The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPixies' Plot

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPixies' PlotThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Pixies' PlotCreator: Eden PhillpottsRelease date: January 1, 2014 [eBook #47265]Most recently updated: November 1, 2014Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIXIES' PLOT ***PIXIES' PLOTByEDEN PHILLPOTTSAuthor ofAs the Wind Blows; EvanderPan & the Twins&c.LONDONGRANT RICHARDS LTDSt. Martin's Street, W.C.1922Printed in England at the Cloister Press, Heaton Mersey, near ManchesterToGRANT RICHARDSIn beauty manifold are wroughtYour gardens, full of charm and grace,That hold the best in every sortBut entrance yield to nothing base.And 'mid their lawns, austere and bright,Though statues gleam and fountains play,There's one wild dingle where half lightOf faery never dies away.There hang your wreath within a gladeEre berries shrink and blossoms pine;For pixy blooms too quickly fadePlucked by this clumsy hand of mine.Yet, howsoever swift their end,They hold a more enduring seedAnd bring you, from a kindly friend,Good will, to dignify the deed.E. P.CONTENTSPixies' PlotThe CharmJoe's DonkeyDianaThe Mouse and the EpitaphEcho and NarcissusThe SandhillsThe GhostA TestDreamsThe Fire-drakeThe Seven MaidensThe HeronThe GriefOn the EbbScandalTo a BatMoon-MothThe HuntingThe Good GirlThe LoverThe Motor CarThe Sea ScoutsSong for the SpheresThe CircleTo Anthea's BosomDustYoung NightJill BassettTailpieceTHE PIXIES' PLOT(A pleasant maxim of old time directed the gardener to leave one corner as nature planned it, for the little people. Thus welcomed, they might be trusted to show their human hosts goodwill, friendship, and service.)You have it, or you have it not:The cantle of the Pixies' plot,Where never spade nor hoe shall plyTo break that treasured sanctity.Touch no bloom there; uproot no weed;Let what will blow.Suffer the thistle, briar and thorn to grow,The dandelion to seed.Though full the garden of your mind,Well planted on a soil that's kind;Your hedges gay, your borders clean,Your seasons fair, your clime serene,Yet trammel not the Pixies' mite,For well-comingChance little, wandering, weary, fairy thingLost in the dim owl-light.Still virgin, free and set apart,Ordain one dingle of your heart,Where visions home and wing to youThe golden dreams that might come true.Herein a gentler dawn than dayShall often breakFor foot-sore spirits, tired of reason's ache,And children come to play.THE CHARMWhen chafers drone their litanyAnd pray, "Oh, Father, grant that weFrom airy-mouse delivered be,"Go seek the charm.Under the sky, when a star shoots,Beneath an oak, when the owl hoots,Gather ye simples, dig ye rootsFor the rare charm.That glassy ghost upon a thorn--The raiment of a snake outworn--Must backward through the dark be borneTo feed the charm.A glow-worm--she whose gentle lightGlimmers green-gold through a blue nightBeside the churchyard aconite--Shall help the charm.One willow from the cradle takeWhere a boy baby lies awake,And splinters off a coffin breakTo build the charm.A tarnished silver chalice bring,Dead gossips gave at christening,And dip the moonlight from a springTo crown the charm.This much, God wot, a child might do,Yet all must fail if haply youLack a child's faith, so trusting, true,To bless the charm.Many the spells of high degreeAnd fruitful happiness I seeAll lost, for faith to set them freeAnd work the charm.JOE'S DONKEYThe harp of night had silver strings,The moon was low, the stars burned dim,When from a wood, with roaring wings,Joe flushed a brace of cherubim.His eye did bulge at sign so braveTo see the shining angels pass;Then, happening beside her grave,He met his dead and buried ass!She'd broke a leg and so was slainAnd buried here a week ago;Now, all alive and sound again,She brayed with joy to welcome Joe!A holy cross that donkeys bear,Since Jesus Christ did deign to ride,The cherubs tempted to repairThat ancient beast in bone and hide.The harp of morn had golden stringsEre home they came--Joe's ass and he;And when their neighbours heard these thingsThey praised the Lord right heartily.DIANALook not upon a moon that's new,For with her bitter sickle keenShe comes between, she comes between,And cuts the tender from the true.Look not upon a white full moon:Her stiff-starched pudency doth shameThe throbbing pulse, the leaping flame,And freezes passion at its noon.Look not upon a moon that's oldWith fallen breast and shadowy eyes,Till the last hope of loving dies,And heart's outworn and blood run cold.THE MOUSE AND THE EPITAPHIn moonlight grey the hungry church-yard mouseSat on old William Blee--his narrow house.Climbing the mound, an ancient slate he read,Then spoke, with rustic frankness, to the dead."'A husband and a father dear': What then?So much is true of mice as well as men.'Friend to the poor'? That's humbug, Billy Blee!When did you ever spare a crumb for me?"ECHO AND NARCISSUSThrough the green dell she went,Bright haired, with cheeks that burned;Her passion hardly pent;Her eyes upon him turned.Her crocus-coloured gownOver her white, young breast beat up and down.Adream, he did not guess,But dwelt upon his thoughtOf perfect loveliness,Nor heeded when she caughtA sigh his bosom breathed,And murmured it again with music wreathed.Oh, wasted wealth of love;While Echo's heart will break,Narcissus from above,Within a glassy lake,Beholds perfection lieAnd, for the vision of himself, must die.Now, hid in bare-ribbed rockWith crocus-coloured veins,She guards from windy shock,She shields from wild March rains,Where grass and granite meet,The daffodil that's budding at her feet.THE SANDHILLSOh, naked-footed boy, with the wild hairAnd laughing eyes, is it so long agoAmong these windy dunes you made your lair,Beside the immutable sea's unwearied ebb and flow?Above you sings the horrent bent; the sunFinds you and burns your budding limbs to brown;You race the waves and wade and leap and run,Then in the sweet, hot sand, contented, cuddle downYou dream great dreams, while all the upper airIs musical with mews; and round about,Upon the flats among the sea-ways there,The dim sea-lavender spreads her purple fingers out.And still the sandhills roll and still the seaFlings a straight line of everlasting blueAthwart their shining hillocks; solemnlyThe ships go by, but not the wondrous ships you knew.When first your path among the sand dunes fell--The dunes that stretched as now and shone of yoreIn their bright nakedness--a magic spellOf mystery they wove along the shining shore.This poppy with the horn, this bindweed whiteAnd salicornia in its crimson bandsMeant more, far more than beauty and delight:They stood for treasure torn from drowning pirates' hands.These amber weeds were then a garment brave;These agate stones were gems of splendid sizeOnce decked a mermaid in a deep sea cave,Lit by gigantic fish from their green, glimmering eyes.The sandhills were your giants, cruel or kind;Each falling billow told another tale;Fairies and goblins flew upon the wind;There lurked a tragedy in every sea-bird's wail.And now the watchful sea doth bid me say;The salt air whispers me to speak and tellWhere is that little boy from yesterdayWhom wind and wave and sand and sunshine knew so well?"He was our playmate; us he understoodAnd ran to us with glory in his eyes;We loved him and we wrought to work his good;We made him strong and brave and with our wisdom wise."Will he not come again? The flowerets smallHave opened for his eager hands once more;Among the yellow whins the linnets call,The wrack and shells he sought still drift along the shore."He climbed the crests of all our ridges greyAnd sang to us and paddled where our foamThins to a crystal film. But yesterdayA happy sprite was he; where now does our boy roam?"Deep of the many voices, on whose faceNo seal is set through all the centuries fled,Laugh on at time, nor know the hurricane raceOf his few, hurtling years above a human head."And thou, old dune; the stars of heaven shall rove,The galaxies break up to wheel aboutAnd in new, glittering constellations moveBefore thine hour-glass grey hath run its measure out."Your yesterday, you immemorial things,Whereon the ages yet no shadow cast,For me the hurrying and sleepless wingsOf year on stormy year have swept into the past."Yet think not I have lost that faith and joyFelt when my world was young and I a part.Oh, sea and sand and wild, west wind, your boyLies hidden safe within my steadfast, changeless heart."THE GHOSTNight-foundered to the ruin he cameNor recked of