefore the worse? Ah, no! So much to dare,He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne.—So much to do; impetuous even there,He pours out love’s disconsolate sweet moan—He wins; but few for that his deed recall:Its power is in the look which costs him all.”
“We are much bound to them that do succeed;But, in a more pathetic sense, are boundTo such as fail. They all our loss expound;They comfort us for work that will not speed,And life—itself a failure. Ay, his deed,Sweetest in story, who the dusk profoundOf Hades flooded with entrancing sound,Music’s own tears, was failure. Doth it readTherefore the worse? Ah, no! So much to dare,He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne.—So much to do; impetuous even there,He pours out love’s disconsolate sweet moan—He wins; but few for that his deed recall:Its power is in the look which costs him all.”
“We are much bound to them that do succeed;But, in a more pathetic sense, are boundTo such as fail. They all our loss expound;They comfort us for work that will not speed,And life—itself a failure. Ay, his deed,Sweetest in story, who the dusk profoundOf Hades flooded with entrancing sound,Music’s own tears, was failure. Doth it readTherefore the worse? Ah, no! So much to dare,He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne.—So much to do; impetuous even there,He pours out love’s disconsolate sweet moan—He wins; but few for that his deed recall:Its power is in the look which costs him all.”
“We are much bound to them that do succeed;
But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound
To such as fail. They all our loss expound;
They comfort us for work that will not speed,
And life—itself a failure. Ay, his deed,
Sweetest in story, who the dusk profound
Of Hades flooded with entrancing sound,
Music’s own tears, was failure. Doth it read
Therefore the worse? Ah, no! So much to dare,
He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne.—
So much to do; impetuous even there,
He pours out love’s disconsolate sweet moan—
He wins; but few for that his deed recall:
Its power is in the look which costs him all.”
At this moment Jack observed that a strange woman was standing among them, and that the train-bearing fairies fell back, as if theywere afraid of her. As no one spoke, he did, and said, “Good morning!”
“Good afternoon!” she answered correcting him. “I am the black fairy. Work is a fine thing. Most people in your country can work.”
“Yes,” said Jack.
“There are two spades,” continued the fairy woman, “one for you, and one for your double.”
Jack took one of the spades—it was small, and was made of silver; but the other Jack said with scorn:
“I shall be a king when I am old enough, and must I dig like a clown?”
“As you please,” said the black fairy, and walked away.
Then they all observed that a brown woman was standing there; and she stepped up and whispered in the boy-king’s ear. As he listened his sullen face became good tempered, and at last he said, in a gentle tone, “Jack, I’m quite ready to begin if you are.”
“But where are we to dig?” asked Jack.
“There,” said a white fairy, stepping up and setting her foot on the grass just under the little hole. “Dig down as deep as you can.”
So Mopsa and the crowd stood back, and the two boys began to dig; and greatly they enjoyed it, for people can dig so fast in Fairyland.
Very soon the hole was so deep that they had to jump into it, because they could not reach the bottom with their spades. “This is very jolly indeed,” said Jack, when they had dug so much deeper that they could only see out of the hole by standing on tiptoe.
“Go on,” said the white fairy; so they dug till they came to a flat stone, and then she said, “Now you can stamp. Stamp on the stone, and don’t be afraid.” So the two Jacks began to stamp, and in such a little time that she had only half turned her head round, the flat stone gave way, for there was a hollow underneath it, and down went the boys, and utterly disappeared.
Then, while Mopsa and the crowd silently looked on, the white fairy lightly pushed the clods of earth towards the hole with the side of her foot, and in a very few minutes the hole was filled in, and that so completely and so neatly, that when she had spread the turf on it, and given it a pat with her foot, you could not have told where it had been. Mopsa said not a word, for no fairy ever interferes with a stronger fairy; but she looked on earnestly, and when the white stranger smiled she was satisfied.
