XVI.Fairies.

“They inhabit the interior of green hills, chiefly those of a conical form, on which they lead their dances by moonlight, impressing upon the surface the marks of circles, which sometimes appear yellow and blasted, sometimes of a deep-green hue, and within which it is dangerous to sleep or to be found after sunset.

“They are heard sedulously hammering in linns, precipices, and rocky or cavernous situations, where, like the dwarfs of the mines, mentioned by Georg. Agricola, they busy themselves in imitating the actions and the various employments of men. The brook of Beaumont, for example, which passes in its course by numerous linns and caverns, is notorious for being haunted by the Fairies; and the perforated and rounded stones, which are formed by trituration in its channel, are termed, by the vulgar, fairy-cups and dishes. A beautiful reasonis assigned by Fletcher for the fays frequenting streams and fountains. He tells us of

'A virtuous well, about whose flowery banksThe nimble-footed Fairies dance their roundsBy the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimesTheir stolen children, so to make them freeFrom dying flesh and dull mortality.’Faithful Shepherdess.

'A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks

The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds

By the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes

Their stolen children, so to make them free

From dying flesh and dull mortality.’

Faithful Shepherdess.

There is upon the top of Minchmuir, a mountain in Peebleshire, a spring called the Cheese Well, because, anciently, those who passed that way were wont to throw into it a piece of cheese as an offering to the Fairies, to whom it was consecrated.

“The usual dress of the Fairies is green, though, on the moors, they have been sometimes observed in heath brown, or in weeds dyed with the stoneran, or lichen. They often ride in invisible procession, when their presence is discovered by the shrill ringing of their bridles.”—Minstrelsy of Scottish Border.

The seed of the fern, from its singular manner of growth, was supposed to be under the especial protection of the Queen of the Fairies. It was believed to have the quality of rendering whoever carried it about him invisible, and to be also of great use in charms and incantations. But the difficulties of gathering this mysterious seed were very great indeed; it was supposed to be only visible on St. John’s Eve, and at the very moment when the Baptist was born. How the rustic population accounted for the fact that it might, in reality, be found on the fronds both before and after that day, one can not say; but they probably held this to be a delusion of the Fairies. It is certain, at least, that they supposed the important magic seed itself only to be attainable on that one evening in the year. But even at the right hour to collect this seed was no easy task, the Fairies resorting to all kinds of devices to prevent human hands from gathering it. A certain individual who flattered himself that he had succeeded in his errand, and supposed that “he had gotten a quantity of it, andsecured it in papers, and in a box besides, when he came home, found all empty.” This fancy connected with the fern appears to have been very general. Shakspeare alludes to it:

“We have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible.”Henry IV., Act 1, Sc. 3.

“We have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible.”

Henry IV., Act 1, Sc. 3.

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves;And ye that on the sand, with printless feet,Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly himWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets thatBy moonshine do the green, sour ringlets make,Whereof the ewe bites not; and you whose pastimeIs to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoiceTo hear the solemn curfew, * * *Shakspeare’sTempest.

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves;

And ye that on the sand, with printless feet,

Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him

When he comes back; you demi-puppets that

By moonshine do the green, sour ringlets make,

Whereof the ewe bites not; and you whose pastime

Is to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoice

To hear the solemn curfew, * * *

Shakspeare’sTempest.

BALLAD OF THE WOODS.