its uncanny fame;A haunt of slumber opened here,And weariness, that casts out fear,His footsteps led.The moon swam low; the woods were still;Dog foxes barked upon the hill;With zig-zag wing a flitter-mouseFlew in and out the haunted houseAnd overhead.Within, decaying wood and limeLifted their incense up to time;The foot fell hollow; echoes woke,And whispering, half-heard voices spokeBehind the dark.Aloft, the drowsy wanderer foundA chamber far above the ground;Whose casement, rusty-ironed and high,Gaped ivy-clad upon the sky,Starlit and stark.White-fingered now the moonbeams ranTo ripple on the resting man.He saw their stealthy silver creepAs it would drown him in his sleepWith splendour mild.And then a subtle shadow moved,A spirit that the dead had loved:For wanly limned against the gloomOf that forbid, forgotten roomThere ran a child.She twinkled in her candid shift,Light as a moth, so silent, swift,And peeped and peered for what might beHid in that ancient nursery--A babe of joy.But something called the busy wight:She faded sudden from his sight;And, as her little glimmer paledLike a glass bell, the ghostling wailed,"Where is my toy?"A TESTHe"I'll bring bright rainbow gold--The rainbow too, a gown for youIn glorious fold on fold."A necklace of white starsAbout your throat shall hang and gloat;And, for an ear-ring, Mars."Unto the ends of earth,Oh, dearest Heart, will I departTo glean their utmost worth."Until, with great amazeAt all I do, my Soul, for you,The good round world shall gaze!"She"But these are gifts of dust,Unfit to prove a hero's loveOr win a maiden's trust."To love's supreme degreeIf you would come, then bide at homeAnd never tire of me."DREAMSWhen I have won to rest once moreIn sanctity of night and sleep,Drift visions from the shadow shore--Small, patient forms that creep.They move in drab; they wear no wings;They are the dreams that might come true--Meek phantoms of the modest thingsThat I have power to do.Like azure shadows in the snow,Or bloom upon the sun-kissed grape,Sweep lovelier shapes, that gleam and glowAnd don a rarer shape.They smile with eyes of queens and kings;They call on me to make them true--The lordly, gracious, sovereign thingsI have no power to do.Remain such waking dreams as limnUpon reality and truth,Flying like holy seraphimWhose rainbow wings drop ruth.Born of the human sorrowingsThat pierce our common nature through,They challenge to the mightiest thingsAll men have power to do.THE FIRE-DRAKEAn' it should be you'd make,All for your sweetheart's joy,A jewelly fire-drake,This goes unto the toy:A dragon-fly that's blue,With little glow-worms two,And morning drops of dewUpon a spider's thread.All these are simple thingsAnd easy to be got,But now the fire-drake's wingsWill puzzle you, God wot.The flash that in them liesShall come not from the skies,But lights the diamond eyesIn your dear sweetheart's head.Lacking that pearly gleam,So magical to see,Your gift is but a dream:The fire-drake cannot be.But if the maiden poutAnd anger peepeth out,Ere she your heart would floutFly to the priest and wed.Better to love she turnAt her fond lover's sideThan for the fire-drake burnAnd ever be denied.Go husband and go wife,Without one thought of strife,In blessing of shared lifeThe marriage way to tread.THE SEVEN MAIDENSIn far away and olden timesSped from their hamlet seven maidsTo dim and moonlit heather glades,Upon the hour of midnight chimes.One passion drew them secretly;One master joy their little feetCalled to that desolate retreat,Where never mortal man might see.'Twas blue-eyed Dian who led the dance,With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.Unknown they kept their nightly cheer;Unguessed beneath the moon they keptBrave frolic, while the village slept,Nor dreamed the danger drawing near;For on a holy Sabbath even,When pirouette had been a shame,Walking sedate, strange music cameTo tempt the toes of all the seven--Of blue-eyed Dian, who led the dance,Of Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.The demon Piper tuned his reedTo madden each light-footed maid.They listened, wondering, unafraid,Nor thought upon the sorry speedAwaiting any wanton oneWho'd sport upon the Lord's own Day;Then, tripping through that dimpsy grey,Quick fingers joined--the deed was done!For blue-eyed Dian had dared to danceWith Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.Their eyes like emeralds through the gloom,Leapt elves and fairies, gnomes and imps,In fearful haste to win a glimpseOf the unhappy maidens' doom;For sudden rang a thunder-shockAnd flashed blue lightning-fork, to showBeneath its grim and baleful glow,Each flying girl turned to a rock!Alas for Dian, who led the dance,For Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.And now, at every Hunter's moon,That haggard cirque of stones so stillAwakens to immortal thrill,And seven small maids in silver shoon,'Twixt dark of night and white of day,Twinkle upon the sere, old heath,Like living blossoms in a wreath,Then shrink again to granite grey.So blue-eyed Dian shall ever danceWith Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.THE HERONWhere leaps the burn by granite stairsInto an eddying pool, he stood,Personifying solitudeAnd meditating his affairs.A bird august beyond beliefDistinguished in his way of thought,Yet the sworn enemy of sport--A "poacher," "vagabond," and "thief."Creation's lord, the heron knew,Denied his right to fish for trout--A fact that often made him doubtOf justice on a general view.Then me he saw, and, guessing notI held him innocent to be,He spread slow pinions heavilyAnd drifted to a lonelier spot;But left a feather by the stream,Deep in the plume, fair, silver grey,With which I'll write upon the day:"Live and let live" shall be my theme.THE GRIEFA grief came unto me at noon of nightBlown on a breath of silky, southern airWith scent of myrtles and a crown of lightFor aureole: vanished loveliness was thereAnd old, lost, magical things, all gracious and all rare.Wings of cloud-purple from the Inland Sea,Foam-tipped, my Grief outspread; the southern sunBurned for a diadem, and mystery,From the dim smoke of olive orchards won,Arrayed that delicate shape in silver they had spun.How little, little 'twixt our joy and woe!Not sorrow then, but glad epiphaniesOf treasured happiness from long ago,Had been my dreaming; but in bitter wiseThe Grief looked on my face with a dead woman's eyes.ON THE EBBThe tide fell fast and foaming, the empty sand shone bright,And by the ocean roaming, upon the edge of night,I found a something stranded with sea-fowl mewing high--A wondrous atom landed and left all high and dry.Whoever yet suspected mer-babies on a beach?Yet here, by tide neglected, lay one within my reach--A dainty, winsome creature as pink as any rose,His golden tail a feature to take the place of toes.And through the billows splashing, the sunset in her hair,Over the white foam flashing, there rode a lady fair.His blue-eyed, wild mer-mother swam wailing on the sea.She sparkled through the smother and clamoured mournfully.In gentle hands and steady, I lifted her delight,Made sure that she was ready, then flung with all my might.She sprang, like salmon leaping; she laughed in radiantAnd gathered to safe keeping her rosy, golden boy.I'd earned a mother's blessing--a good thing any day;But now one fell to guessing what Science had to say:For such authentic wonders, upon an ebbing tide,Show zoologic blunders that cannot be denied.SCANDALAn owl alighted in the yewBeside a poet's little house;The hour was nearly half-past two,And, as he ate his juicy mouse,A cuckoo clock made cheerful chimeWithin and shouted out the time."O gracious God!" the owl began,And rolled his round eyes at the moon,"What a black piece of work is man--Well might we miss cuckoo in June.How mad, misguided, inhumaneTo keep cuckoo upon a chain!"But all the feathered folk must know;This infamy I'll bring to light,And hoot the horror high and lowAnd scream the crime by day and night.No bird shall sing to him againWho keeps a cuckoo on a chain."TO A BATThe sickle moon is in the westAnd where, against the fading green,A thicket darkles shall be seenThe humming chafers on their quest.Come, leather-bird, rise up and gird!Round sunset eaves there boom againGreat beetles on their sharded wingsAnd many air-borne lesser thingsAre tapping at the window pane.Come, flitter-mouse, and haunt my house.But where the stygian water broods,Dim twilight homes for evermore,And bats beat up the dusky shoreFor white, ghost-moths in phantom woods.Come, pipistrelle, be off to hell.