Then the white stranger walked away, and Mopsa and the fairies sat down on a bank under some splendid cedar-trees. The beautiful castle looked fairer than ever in the afternoonsunshine; a lovely waterfall tumbled with a tinkling noise near at hand, and the bank was covered with beautiful wild flowers.
They sat for a long while, and no one spoke: what they were thinking of is not known, but sweet Mopsa often sighed.
At last a noise—a very, very slight noise, as of footsteps of people running—was heard inside the rock, and then a little quivering was seen in the wand. It quivered more and more as the sound increased. At last that which had looked like a door began to shake as if some one was pushing it from within. Then a noise was distinctly heard as of a key turning in the hole, and out burst the two Jacks, shouting for joy, and a whole troop of knights and squires and serving-men came rushing wildly forth behind them.
Oh, the joy of that meeting! who shall describe it? Fairies by dozens came up to kiss the boy-king’s hand, and Jack shook hands with every one that could reach him. Then Mopsa proceeded to the castle between the two Jacks, and the king’s aunt came out to meet them, and welcomed her husband with tears of joy; for these fairies could laugh and cry when they pleased, and they naturally considered this a great proof of superiority.
After this a splendid feast was served under the great dome. The other fairy feasts that Jack had seen were nothing to it. The princeand his dame sat at one board, but Mopsa sat at the head of the great table, with the two Jacks one on each side of her.
Mopsa was not happy, Jack was sure of that, for she often sighed; and he thought this strange. But he did not ask her any questions, and he, with the boy-king, related their adventures to her: how, when the stone gave way, they tumbled in and rolled down a sloping bank till they found themselves at the entrance of a beautiful cave, which was all lighted up with torches, and glittering with stars and crystals of all the colours in the world. There was a table spread with what looked like a splendid luncheon in this great cave, and chairs were set round, but Jack and the boy-king felt no inclination to eat anything, though they were hungry, for a whole nation of ants were creeping up the honey-pots. There were snails walking about over the table-cloth, and toads peeping out of some of the dishes.
So they turned away, and, looking for some other door to lead them farther in, they at last found a very small one—so small that only one of them could pass through at a time.
They did not tell Mopsa all that had occurred on this occasion. It was thus:
The boy-king said, “I shall go in first, of course, because of my rank.”
“Very well,” said Jack, “I don’t mind. Ishall say to myself that you’ve gone in first to find the way for me, because you’re my double. Besides, now I think of it, our Queen always goes last in a procession; so it’s grand to go last. Pass in, Jack.”
“No,” answered the other Jack; “now you have said that I will not. You may go first.”
So they began to quarrel and argue about this, and it is impossible to say how long they would have gone on if they had not begun to hear a terrible and mournful sort of moaning and groaning, which frightened them both and instantly made them friends. They took tight hold of one another’s hand, and again there came by a loud sighing, and a noise of all sorts of lamentation, and it seemed to reach them through the little door.
Each of the boys would now have been very glad to go back, but neither liked to speak. At last Jack thought anything would be less terrible than listening to those dismal moans, so he suddenly dashed through the door, and the other Jack followed.
There was nothing terrible to be seen. They found themselves in a place like an immensely long stable; but it was nearly dark, and when their eyes got used to the dimness, they saw that it was strewed with quantities of fresh hay, from which curious things like sticks stuck up in all directions. What were they?
“They are dry branches of trees,” said the boy-king.
“They were table-legs turned upside down,” said Jack; but then the other Jack suddenly perceived the real nature of the thing, and he shouted out, “No; they are antlers!”
The moment he said this the moaning ceased, hundreds of beautiful antlered heads were lifted up, and the two boys stood before a splendid herd of stags; but they had had hardly time to be sure of this when the beautiful multitude rose and fled away into the darkness, leaving the two boys to follow as well as they could.