May Margaret stood in her bouir doorKaming her yellow hair;She heard a note in Elmond wood,And she wished that she was there.Sae she has kiltit her petticoats,A little abune her knee;And she’s awa to Elmond’s woodAs fast as she can gae.She hadna poued a nut, a nut,Nor broke a branch but aneWhen by and came a young hind chiel,Says, “Lady! let alane.“O why pou ye the nut, the nut,Or why break ye the tree?I’m forester ower a’ this wood,Ye sould speir leave at me.”But aye she poued the other berry,Nae thinking o’ the skaith;And says, “To wrong ye, Hynde Etin,I wad be unco laith.”But he has taen her by the yellow locks,And tied her till a tree,And said, “For slichting my commands,An ill death ye sall die!”He pou’d a tree out o’ the wood,The biggest that was there;And he howkit a cave many fathoms deep,And put May Margaret there.“Now rest ye there, ye saucy May,My woods are free for thee;And gif I take ye to my cell,The better ye’ll like me.”Nae rest, nae rest May Margaret took;Sleep she gat never nane;Her back lay on the cauld, cauld floor,Her head upon the stane.“O tak me out,” May Margaret cried,“O tak me hame to thee;And I sall be your bounden page,Until the day I dee.”He took her out the dungeon deep,And awa wi’ him she’s gane;But sad was the day when a king’s daughterGaed hame wi’ Hynde Etin.O they hae lived in Elmond woodFor six lang years and one;Till six pretty sons to him she bore,And the seventh she’s brought home.These seven bairns, sae fair and fine,That she to him did bring;They never were in good church door,Nor ever gat good kirking.And aye at nicht, wi’ harp in hand,As they lay still asleep,She sat hersell by their bedside,And bitterly did weep.Singing, “Ten lang years now have I livedWithin this cave of stane,And never was at good kirk-door,Nor heard the kirk-bell ring.”But it fell once upon a day,Hynde Etin went from home;And for to carry his game to him,Has taen his oldest son.And as they through the good greenwood,Wi’ slowsome pace did gae,The bonnie boy’s heart grew grit and sair,And thus he goud to say:“A question I would ask, father,An ye wadna angry be;”“Say on, say on, my bonnie boy;Ask onything at me.”“My mither’s cheeks are often wet;I seldom see them dry;And I wonder aye what aileth my mitherTo mourn continually?”“Nae wonder that your mither’s cheeksYe seldom see them dry;Nae wonder, nae wonder, my bonnie boy,Though she suld brast and die!“For she was born a king’s daughter,Of noble birth and fame,And now she is Hynde Etin’s wife,Wha ne’er got Christendome.“But we’ll shoot the laverock in the lift,The buntlin on the tree;And ye’ll take theme hame to your mither,An’ see if blythe she’ll be.”It fell upon another day,Hynde Etin he thocht lang;And he is to the gude greenwood,As fast as he can gang.Wi’ bow and arrow by his side,He’s off, single, alane,And left his seven bairns to stayWi’ their mither at home.“I’ll tell you, mither,” quoth the auldest son,“An’ ye wadna angry be;”“Speak on, speak on, my bonnie boy,Ye’se nay be quarrelled by me.”“As we came from the hynd-hunting,We heard fine music ring!”“My blessings on ye, my bonnie boy!I wish I’d been there, my lane!”He’s ta’en his mither by the hand—His six brothers also;And they are on through Elmond woodAs fast as they could go.They wistna weel where they were gaun,Wi’ the stratlings o’ their feet;They wistna weel where they were gaun,Till at her father’s yett.“I hae nae money in my pocket,But royal rings hae three;I’ll gie them you, my auldest son,And ye’ll walk there for me:“Ye’ll gie the first to the proud porter,And he will let you in;Ye’ll gie the next the butler boy,And he will show you ben:“Ye’ll gie the next to the ministrellThat plays before the king;He’ll play success to the bonnie boy,Cam through the wood his lane.”He gae the first the proud porter,And he opened and let him in.He gae the next to the butler-boy,And he has shown him ben.He gae the third to the ministrellThat play’d before the king;And he play’d success to the bonnie boyCam through the wood his lane.Now when he came before the king,He fell low on his knee;The king he turn’d him round about,And the saut tear blint his e’e.