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Pixies' PlotCreator: Eden PhillpottsRelease date: January 1, 2014 [eBook #47265]Most recently updated: November 1, 2014Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines

Title: Pixies' Plot

Creator: Eden Phillpotts

Release date: January 1, 2014 [eBook #47265]Most recently updated: November 1, 2014

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIXIES' PLOT ***

PIXIES' PLOTByEDEN PHILLPOTTSAuthor ofAs the Wind Blows; EvanderPan & the Twins&c.LONDONGRANT RICHARDS LTDSt. Martin's Street, W.C.1922

PIXIES' PLOT

EDEN PHILLPOTTS

Author ofAs the Wind Blows; EvanderPan & the Twins&c.

LONDONGRANT RICHARDS LTDSt. Martin's Street, W.C.1922

Printed in England at the Cloister Press, Heaton Mersey, near Manchester

ToGRANT RICHARDSIn beauty manifold are wroughtYour gardens, full of charm and grace,That hold the best in every sortBut entrance yield to nothing base.And 'mid their lawns, austere and bright,Though statues gleam and fountains play,There's one wild dingle where half lightOf faery never dies away.There hang your wreath within a gladeEre berries shrink and blossoms pine;For pixy blooms too quickly fadePlucked by this clumsy hand of mine.Yet, howsoever swift their end,They hold a more enduring seedAnd bring you, from a kindly friend,Good will, to dignify the deed.E. P.

ToGRANT RICHARDS

In beauty manifold are wroughtYour gardens, full of charm and grace,That hold the best in every sortBut entrance yield to nothing base.And 'mid their lawns, austere and bright,Though statues gleam and fountains play,There's one wild dingle where half lightOf faery never dies away.There hang your wreath within a gladeEre berries shrink and blossoms pine;For pixy blooms too quickly fadePlucked by this clumsy hand of mine.Yet, howsoever swift their end,They hold a more enduring seedAnd bring you, from a kindly friend,Good will, to dignify the deed.E. P.

In beauty manifold are wrought

Your gardens, full of charm and grace,

That hold the best in every sort

But entrance yield to nothing base.

And 'mid their lawns, austere and bright,

Though statues gleam and fountains play,

There's one wild dingle where half light

Of faery never dies away.

There hang your wreath within a glade

Ere berries shrink and blossoms pine;

For pixy blooms too quickly fade

Plucked by this clumsy hand of mine.

Yet, howsoever swift their end,

They hold a more enduring seed

And bring you, from a kindly friend,

Good will, to dignify the deed.

E. P.

CONTENTS

Pixies' Plot

The Charm

Joe's Donkey

Diana

The Mouse and the Epitaph

Echo and Narcissus

The Sandhills

The Ghost

A Test

Dreams

The Fire-drake

The Seven Maidens

The Heron

The Grief

On the Ebb

Scandal

To a Bat

Moon-Moth

The Hunting

The Good Girl

The Lover

The Motor Car

The Sea Scouts

Song for the Spheres

The Circle

To Anthea's Bosom

Dust

Young Night

Jill Bassett

Tailpiece

THE PIXIES' PLOT

(A pleasant maxim of old time directed the gardener to leave one corner as nature planned it, for the little people. Thus welcomed, they might be trusted to show their human hosts goodwill, friendship, and service.)

You have it, or you have it not:The cantle of the Pixies' plot,Where never spade nor hoe shall plyTo break that treasured sanctity.Touch no bloom there; uproot no weed;Let what will blow.Suffer the thistle, briar and thorn to grow,The dandelion to seed.Though full the garden of your mind,Well planted on a soil that's kind;Your hedges gay, your borders clean,Your seasons fair, your clime serene,Yet trammel not the Pixies' mite,For well-comingChance little, wandering, weary, fairy thingLost in the dim owl-light.Still virgin, free and set apart,Ordain one dingle of your heart,Where visions home and wing to youThe golden dreams that might come true.Herein a gentler dawn than dayShall often breakFor foot-sore spirits, tired of reason's ache,And children come to play.

You have it, or you have it not:

The cantle of the Pixies' plot,

Where never spade nor hoe shall ply

To break that treasured sanctity.

Touch no bloom there; uproot no weed;

Let what will blow.

Suffer the thistle, briar and thorn to grow,

The dandelion to seed.

Though full the garden of your mind,Well planted on a soil that's kind;Your hedges gay, your borders clean,Your seasons fair, your clime serene,Yet trammel not the Pixies' mite,For well-comingChance little, wandering, weary, fairy thingLost in the dim owl-light.

Though full the garden of your mind,

Well planted on a soil that's kind;

Your hedges gay, your borders clean,

Your seasons fair, your clime serene,

Yet trammel not the Pixies' mite,

For well-coming

Chance little, wandering, weary, fairy thing

Lost in the dim owl-light.

Still virgin, free and set apart,Ordain one dingle of your heart,Where visions home and wing to youThe golden dreams that might come true.Herein a gentler dawn than dayShall often breakFor foot-sore spirits, tired of reason's ache,And children come to play.

Still virgin, free and set apart,

Ordain one dingle of your heart,

Where visions home and wing to you

The golden dreams that might come true.

Herein a gentler dawn than day

Shall often break

For foot-sore spirits, tired of reason's ache,

And children come to play.

THE CHARM

When chafers drone their litanyAnd pray, "Oh, Father, grant that weFrom airy-mouse delivered be,"Go seek the charm.Under the sky, when a star shoots,Beneath an oak, when the owl hoots,Gather ye simples, dig ye rootsFor the rare charm.That glassy ghost upon a thorn--The raiment of a snake outworn--Must backward through the dark be borneTo feed the charm.A glow-worm--she whose gentle lightGlimmers green-gold through a blue nightBeside the churchyard aconite--Shall help the charm.One willow from the cradle takeWhere a boy baby lies awake,And splinters off a coffin breakTo build the charm.A tarnished silver chalice bring,Dead gossips gave at christening,And dip the moonlight from a springTo crown the charm.This much, God wot, a child might do,Yet all must fail if haply youLack a child's faith, so trusting, true,To bless the charm.Many the spells of high degreeAnd fruitful happiness I seeAll lost, for faith to set them freeAnd work the charm.

When chafers drone their litanyAnd pray, "Oh, Father, grant that weFrom airy-mouse delivered be,"Go seek the charm.

When chafers drone their litany

And pray, "Oh, Father, grant that we

From airy-mouse delivered be,"

Go seek the charm.

Under the sky, when a star shoots,Beneath an oak, when the owl hoots,Gather ye simples, dig ye rootsFor the rare charm.

Under the sky, when a star shoots,

Beneath an oak, when the owl hoots,

Gather ye simples, dig ye roots

For the rare charm.

That glassy ghost upon a thorn--The raiment of a snake outworn--Must backward through the dark be borneTo feed the charm.