They were sure they ought to run after the herd, and they ran and ran, but they soon lost sight of it, though they heard far on in front what seemed at first like a pattering of deer’s feet, but the sound changed from time to time. It became heavier and louder, and then the clattering ceased, and it was evidently the tramping of a great crowd of men. At last they heard words, very glad and thankful words; people were crying to one another to make haste, lest the spell should come upon them again. Then the two Jacks, still running, came into a grand hall, which was quite full of knights and all sorts of fairy men, and there was the boy-king’s uncle, but he looked very pale. “Unlock the door!” they cried. “We shall not be safe till we see ournew Queen. Unlock the door; we see light coming through the keyhole.”
The two Jacks came on to the front, and felt and shook the door. At last the boy-king saw a little golden key glittering on the floor, just where the one narrow sunbeam fell that came through the keyhole; so he snatched it up. It fitted, and out they all came, as you have been told.
When they had done relating their adventures, the new Queen’s health was drunk. And then they drank the health of the boy-king, who stood up to return thanks, and, as is the fashion there, he sang a song. Jack thought it the most ridiculous song he had ever heard; but as everybody else looked extremely grave, he tried to be grave too. It was about Cock-Robin and Jenny Wren, how they made a wedding feast, and how the wren said she should wear her brown gown, and the old dog brought a bone to the feast.
“‘He had brought them,’ he said, ‘some meat on a bone:They were welcome to pick it or leave it alone.’”
“‘He had brought them,’ he said, ‘some meat on a bone:They were welcome to pick it or leave it alone.’”
“‘He had brought them,’ he said, ‘some meat on a bone:They were welcome to pick it or leave it alone.’”
“‘He had brought them,’ he said, ‘some meat on a bone:
They were welcome to pick it or leave it alone.’”
The fairies were very attentive to this song; they seemed, if one may judge by their looks, to think it was rather a serious one. Then they drank Jack’s health, and afterwards looked at him as if they expected him to sing too; but as he did not begin, he presentlyheard them whispering, and one asking another, “Do you think he knows manners?”
So he thought he had better try what he could do, and he stood up and sang a song that he had often heard his nurse sing in the nursery at home.
“One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved.All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;’Twas a thrush sang in my garden, ‘Hear the story, hear the story!’And the lark sang, ‘Give us glory!’And the dove said, ‘Give us peace!’“Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;When the nightingale came after, ‘Give us fame to sweeten duty!’When the wren sang, ‘Give us beauty!’She made answer, ‘Give us love!’“Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year’s increase,And my prayer goes up, ‘Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,Give for all our life’s dear story,Give us love, and give us peace!’”
“One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved.All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;’Twas a thrush sang in my garden, ‘Hear the story, hear the story!’And the lark sang, ‘Give us glory!’And the dove said, ‘Give us peace!’“Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;When the nightingale came after, ‘Give us fame to sweeten duty!’When the wren sang, ‘Give us beauty!’She made answer, ‘Give us love!’“Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year’s increase,And my prayer goes up, ‘Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,Give for all our life’s dear story,Give us love, and give us peace!’”
“One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved.All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;’Twas a thrush sang in my garden, ‘Hear the story, hear the story!’And the lark sang, ‘Give us glory!’And the dove said, ‘Give us peace!’
“One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved.
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;
’Twas a thrush sang in my garden, ‘Hear the story, hear the story!’
And the lark sang, ‘Give us glory!’
And the dove said, ‘Give us peace!’
“Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;When the nightingale came after, ‘Give us fame to sweeten duty!’When the wren sang, ‘Give us beauty!’She made answer, ‘Give us love!’
“Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;
When the nightingale came after, ‘Give us fame to sweeten duty!’
When the wren sang, ‘Give us beauty!’
She made answer, ‘Give us love!’
“Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year’s increase,And my prayer goes up, ‘Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,Give for all our life’s dear story,Give us love, and give us peace!’”
“Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year’s increase,
And my prayer goes up, ‘Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,
Give for all our life’s dear story,
Give us love, and give us peace!’”
“A very good song too,” said the dame, at the other end of the table; “only you made a mistake in the first verse. What the dove really said was, no doubt, ‘Give us peas.’All kinds of doves and pigeons are very fond of peas.”
“It isn’t peas, though,” said Jack. However, the court historian was sent for to write down the song, and he came with a quill pen, and wrote it down as the dame said it ought to be.
Now all this time Mopsa sat between the two Jacks, and she looked very mournful—she hardly said a word.
When the feast was over, and everything had vanished, the musicians came in, for there was to be dancing; but while they were striking up, the white fairy stepped in, and, coming up, whispered something in Jack’s ear; but he could not hear what she said, so she repeated it more slowly, and still he could neither hear nor understand it.
Mopsa did not seem to like the white fairy: she leaned her face on her hand and sighed; but when she found that Jack could not hear the message, she said, “That is well. Cannot you let things alone for this one day?” The fairy then spoke to Mopsa, but she would not listen; she made a gesture of dislike and moved away. So then this strange fairy turned and went out again, but on the doorstep she looked round, and beckoned to Jack to come to her. So he did; and then, as they two stood together outside, she made him understand what she had said. It was this:
“Her name was Jenny, her name was Jenny.”
When Jack understood what she said he felt so sorrowful; he wondered why she had told him, and he longed to stay in that great place with Queen Mopsa—his own little Mopsa, whom he had carried in his pocket, and taken care of, and loved.
He walked up and down, up and down, outside, and his heart swelled and his eyes filled with tears. The bells had said he was to go home, and the fairy had told him how to go. Mopsa did not need him, she had so many people to take care of her now; and then there was that boy, so exactly like himself that she would not miss him. Oh, how sorrowful it all was! Had he really come up the fairy river, and seen those strange countries, and run away with Mopsa over those dangerous mountains, only to bring her to the very place she wished to fly from, and there to leave her, knowing that she wanted him no more, and that she was quite content?
No; Jack felt that he could not do that. “I will stay,” he said; “they cannot make me leave her. That would be too unkind.”
As he spoke, he drew near to the great yawning door, and looked in. The fairy folk were singing inside; he could hear their pretty chirping voices, and see their beautiful faces, but he could not bear it, and he turned away.
The sun began to get low, and all the west was dyed with crimson. Jack dried his eyes, and, not liking to go in, took one turn more.
“I will go in,” he said; “there is nothing to prevent me.” He set his foot on the step of the door, and while he hesitated Mopsa came out to meet him.
“Jack,” she said, in a sweet mournful tone of voice. But he could not make any answer; he only looked at her earnestly, because her lovely eyes were not looking at him, but far away towards the west.
“He lives there,” she said, as if speaking to herself. “He will play there again, in his father’s garden.”
Then she brought her eyes down slowly from the rose-flush in the cloud, and looked at him and said, “Jack.”
“Yes,” said Jack; “I am here. What is it that you wish to say?”
She answered, “I am come to give you back your kiss.”
So she stooped forward as she stood on the step, and kissed him, and her tears fell on his cheek.
“Farewell!” she said, and she turned and went up the steps and into the great hall; and while Jack gazed at her as she entered, and would fain have followed, but could not stir, the great doors closed together again, and he was left outside.
SO SHE STOOPED FORWARD AS SHE STOOD ON THE STEP.
SO SHE STOOPED FORWARD AS SHE STOOD ON THE STEP.
SO SHE STOOPED FORWARD AS SHE STOOD ON THE STEP.
Then he knew, without having been told, that he should never enter them any more. He stood gazing at the castle; but it was still—no more fairy music sounded.
How beautiful it looked in the evening sunshine, and how Jack cried!
Suddenly he perceived that reeds were growing up between him and the great doors: the grass, which had all day grown about the steps, was getting taller; it had long spear-like leaves, it pushed up long pipes of green stem, and they whistled.