That glassy ghost upon a thorn--

The raiment of a snake outworn--

Must backward through the dark be borne

To feed the charm.

A glow-worm--she whose gentle lightGlimmers green-gold through a blue nightBeside the churchyard aconite--Shall help the charm.

A glow-worm--she whose gentle light

Glimmers green-gold through a blue night

Beside the churchyard aconite--

Shall help the charm.

One willow from the cradle takeWhere a boy baby lies awake,And splinters off a coffin breakTo build the charm.

One willow from the cradle take

Where a boy baby lies awake,

And splinters off a coffin break

To build the charm.

A tarnished silver chalice bring,Dead gossips gave at christening,And dip the moonlight from a springTo crown the charm.

A tarnished silver chalice bring,

Dead gossips gave at christening,

And dip the moonlight from a spring

To crown the charm.

This much, God wot, a child might do,Yet all must fail if haply youLack a child's faith, so trusting, true,To bless the charm.

This much, God wot, a child might do,

Yet all must fail if haply you

Lack a child's faith, so trusting, true,

To bless the charm.

Many the spells of high degreeAnd fruitful happiness I seeAll lost, for faith to set them freeAnd work the charm.

Many the spells of high degree

And fruitful happiness I see

All lost, for faith to set them free

And work the charm.

JOE'S DONKEY

The harp of night had silver strings,The moon was low, the stars burned dim,When from a wood, with roaring wings,Joe flushed a brace of cherubim.His eye did bulge at sign so braveTo see the shining angels pass;Then, happening beside her grave,He met his dead and buried ass!She'd broke a leg and so was slainAnd buried here a week ago;Now, all alive and sound again,She brayed with joy to welcome Joe!A holy cross that donkeys bear,Since Jesus Christ did deign to ride,The cherubs tempted to repairThat ancient beast in bone and hide.The harp of morn had golden stringsEre home they came--Joe's ass and he;And when their neighbours heard these thingsThey praised the Lord right heartily.

The harp of night had silver strings,The moon was low, the stars burned dim,When from a wood, with roaring wings,Joe flushed a brace of cherubim.

The harp of night had silver strings,

The moon was low, the stars burned dim,

When from a wood, with roaring wings,

Joe flushed a brace of cherubim.

His eye did bulge at sign so braveTo see the shining angels pass;Then, happening beside her grave,He met his dead and buried ass!

His eye did bulge at sign so brave

To see the shining angels pass;

Then, happening beside her grave,

He met his dead and buried ass!

She'd broke a leg and so was slainAnd buried here a week ago;Now, all alive and sound again,She brayed with joy to welcome Joe!

She'd broke a leg and so was slain

And buried here a week ago;

Now, all alive and sound again,

She brayed with joy to welcome Joe!

A holy cross that donkeys bear,Since Jesus Christ did deign to ride,The cherubs tempted to repairThat ancient beast in bone and hide.

A holy cross that donkeys bear,

Since Jesus Christ did deign to ride,

The cherubs tempted to repair

That ancient beast in bone and hide.

The harp of morn had golden stringsEre home they came--Joe's ass and he;And when their neighbours heard these thingsThey praised the Lord right heartily.

The harp of morn had golden strings

Ere home they came--Joe's ass and he;

And when their neighbours heard these things

They praised the Lord right heartily.

DIANA

Look not upon a moon that's new,For with her bitter sickle keenShe comes between, she comes between,And cuts the tender from the true.Look not upon a white full moon:Her stiff-starched pudency doth shameThe throbbing pulse, the leaping flame,And freezes passion at its noon.Look not upon a moon that's oldWith fallen breast and shadowy eyes,Till the last hope of loving dies,And heart's outworn and blood run cold.

Look not upon a moon that's new,For with her bitter sickle keenShe comes between, she comes between,And cuts the tender from the true.

Look not upon a moon that's new,

For with her bitter sickle keen

She comes between, she comes between,

And cuts the tender from the true.

Look not upon a white full moon:Her stiff-starched pudency doth shameThe throbbing pulse, the leaping flame,And freezes passion at its noon.

Look not upon a white full moon:

Her stiff-starched pudency doth shame

The throbbing pulse, the leaping flame,

And freezes passion at its noon.

Look not upon a moon that's oldWith fallen breast and shadowy eyes,Till the last hope of loving dies,And heart's outworn and blood run cold.

Look not upon a moon that's old

With fallen breast and shadowy eyes,

Till the last hope of loving dies,

And heart's outworn and blood run cold.

THE MOUSE AND THE EPITAPH

In moonlight grey the hungry church-yard mouseSat on old William Blee--his narrow house.Climbing the mound, an ancient slate he read,Then spoke, with rustic frankness, to the dead."'A husband and a father dear': What then?So much is true of mice as well as men.'Friend to the poor'? That's humbug, Billy Blee!When did you ever spare a crumb for me?"

In moonlight grey the hungry church-yard mouse

Sat on old William Blee--his narrow house.

Climbing the mound, an ancient slate he read,

Then spoke, with rustic frankness, to the dead.

"'A husband and a father dear': What then?

So much is true of mice as well as men.

'Friend to the poor'? That's humbug, Billy Blee!

When did you ever spare a crumb for me?"

ECHO AND NARCISSUS

Through the green dell she went,Bright haired, with cheeks that burned;Her passion hardly pent;Her eyes upon him turned.Her crocus-coloured gownOver her white, young breast beat up and down.Adream, he did not guess,But dwelt upon his thoughtOf perfect loveliness,Nor heeded when she caughtA sigh his bosom breathed,And murmured it again with music wreathed.Oh, wasted wealth of love;While Echo's heart will break,Narcissus from above,Within a glassy lake,Beholds perfection lieAnd, for the vision of himself, must die.Now, hid in bare-ribbed rockWith crocus-coloured veins,She guards from windy shock,She shields from wild March rains,Where grass and granite meet,The daffodil that's budding at her feet.

Through the green dell she went,Bright haired, with cheeks that burned;Her passion hardly pent;Her eyes upon him turned.Her crocus-coloured gownOver her white, young breast beat up and down.

Through the green dell she went,

Bright haired, with cheeks that burned;

Her passion hardly pent;

Her eyes upon him turned.

Her crocus-coloured gown

Over her white, young breast beat up and down.

Adream, he did not guess,But dwelt upon his thoughtOf perfect loveliness,Nor heeded when she caughtA sigh his bosom breathed,And murmured it again with music wreathed.

Adream, he did not guess,

But dwelt upon his thought

Of perfect loveliness,

Nor heeded when she caught

A sigh his bosom breathed,

And murmured it again with music wreathed.

Oh, wasted wealth of love;While Echo's heart will break,Narcissus from above,Within a glassy lake,Beholds perfection lieAnd, for the vision of himself, must die.

Oh, wasted wealth of love;

While Echo's heart will break,

Narcissus from above,

Within a glassy lake,

Beholds perfection lie

And, for the vision of himself, must die.

Now, hid in bare-ribbed rockWith crocus-coloured veins,She guards from windy shock,She shields from wild March rains,Where grass and granite meet,The daffodil that's budding at her feet.

Now, hid in bare-ribbed rock

With crocus-coloured veins,

She guards from windy shock,

She shields from wild March rains,

Where grass and granite meet,

The daffodil that's budding at her feet.