They were up to his ankles, they were presently up to his waist; soon they were as high as his head. He drew back that he might see over them; they sprang up faster as he retired, and again he went back. It seemed to him that the castle also receded; there was a long reach of these great reeds between it and him, and now they were growing behind also, and on all sides of him. He kept moving back and back: it was of no use, they sprang up and grew yet more tall, till very shortly the last glimpse of the fairy castle was hidden from his sorrowful eyes.
The sun was just touching the tops of the purple mountains when Jack lost sight of Mopsa’s home; but he remembered how he had penetrated the bed of reeds in the morning, and he hoped to have the same good fortune again. So on and on he walked,pressing his way among them as well as he could, till the sun went down behind the mountains, and the rosy sky turned gold colour, and the gold began to burn itself away, and then all on a sudden he came to the edge of the reed-bed, and walked out upon a rising ground.
Jack ran up it, looking for the castle. He could not see it, so he climbed a far higher hill; still he could not see it. At last, after a toilsome ascent to the very top of the green mountain, he saw the castle lying so far, so very far off, that its peaks and its battlements were on the edge of the horizon, and the evening mist rose while he was gazing, so that all its outlines were lost, and very soon they seemed to mingle with the shapes of the hill and the forest, till they had utterly vanished away.
Then he threw himself down on the short grass. The words of the white fairy sounded in his ears, “Her name was Jenny;” and he burst into tears again, and decided to go home.
He looked up into the rosy sky, and held out his arms, and called, “Jenny! O Jenny! come.”
In a minute or two he saw a little black mark overhead, a small speck, and it grew larger, and larger, and larger still, as it fell headlong down like a stone. In another instant he saw a red light and a green light, then he heard the winnowing noise of the bird’s great wings, and she alighted at his feet, and said, “Here I am.”
“I wish to go home,” said Jack, hanging down his head and speaking in a low voice, for his heart was heavy because of his failure.
“That is well,” answered the bird. She took Jack on her back, and in three minutes they were floating among the clouds.
As Jack’s feet were lifted up from Fairyland he felt a little consoled. He began to have a curious feeling, as if this had all happened a good while ago, and then half the sorrow he had felt faded into wonder, and the feeling still grew upon him that these things had passed some great while since, so that he repeated to himself, “It was a long time ago.”
Then he fell asleep, and did not dream at all, nor know anything more till the bird woke him.
“Wake up now, Jack,” she said; “we are at home.”
“So soon!” said Jack, rubbing his eyes. “But it is evening; I thought it would be morning.”
“Fairy time is always six hours in advance of your time,” said the bird. “I see glow-worms down in the hedge, and the moon is just rising.”
They were falling so fast that Jack dared not look; but he saw the church, and the wood, and his father’s house, which seemed to be starting up to meet him. In two seconds more the bird alighted, and he stepped down from her back into the deep grass of his father’s meadow.
“Good-bye!” she said; “make haste and run in, for the dews are falling;” and before he could ask her one question, or even thank her, she made a wide sweep over the grass, beat her magnificent wings, and soared away.
It was all very extraordinary, and Jack felt shy and ashamed; but he knew he must go home, so he opened the little gate that led into the garden, and stole through the shrubbery, hoping that his footsteps would not be heard.
Then he came out on the lawn, where the flower-beds were, and he observed that the drawing-room window was open, so he came softly towards it and peeped in.
His father and mother were sitting there. Jack was delighted to see them, but he did not say a word, and he wondered whether they would be surprised at his having stayed away so long. The bird had said that they would not.
He drew a little nearer. His mother sat with her back to the open window, but a candle was burning, and she was reading aloud. Jack listened as she read, and knew that this was not in the least like anything that he had seen in Fairyland, nor the reading like anything that he had heard, and he began to forget the boy-king, and the apple-woman, and even his little Mopsa, more and more.
At last his father noticed him. He did not look at all surprised, but just beckoned to him with his finger to come in. So Jack did, andgot upon his father’s knee, where he curled himself up comfortably, laid his head on his father’s waistcoat, and wondered what he would think if he should be told about the fairies in somebody else’s waistcoat pocket. He thought, besides, what a great thing a man was; he had never seen anything so large in Fairyland, nor so important; so, on the whole, he was glad he had come back, and felt very comfortable. Then his mother, turning over the leaf, lifted up her eyes and looked at Jack, but not as if she was in the least surprised, or more glad to see him than usual; but she smoothed the leaf with her hand, and began again to read, and this time it was about the Shepherd Lady:—
I
Who pipes upon the long green hill,Where meadow grass is deep?The white lamb bleats but followeth on—Follow the clean white sheep.The dear white lady in yon high tower,She hearkeneth in her sleep.All in long grass the piper stands,Goodly and grave is he;Outside the tower, at dawn of day,The notes of his pipe ring free.A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:“Come down, O lady! to me.”She lifts her head, she dons her gown:Ah! the lady is fair;She ties the girdle on her waist,And binds her flaxen hair,And down she stealeth, down and down,Down the turret stair.Behold him! With the flock he wonsAlong yon grassy lea.“My shepherd lord, my shepherd love,What wilt thou, then, with me?My heart is gone out of my breast,And followeth on to thee.”
Who pipes upon the long green hill,Where meadow grass is deep?The white lamb bleats but followeth on—Follow the clean white sheep.The dear white lady in yon high tower,She hearkeneth in her sleep.All in long grass the piper stands,Goodly and grave is he;Outside the tower, at dawn of day,The notes of his pipe ring free.A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:“Come down, O lady! to me.”She lifts her head, she dons her gown:Ah! the lady is fair;She ties the girdle on her waist,And binds her flaxen hair,And down she stealeth, down and down,Down the turret stair.Behold him! With the flock he wonsAlong yon grassy lea.“My shepherd lord, my shepherd love,What wilt thou, then, with me?My heart is gone out of my breast,And followeth on to thee.”
Who pipes upon the long green hill,Where meadow grass is deep?The white lamb bleats but followeth on—Follow the clean white sheep.The dear white lady in yon high tower,She hearkeneth in her sleep.
Who pipes upon the long green hill,
Where meadow grass is deep?
The white lamb bleats but followeth on—
Follow the clean white sheep.
The dear white lady in yon high tower,
She hearkeneth in her sleep.
All in long grass the piper stands,Goodly and grave is he;Outside the tower, at dawn of day,The notes of his pipe ring free.A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:“Come down, O lady! to me.”
All in long grass the piper stands,
Goodly and grave is he;
Outside the tower, at dawn of day,
The notes of his pipe ring free.
A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:
“Come down, O lady! to me.”
She lifts her head, she dons her gown:Ah! the lady is fair;She ties the girdle on her waist,And binds her flaxen hair,And down she stealeth, down and down,Down the turret stair.
She lifts her head, she dons her gown:
Ah! the lady is fair;
She ties the girdle on her waist,
And binds her flaxen hair,
And down she stealeth, down and down,
Down the turret stair.
Behold him! With the flock he wonsAlong yon grassy lea.“My shepherd lord, my shepherd love,What wilt thou, then, with me?My heart is gone out of my breast,And followeth on to thee.”
Behold him! With the flock he wons
Along yon grassy lea.
“My shepherd lord, my shepherd love,
What wilt thou, then, with me?
My heart is gone out of my breast,
And followeth on to thee.”
II
“The white lambs feed in tender grass:With them and thee to bide,How good it were,” she saith at noon;“Albeit the meads are wide.Oh! well is me,” she saith when dayDraws on to eventide.Hark! hark! the shepherd’s voice. Oh, sweet!Her tears drop down like rain.“Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere,And tend the flock full fain:Feed them, O lady, and lose not one,Till I shall come again.”Right soft her speech: “My will is thine,And my reward thy grace!”Gone are his footsteps over the hill,Withdrawn his goodly face;The mournful dusk begins to gather,The daylight wanes apace.