THE SANDHILLS

Oh, naked-footed boy, with the wild hairAnd laughing eyes, is it so long agoAmong these windy dunes you made your lair,Beside the immutable sea's unwearied ebb and flow?Above you sings the horrent bent; the sunFinds you and burns your budding limbs to brown;You race the waves and wade and leap and run,Then in the sweet, hot sand, contented, cuddle downYou dream great dreams, while all the upper airIs musical with mews; and round about,Upon the flats among the sea-ways there,The dim sea-lavender spreads her purple fingers out.And still the sandhills roll and still the seaFlings a straight line of everlasting blueAthwart their shining hillocks; solemnlyThe ships go by, but not the wondrous ships you knew.When first your path among the sand dunes fell--The dunes that stretched as now and shone of yoreIn their bright nakedness--a magic spellOf mystery they wove along the shining shore.This poppy with the horn, this bindweed whiteAnd salicornia in its crimson bandsMeant more, far more than beauty and delight:They stood for treasure torn from drowning pirates' hands.These amber weeds were then a garment brave;These agate stones were gems of splendid sizeOnce decked a mermaid in a deep sea cave,Lit by gigantic fish from their green, glimmering eyes.The sandhills were your giants, cruel or kind;Each falling billow told another tale;Fairies and goblins flew upon the wind;There lurked a tragedy in every sea-bird's wail.And now the watchful sea doth bid me say;The salt air whispers me to speak and tellWhere is that little boy from yesterdayWhom wind and wave and sand and sunshine knew so well?"He was our playmate; us he understoodAnd ran to us with glory in his eyes;We loved him and we wrought to work his good;We made him strong and brave and with our wisdom wise."Will he not come again? The flowerets smallHave opened for his eager hands once more;Among the yellow whins the linnets call,The wrack and shells he sought still drift along the shore."He climbed the crests of all our ridges greyAnd sang to us and paddled where our foamThins to a crystal film. But yesterdayA happy sprite was he; where now does our boy roam?"Deep of the many voices, on whose faceNo seal is set through all the centuries fled,Laugh on at time, nor know the hurricane raceOf his few, hurtling years above a human head."And thou, old dune; the stars of heaven shall rove,The galaxies break up to wheel aboutAnd in new, glittering constellations moveBefore thine hour-glass grey hath run its measure out."Your yesterday, you immemorial things,Whereon the ages yet no shadow cast,For me the hurrying and sleepless wingsOf year on stormy year have swept into the past."Yet think not I have lost that faith and joyFelt when my world was young and I a part.Oh, sea and sand and wild, west wind, your boyLies hidden safe within my steadfast, changeless heart."

Oh, naked-footed boy, with the wild hairAnd laughing eyes, is it so long agoAmong these windy dunes you made your lair,Beside the immutable sea's unwearied ebb and flow?

Oh, naked-footed boy, with the wild hair

And laughing eyes, is it so long ago

Among these windy dunes you made your lair,

Beside the immutable sea's unwearied ebb and flow?

Above you sings the horrent bent; the sunFinds you and burns your budding limbs to brown;You race the waves and wade and leap and run,Then in the sweet, hot sand, contented, cuddle down

Above you sings the horrent bent; the sun

Finds you and burns your budding limbs to brown;

You race the waves and wade and leap and run,

Then in the sweet, hot sand, contented, cuddle down

You dream great dreams, while all the upper airIs musical with mews; and round about,Upon the flats among the sea-ways there,The dim sea-lavender spreads her purple fingers out.

You dream great dreams, while all the upper air

Is musical with mews; and round about,

Upon the flats among the sea-ways there,

The dim sea-lavender spreads her purple fingers out.

And still the sandhills roll and still the seaFlings a straight line of everlasting blueAthwart their shining hillocks; solemnlyThe ships go by, but not the wondrous ships you knew.

And still the sandhills roll and still the sea

Flings a straight line of everlasting blue

Athwart their shining hillocks; solemnly

The ships go by, but not the wondrous ships you knew.

When first your path among the sand dunes fell--The dunes that stretched as now and shone of yoreIn their bright nakedness--a magic spellOf mystery they wove along the shining shore.

When first your path among the sand dunes fell--

The dunes that stretched as now and shone of yore

In their bright nakedness--a magic spell

Of mystery they wove along the shining shore.

This poppy with the horn, this bindweed whiteAnd salicornia in its crimson bandsMeant more, far more than beauty and delight:They stood for treasure torn from drowning pirates' hands.

This poppy with the horn, this bindweed white

And salicornia in its crimson bands

Meant more, far more than beauty and delight:

They stood for treasure torn from drowning pirates' hands.

These amber weeds were then a garment brave;These agate stones were gems of splendid sizeOnce decked a mermaid in a deep sea cave,Lit by gigantic fish from their green, glimmering eyes.

These amber weeds were then a garment brave;

These agate stones were gems of splendid size

Once decked a mermaid in a deep sea cave,

Lit by gigantic fish from their green, glimmering eyes.

The sandhills were your giants, cruel or kind;Each falling billow told another tale;Fairies and goblins flew upon the wind;There lurked a tragedy in every sea-bird's wail.

The sandhills were your giants, cruel or kind;

Each falling billow told another tale;

Fairies and goblins flew upon the wind;

There lurked a tragedy in every sea-bird's wail.

And now the watchful sea doth bid me say;The salt air whispers me to speak and tellWhere is that little boy from yesterdayWhom wind and wave and sand and sunshine knew so well?

And now the watchful sea doth bid me say;

The salt air whispers me to speak and tell

Where is that little boy from yesterday

Whom wind and wave and sand and sunshine knew so well?

"He was our playmate; us he understoodAnd ran to us with glory in his eyes;We loved him and we wrought to work his good;We made him strong and brave and with our wisdom wise.

"He was our playmate; us he understood

And ran to us with glory in his eyes;

We loved him and we wrought to work his good;

We made him strong and brave and with our wisdom wise.

"Will he not come again? The flowerets smallHave opened for his eager hands once more;Among the yellow whins the linnets call,The wrack and shells he sought still drift along the shore.

"Will he not come again? The flowerets small

Have opened for his eager hands once more;

Among the yellow whins the linnets call,

The wrack and shells he sought still drift along the shore.

"He climbed the crests of all our ridges greyAnd sang to us and paddled where our foamThins to a crystal film. But yesterdayA happy sprite was he; where now does our boy roam?

"He climbed the crests of all our ridges grey

And sang to us and paddled where our foam

Thins to a crystal film. But yesterday

A happy sprite was he; where now does our boy roam?

"Deep of the many voices, on whose faceNo seal is set through all the centuries fled,Laugh on at time, nor know the hurricane raceOf his few, hurtling years above a human head.

"Deep of the many voices, on whose face

No seal is set through all the centuries fled,

Laugh on at time, nor know the hurricane race

Of his few, hurtling years above a human head.

"And thou, old dune; the stars of heaven shall rove,The galaxies break up to wheel aboutAnd in new, glittering constellations moveBefore thine hour-glass grey hath run its measure out.

"And thou, old dune; the stars of heaven shall rove,

The galaxies break up to wheel about

And in new, glittering constellations move

Before thine hour-glass grey hath run its measure out.

"Your yesterday, you immemorial things,Whereon the ages yet no shadow cast,For me the hurrying and sleepless wingsOf year on stormy year have swept into the past.

"Your yesterday, you immemorial things,

Whereon the ages yet no shadow cast,

For me the hurrying and sleepless wings

Of year on stormy year have swept into the past.

"Yet think not I have lost that faith and joyFelt when my world was young and I a part.Oh, sea and sand and wild, west wind, your boyLies hidden safe within my steadfast, changeless heart."

"Yet think not I have lost that faith and joy

Felt when my world was young and I a part.

Oh, sea and sand and wild, west wind, your boy

Lies hidden safe within my steadfast, changeless heart."

THE GHOST

Night-foundered to the ruin he cameNor recked of its uncanny fame;A haunt of slumber opened here,And weariness, that casts out fear,His footsteps led.The moon swam low; the woods were still;Dog foxes barked upon the hill;With zig-zag wing a flitter-mouseFlew in and out the haunted houseAnd overhead.Within, decaying wood and limeLifted their incense up to time;The foot fell hollow; echoes woke,And whispering, half-heard voices spokeBehind the dark.Aloft, the drowsy wanderer foundA chamber far above the ground;Whose casement, rusty-ironed and high,Gaped ivy-clad upon the sky,Starlit and stark.White-fingered now the moonbeams ranTo ripple on the resting man.He saw their stealthy silver creepAs it would drown him in his sleepWith splendour mild.And then a subtle shadow moved,A spirit that the dead had loved:For wanly limned against the gloomOf that forbid, forgotten roomThere ran a child.She twinkled in her candid shift,Light as a moth, so silent, swift,And peeped and peered for what might beHid in that ancient nursery--A babe of joy.But something called the busy wight:She faded sudden from his sight;And, as her little glimmer paledLike a glass bell, the ghostling wailed,"Where is my toy?"

Night-foundered to the ruin he came

Nor recked of its uncanny fame;

A haunt of slumber opened here,

And weariness, that casts out fear,

His footsteps led.

The moon swam low; the woods were still;

Dog foxes barked upon the hill;

With zig-zag wing a flitter-mouse

Flew in and out the haunted house

And overhead.

Within, decaying wood and limeLifted their incense up to time;The foot fell hollow; echoes woke,And whispering, half-heard voices spokeBehind the dark.Aloft, the drowsy wanderer foundA chamber far above the ground;Whose casement, rusty-ironed and high,Gaped ivy-clad upon the sky,Starlit and stark.

Within, decaying wood and lime

Lifted their incense up to time;

The foot fell hollow; echoes woke,

And whispering, half-heard voices spoke

Behind the dark.

Aloft, the drowsy wanderer found

A chamber far above the ground;

Whose casement, rusty-ironed and high,

Gaped ivy-clad upon the sky,

Starlit and stark.

White-fingered now the moonbeams ranTo ripple on the resting man.He saw their stealthy silver creepAs it would drown him in his sleepWith splendour mild.And then a subtle shadow moved,A spirit that the dead had loved:For wanly limned against the gloomOf that forbid, forgotten roomThere ran a child.

White-fingered now the moonbeams ran

To ripple on the resting man.

He saw their stealthy silver creep

As it would drown him in his sleep

With splendour mild.

And then a subtle shadow moved,

A spirit that the dead had loved:

For wanly limned against the gloom

Of that forbid, forgotten room

There ran a child.

She twinkled in her candid shift,Light as a moth, so silent, swift,And peeped and peered for what might beHid in that ancient nursery--A babe of joy.But something called the busy wight:She faded sudden from his sight;And, as her little glimmer paledLike a glass bell, the ghostling wailed,"Where is my toy?"

She twinkled in her candid shift,

Light as a moth, so silent, swift,

And peeped and peered for what might be

Hid in that ancient nursery--

A babe of joy.

But something called the busy wight:

She faded sudden from his sight;

And, as her little glimmer paled

Like a glass bell, the ghostling wailed,

"Where is my toy?"

A TEST

He"I'll bring bright rainbow gold--The rainbow too, a gown for youIn glorious fold on fold."A necklace of white starsAbout your throat shall hang and gloat;And, for an ear-ring, Mars."Unto the ends of earth,Oh, dearest Heart, will I departTo glean their utmost worth."Until, with great amazeAt all I do, my Soul, for you,The good round world shall gaze!"She"But these are gifts of dust,Unfit to prove a hero's loveOr win a maiden's trust."To love's supreme degreeIf you would come, then bide at homeAnd never tire of me."

"I'll bring bright rainbow gold--The rainbow too, a gown for youIn glorious fold on fold.

"I'll bring bright rainbow gold--

The rainbow too, a gown for you

In glorious fold on fold.

"A necklace of white starsAbout your throat shall hang and gloat;And, for an ear-ring, Mars.

"A necklace of white stars

About your throat shall hang and gloat;

And, for an ear-ring, Mars.

"Unto the ends of earth,Oh, dearest Heart, will I departTo glean their utmost worth.

"Unto the ends of earth,

Oh, dearest Heart, will I depart

To glean their utmost worth.

"Until, with great amazeAt all I do, my Soul, for you,The good round world shall gaze!"She

"Until, with great amaze

At all I do, my Soul, for you,

The good round world shall gaze!"

She

"But these are gifts of dust,Unfit to prove a hero's loveOr win a maiden's trust.

"But these are gifts of dust,

Unfit to prove a hero's love

Or win a maiden's trust.

"To love's supreme degreeIf you would come, then bide at homeAnd never tire of me."

"To love's supreme degree

If you would come, then bide at home

And never tire of me."

DREAMS

When I have won to rest once moreIn sanctity of night and sleep,Drift visions from the shadow shore--Small, patient forms that creep.They move in drab; they wear no wings;They are the dreams that might come true--Meek phantoms of the modest thingsThat I have power to do.Like azure shadows in the snow,Or bloom upon the sun-kissed grape,Sweep lovelier shapes, that gleam and glowAnd don a rarer shape.They smile with eyes of queens and kings;They call on me to make them true--The lordly, gracious, sovereign thingsI have no power to do.Remain such waking dreams as limnUpon reality and truth,Flying like holy seraphimWhose rainbow wings drop ruth.Born of the human sorrowingsThat pierce our common nature through,They challenge to the mightiest thingsAll men have power to do.

When I have won to rest once more

In sanctity of night and sleep,

Drift visions from the shadow shore--

Small, patient forms that creep.

They move in drab; they wear no wings;

They are the dreams that might come true--

Meek phantoms of the modest things

That I have power to do.

Like azure shadows in the snow,Or bloom upon the sun-kissed grape,Sweep lovelier shapes, that gleam and glowAnd don a rarer shape.They smile with eyes of queens and kings;They call on me to make them true--The lordly, gracious, sovereign thingsI have no power to do.

Like azure shadows in the snow,

Or bloom upon the sun-kissed grape,

Sweep lovelier shapes, that gleam and glow

And don a rarer shape.

They smile with eyes of queens and kings;

They call on me to make them true--

The lordly, gracious, sovereign things

I have no power to do.

Remain such waking dreams as limnUpon reality and truth,Flying like holy seraphimWhose rainbow wings drop ruth.Born of the human sorrowingsThat pierce our common nature through,They challenge to the mightiest thingsAll men have power to do.

Remain such waking dreams as limn

Upon reality and truth,

Flying like holy seraphim

Whose rainbow wings drop ruth.

Born of the human sorrowings

That pierce our common nature through,

They challenge to the mightiest things

All men have power to do.

THE FIRE-DRAKE

An' it should be you'd make,All for your sweetheart's joy,A jewelly fire-drake,This goes unto the toy:A dragon-fly that's blue,With little glow-worms two,And morning drops of dewUpon a spider's thread.All these are simple thingsAnd easy to be got,But now the fire-drake's wingsWill puzzle you, God wot.The flash that in them liesShall come not from the skies,But lights the diamond eyesIn your dear sweetheart's head.Lacking that pearly gleam,So magical to see,Your gift is but a dream:The fire-drake cannot be.But if the maiden poutAnd anger peepeth out,Ere she your heart would floutFly to the priest and wed.Better to love she turnAt her fond lover's sideThan for the fire-drake burnAnd ever be denied.Go husband and go wife,Without one thought of strife,In blessing of shared lifeThe marriage way to tread.

An' it should be you'd make,

All for your sweetheart's joy,

A jewelly fire-drake,

This goes unto the toy:

A dragon-fly that's blue,

With little glow-worms two,

And morning drops of dew

Upon a spider's thread.