“The white lambs feed in tender grass:With them and thee to bide,How good it were,” she saith at noon;“Albeit the meads are wide.Oh! well is me,” she saith when dayDraws on to eventide.Hark! hark! the shepherd’s voice. Oh, sweet!Her tears drop down like rain.“Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere,And tend the flock full fain:Feed them, O lady, and lose not one,Till I shall come again.”Right soft her speech: “My will is thine,And my reward thy grace!”Gone are his footsteps over the hill,Withdrawn his goodly face;The mournful dusk begins to gather,The daylight wanes apace.
“The white lambs feed in tender grass:With them and thee to bide,How good it were,” she saith at noon;“Albeit the meads are wide.Oh! well is me,” she saith when dayDraws on to eventide.
“The white lambs feed in tender grass:
With them and thee to bide,
How good it were,” she saith at noon;
“Albeit the meads are wide.
Oh! well is me,” she saith when day
Draws on to eventide.
Hark! hark! the shepherd’s voice. Oh, sweet!Her tears drop down like rain.“Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere,And tend the flock full fain:Feed them, O lady, and lose not one,Till I shall come again.”
Hark! hark! the shepherd’s voice. Oh, sweet!
Her tears drop down like rain.
“Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere,
And tend the flock full fain:
Feed them, O lady, and lose not one,
Till I shall come again.”
Right soft her speech: “My will is thine,And my reward thy grace!”Gone are his footsteps over the hill,Withdrawn his goodly face;The mournful dusk begins to gather,The daylight wanes apace.
Right soft her speech: “My will is thine,
And my reward thy grace!”
Gone are his footsteps over the hill,
Withdrawn his goodly face;
The mournful dusk begins to gather,
The daylight wanes apace.
III
On sunny slopes, ah! long the ladyFeedeth her flock at noon;She leads them down to drink at eveWhere the small rivulets croon.All night her locks are wet with dew,Her eyes outwatch the moon.Over the hills her voice is heard,She sings when light doth wane:“My longing heart is full of love.When shall my loss be gain?My shepherd lord, I see him not,But he will come again.”
On sunny slopes, ah! long the ladyFeedeth her flock at noon;She leads them down to drink at eveWhere the small rivulets croon.All night her locks are wet with dew,Her eyes outwatch the moon.Over the hills her voice is heard,She sings when light doth wane:“My longing heart is full of love.When shall my loss be gain?My shepherd lord, I see him not,But he will come again.”
On sunny slopes, ah! long the ladyFeedeth her flock at noon;She leads them down to drink at eveWhere the small rivulets croon.All night her locks are wet with dew,Her eyes outwatch the moon.
On sunny slopes, ah! long the lady
Feedeth her flock at noon;
She leads them down to drink at eve
Where the small rivulets croon.
All night her locks are wet with dew,
Her eyes outwatch the moon.
Over the hills her voice is heard,She sings when light doth wane:“My longing heart is full of love.When shall my loss be gain?My shepherd lord, I see him not,But he will come again.”
Over the hills her voice is heard,
She sings when light doth wane:
“My longing heart is full of love.
When shall my loss be gain?
My shepherd lord, I see him not,
But he will come again.”
When she had finished, Jack lifted his face and said, “Mamma!” Then she came to him and kissed him, and his father said, “I think it must be time this man of ours was in bed.”
So he looked earnestly at them both, and as they still asked him no questions, he kissed and wished them good-night; and his mothersaid there were some strawberries on the sideboard in the dining-room, and he might have them for his supper.
So he ran out into the hall, and was delighted to find all the house just as usual, and after he had looked about him he went into his own room, and said his prayers. Then he got into his little white bed, and comfortably fell asleep.
That’s all.