All these are simple thingsAnd easy to be got,But now the fire-drake's wingsWill puzzle you, God wot.The flash that in them liesShall come not from the skies,But lights the diamond eyesIn your dear sweetheart's head.

All these are simple things

And easy to be got,

But now the fire-drake's wings

Will puzzle you, God wot.

The flash that in them lies

Shall come not from the skies,

But lights the diamond eyes

In your dear sweetheart's head.

Lacking that pearly gleam,So magical to see,Your gift is but a dream:The fire-drake cannot be.But if the maiden poutAnd anger peepeth out,Ere she your heart would floutFly to the priest and wed.

Lacking that pearly gleam,

So magical to see,

Your gift is but a dream:

The fire-drake cannot be.

But if the maiden pout

And anger peepeth out,

Ere she your heart would flout

Fly to the priest and wed.

Better to love she turnAt her fond lover's sideThan for the fire-drake burnAnd ever be denied.Go husband and go wife,Without one thought of strife,In blessing of shared lifeThe marriage way to tread.

Better to love she turn

At her fond lover's side

Than for the fire-drake burn

And ever be denied.

Go husband and go wife,

Without one thought of strife,

In blessing of shared life

The marriage way to tread.

THE SEVEN MAIDENS

In far away and olden timesSped from their hamlet seven maidsTo dim and moonlit heather glades,Upon the hour of midnight chimes.One passion drew them secretly;One master joy their little feetCalled to that desolate retreat,Where never mortal man might see.'Twas blue-eyed Dian who led the dance,With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.Unknown they kept their nightly cheer;Unguessed beneath the moon they keptBrave frolic, while the village slept,Nor dreamed the danger drawing near;For on a holy Sabbath even,When pirouette had been a shame,Walking sedate, strange music cameTo tempt the toes of all the seven--Of blue-eyed Dian, who led the dance,Of Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.The demon Piper tuned his reedTo madden each light-footed maid.They listened, wondering, unafraid,Nor thought upon the sorry speedAwaiting any wanton oneWho'd sport upon the Lord's own Day;Then, tripping through that dimpsy grey,Quick fingers joined--the deed was done!For blue-eyed Dian had dared to danceWith Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.Their eyes like emeralds through the gloom,Leapt elves and fairies, gnomes and imps,In fearful haste to win a glimpseOf the unhappy maidens' doom;For sudden rang a thunder-shockAnd flashed blue lightning-fork, to showBeneath its grim and baleful glow,Each flying girl turned to a rock!Alas for Dian, who led the dance,For Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.And now, at every Hunter's moon,That haggard cirque of stones so stillAwakens to immortal thrill,And seven small maids in silver shoon,'Twixt dark of night and white of day,Twinkle upon the sere, old heath,Like living blossoms in a wreath,Then shrink again to granite grey.So blue-eyed Dian shall ever danceWith Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

In far away and olden times

Sped from their hamlet seven maids

To dim and moonlit heather glades,

Upon the hour of midnight chimes.

One passion drew them secretly;

One master joy their little feet

Called to that desolate retreat,

Where never mortal man might see.

'Twas blue-eyed Dian who led the dance,

With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,

Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

Unknown they kept their nightly cheer;Unguessed beneath the moon they keptBrave frolic, while the village slept,Nor dreamed the danger drawing near;For on a holy Sabbath even,When pirouette had been a shame,Walking sedate, strange music cameTo tempt the toes of all the seven--Of blue-eyed Dian, who led the dance,Of Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

Unknown they kept their nightly cheer;

Unguessed beneath the moon they kept

Brave frolic, while the village slept,

Nor dreamed the danger drawing near;

For on a holy Sabbath even,

When pirouette had been a shame,

Walking sedate, strange music came

To tempt the toes of all the seven--

Of blue-eyed Dian, who led the dance,

Of Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,

Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

The demon Piper tuned his reedTo madden each light-footed maid.They listened, wondering, unafraid,Nor thought upon the sorry speedAwaiting any wanton oneWho'd sport upon the Lord's own Day;Then, tripping through that dimpsy grey,Quick fingers joined--the deed was done!For blue-eyed Dian had dared to danceWith Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

The demon Piper tuned his reed

To madden each light-footed maid.

They listened, wondering, unafraid,

Nor thought upon the sorry speed

Awaiting any wanton one

Who'd sport upon the Lord's own Day;

Then, tripping through that dimpsy grey,

Quick fingers joined--the deed was done!

For blue-eyed Dian had dared to dance

With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,

Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

Their eyes like emeralds through the gloom,Leapt elves and fairies, gnomes and imps,In fearful haste to win a glimpseOf the unhappy maidens' doom;For sudden rang a thunder-shockAnd flashed blue lightning-fork, to showBeneath its grim and baleful glow,Each flying girl turned to a rock!Alas for Dian, who led the dance,For Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

Their eyes like emeralds through the gloom,

Leapt elves and fairies, gnomes and imps,

In fearful haste to win a glimpse

Of the unhappy maidens' doom;

For sudden rang a thunder-shock

And flashed blue lightning-fork, to show

Beneath its grim and baleful glow,

Each flying girl turned to a rock!

Alas for Dian, who led the dance,

For Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,

Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

And now, at every Hunter's moon,That haggard cirque of stones so stillAwakens to immortal thrill,And seven small maids in silver shoon,'Twixt dark of night and white of day,Twinkle upon the sere, old heath,Like living blossoms in a wreath,Then shrink again to granite grey.So blue-eyed Dian shall ever danceWith Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

And now, at every Hunter's moon,

That haggard cirque of stones so still

Awakens to immortal thrill,

And seven small maids in silver shoon,

'Twixt dark of night and white of day,

Twinkle upon the sere, old heath,

Like living blossoms in a wreath,

Then shrink again to granite grey.

So blue-eyed Dian shall ever dance

With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,

Avisa, Petronell and Nance.

THE HERON

Where leaps the burn by granite stairsInto an eddying pool, he stood,Personifying solitudeAnd meditating his affairs.A bird august beyond beliefDistinguished in his way of thought,Yet the sworn enemy of sport--A "poacher," "vagabond," and "thief."Creation's lord, the heron knew,Denied his right to fish for trout--A fact that often made him doubtOf justice on a general view.Then me he saw, and, guessing notI held him innocent to be,He spread slow pinions heavilyAnd drifted to a lonelier spot;But left a feather by the stream,Deep in the plume, fair, silver grey,With which I'll write upon the day:"Live and let live" shall be my theme.

Where leaps the burn by granite stairsInto an eddying pool, he stood,Personifying solitudeAnd meditating his affairs.

Where leaps the burn by granite stairs

Into an eddying pool, he stood,

Personifying solitude

And meditating his affairs.

A bird august beyond beliefDistinguished in his way of thought,Yet the sworn enemy of sport--A "poacher," "vagabond," and "thief."

A bird august beyond belief

Distinguished in his way of thought,

Yet the sworn enemy of sport--

A "poacher," "vagabond," and "thief."

Creation's lord, the heron knew,Denied his right to fish for trout--A fact that often made him doubtOf justice on a general view.

Creation's lord, the heron knew,

Denied his right to fish for trout--

A fact that often made him doubt

Of justice on a general view.

Then me he saw, and, guessing notI held him innocent to be,He spread slow pinions heavilyAnd drifted to a lonelier spot;

Then me he saw, and, guessing not

I held him innocent to be,

He spread slow pinions heavily

And drifted to a lonelier spot;

But left a feather by the stream,Deep in the plume, fair, silver grey,With which I'll write upon the day:"Live and let live" shall be my theme.

But left a feather by the stream,

Deep in the plume, fair, silver grey,

With which I'll write upon the day:

"Live and let live" shall be my theme.

THE GRIEF

A grief came unto me at noon of nightBlown on a breath of silky, southern airWith scent of myrtles and a crown of lightFor aureole: vanished loveliness was thereAnd old, lost, magical things, all gracious and all rare.Wings of cloud-purple from the Inland Sea,Foam-tipped, my Grief outspread; the southern sunBurned for a diadem, and mystery,From the dim smoke of olive orchards won,Arrayed that delicate shape in silver they had spun.How little, little 'twixt our joy and woe!Not sorrow then, but glad epiphaniesOf treasured happiness from long ago,Had been my dreaming; but in bitter wiseThe Grief looked on my face with a dead woman's eyes.

A grief came unto me at noon of night

Blown on a breath of silky, southern air

With scent of myrtles and a crown of light

For aureole: vanished loveliness was there

And old, lost, magical things, all gracious and all rare.

Wings of cloud-purple from the Inland Sea,Foam-tipped, my Grief outspread; the southern sunBurned for a diadem, and mystery,From the dim smoke of olive orchards won,Arrayed that delicate shape in silver they had spun.

Wings of cloud-purple from the Inland Sea,

Foam-tipped, my Grief outspread; the southern sun

Burned for a diadem, and mystery,

From the dim smoke of olive orchards won,

Arrayed that delicate shape in silver they had spun.

How little, little 'twixt our joy and woe!Not sorrow then, but glad epiphaniesOf treasured happiness from long ago,Had been my dreaming; but in bitter wiseThe Grief looked on my face with a dead woman's eyes.

How little, little 'twixt our joy and woe!

Not sorrow then, but glad epiphanies

Of treasured happiness from long ago,

Had been my dreaming; but in bitter wise

The Grief looked on my face with a dead woman's eyes.

ON THE EBB

The tide fell fast and foaming, the empty sand shone bright,And by the ocean roaming, upon the edge of night,I found a something stranded with sea-fowl mewing high--A wondrous atom landed and left all high and dry.Whoever yet suspected mer-babies on a beach?Yet here, by tide neglected, lay one within my reach--A dainty, winsome creature as pink as any rose,His golden tail a feature to take the place of toes.And through the billows splashing, the sunset in her hair,Over the white foam flashing, there rode a lady fair.His blue-eyed, wild mer-mother swam wailing on the sea.She sparkled through the smother and clamoured mournfully.In gentle hands and steady, I lifted her delight,Made sure that she was ready, then flung with all my might.She sprang, like salmon leaping; she laughed in radiantAnd gathered to safe keeping her rosy, golden boy.I'd earned a mother's blessing--a good thing any day;But now one fell to guessing what Science had to say:For such authentic wonders, upon an ebbing tide,Show zoologic blunders that cannot be denied.

The tide fell fast and foaming, the empty sand shone bright,

And by the ocean roaming, upon the edge of night,

I found a something stranded with sea-fowl mewing high--

A wondrous atom landed and left all high and dry.

Whoever yet suspected mer-babies on a beach?Yet here, by tide neglected, lay one within my reach--A dainty, winsome creature as pink as any rose,His golden tail a feature to take the place of toes.

Whoever yet suspected mer-babies on a beach?

Yet here, by tide neglected, lay one within my reach--

A dainty, winsome creature as pink as any rose,

His golden tail a feature to take the place of toes.

And through the billows splashing, the sunset in her hair,Over the white foam flashing, there rode a lady fair.His blue-eyed, wild mer-mother swam wailing on the sea.She sparkled through the smother and clamoured mournfully.

And through the billows splashing, the sunset in her hair,

Over the white foam flashing, there rode a lady fair.

His blue-eyed, wild mer-mother swam wailing on the sea.

She sparkled through the smother and clamoured mournfully.

In gentle hands and steady, I lifted her delight,Made sure that she was ready, then flung with all my might.She sprang, like salmon leaping; she laughed in radiantAnd gathered to safe keeping her rosy, golden boy.

In gentle hands and steady, I lifted her delight,

Made sure that she was ready, then flung with all my might.

She sprang, like salmon leaping; she laughed in radiant

And gathered to safe keeping her rosy, golden boy.

I'd earned a mother's blessing--a good thing any day;But now one fell to guessing what Science had to say:For such authentic wonders, upon an ebbing tide,Show zoologic blunders that cannot be denied.

I'd earned a mother's blessing--a good thing any day;

But now one fell to guessing what Science had to say:

For such authentic wonders, upon an ebbing tide,

Show zoologic blunders that cannot be denied.

SCANDAL

An owl alighted in the yewBeside a poet's little house;The hour was nearly half-past two,And, as he ate his juicy mouse,A cuckoo clock made cheerful chimeWithin and shouted out the time."O gracious God!" the owl began,And rolled his round eyes at the moon,"What a black piece of work is man--Well might we miss cuckoo in June.How mad, misguided, inhumaneTo keep cuckoo upon a chain!"But all the feathered folk must know;This infamy I'll bring to light,And hoot the horror high and lowAnd scream the crime by day and night.No bird shall sing to him againWho keeps a cuckoo on a chain."

An owl alighted in the yewBeside a poet's little house;The hour was nearly half-past two,And, as he ate his juicy mouse,A cuckoo clock made cheerful chimeWithin and shouted out the time.

An owl alighted in the yew

Beside a poet's little house;

The hour was nearly half-past two,

And, as he ate his juicy mouse,

A cuckoo clock made cheerful chime

Within and shouted out the time.

"O gracious God!" the owl began,And rolled his round eyes at the moon,"What a black piece of work is man--Well might we miss cuckoo in June.How mad, misguided, inhumaneTo keep cuckoo upon a chain!

"O gracious God!" the owl began,

And rolled his round eyes at the moon,

"What a black piece of work is man--

Well might we miss cuckoo in June.

How mad, misguided, inhumane

To keep cuckoo upon a chain!

"But all the feathered folk must know;This infamy I'll bring to light,And hoot the horror high and lowAnd scream the crime by day and night.No bird shall sing to him againWho keeps a cuckoo on a chain."

"But all the feathered folk must know;

This infamy I'll bring to light,

And hoot the horror high and low

And scream the crime by day and night.

No bird shall sing to him again

Who keeps a cuckoo on a chain."

TO A BAT

The sickle moon is in the westAnd where, against the fading green,A thicket darkles shall be seenThe humming chafers on their quest.Come, leather-bird, rise up and gird!Round sunset eaves there boom againGreat beetles on their sharded wingsAnd many air-borne lesser thingsAre tapping at the window pane.Come, flitter-mouse, and haunt my house.But where the stygian water broods,Dim twilight homes for evermore,And bats beat up the dusky shoreFor white, ghost-moths in phantom woods.Come, pipistrelle, be off to hell.

The sickle moon is in the westAnd where, against the fading green,A thicket darkles shall be seenThe humming chafers on their quest.Come, leather-bird, rise up and gird!

The sickle moon is in the west

And where, against the fading green,

A thicket darkles shall be seen

The humming chafers on their quest.

Come, leather-bird, rise up and gird!

Round sunset eaves there boom againGreat beetles on their sharded wingsAnd many air-borne lesser thingsAre tapping at the window pane.Come, flitter-mouse, and haunt my house.

Round sunset eaves there boom again

Great beetles on their sharded wings

And many air-borne lesser things

Are tapping at the window pane.

Come, flitter-mouse, and haunt my house.

But where the stygian water broods,Dim twilight homes for evermore,And bats beat up the dusky shoreFor white, ghost-moths in phantom woods.Come, pipistrelle, be off to hell.

But where the stygian water broods,

Dim twilight homes for evermore,

And bats beat up the dusky shore

For white, ghost-moths in phantom woods.

Come, pipistrelle, be off to hell.

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