“Win up, win up, my bonnie boy!Gang frae my companie!Ye look sae like my dear dauchter,My heart will burst in three.”“If I look like your dear dauchter,A wonder it is none:If I look like your dear dauchter,I am her eldest son.”“Will ye tell me, my little wee boy,Where may my Margaret be?”“She’s gist now standing at your yetts,And my six brothers her wi’.”“O where are a’ my porter boys,That I pay meat and fee,To open my yetts, baith wide and braid—Let her come in to me!”When she came in before the king,She fell low on her knee;“Win up, win up, my dauchter dear,This day ye’ll dine wi’ me.”“Ae bit I canna eat, father,Nor ae drap can I drink,Till I see my mither and sister dear,For lang o’ them I think.”When she came in before the queen,She fell low on her knee:“Win up, win up, my dauchter dear,This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”“Ae bit I canna eat, mither,Nor ae drop can I drink,Until I see my dear sister—For lang o’ her I think.”And when her sister dear cam in,She hailed her courteouslie:“Come ben, come ben, my sister dear,This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”“Ae bit I canna eat, sister,Nor ae drop can I drink,Until I see my dear husband,For lang o’ him I think.”“O where are all my rangers bold,That I pay meat and fee,To search the forest far and wide,And bring Etin to me?”But out then spak the little wee boy,“Na, na, this maunna be;Without ye grant a free pardon,I hope ye’ll nae him see.”“O here I grant a free pardon,Weel sealed by my own hand,And see make search for Hynde Etin,As sure as e’er ye can.”They searched the country wide and braid—The forests far and near,Till they found him into Elmond wood,Tearing his yellow hair.“Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin—Win up and boune wi’ me;We’re messengers sent frae the court—The king wants ye to see.”“O let him tak frae me the head,Or hang me on a tree;For sin I’se lost my dear Margaret,Life’s nae pleasure to me.”“Your head will nae be touched, Etin,Nor hanged upon a tree;Your leddy’s in her father’s court,And all she wants is thee.”When in he came before the king,He fell low on his knee;“Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin,This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”But as they were at dinner set,The boy asked a boon:“I wis we were in the good kirk,For to get Christendoun.“We hae liv’d in gude greenwoodThis seven years and ane;But a’ this time, sin e’er I mind,Were ne’er a church within.”“Your asking’s nae sae great, my boy,But granted it sall be;This day to gude church ye sall gang,And your mither sall gang ye wi’.”When unto the gude church she cam,She at the door did stan’;She was sae sair sunk down wi’ shame,She waldna come far’r ben,Then out it speaks the parish priest—A good auld man was he:“Come ben, come ben, my lily flouir,Present your babes to me.”But they staid lang in royal court,Wi’ mirth and high renown;And when her father was deceased,She was heir o’ his crown.Anonymous.

May Margaret stood in her bouir doorKaming her yellow hair;She heard a note in Elmond wood,And she wished that she was there.

May Margaret stood in her bouir door

Kaming her yellow hair;

She heard a note in Elmond wood,

And she wished that she was there.

Sae she has kiltit her petticoats,A little abune her knee;And she’s awa to Elmond’s woodAs fast as she can gae.

Sae she has kiltit her petticoats,

A little abune her knee;

And she’s awa to Elmond’s wood

As fast as she can gae.

She hadna poued a nut, a nut,Nor broke a branch but aneWhen by and came a young hind chiel,Says, “Lady! let alane.

She hadna poued a nut, a nut,

Nor broke a branch but ane

When by and came a young hind chiel,

Says, “Lady! let alane.

“O why pou ye the nut, the nut,Or why break ye the tree?I’m forester ower a’ this wood,Ye sould speir leave at me.”

“O why pou ye the nut, the nut,

Or why break ye the tree?

I’m forester ower a’ this wood,

Ye sould speir leave at me.”

But aye she poued the other berry,Nae thinking o’ the skaith;And says, “To wrong ye, Hynde Etin,I wad be unco laith.”

But aye she poued the other berry,

Nae thinking o’ the skaith;

And says, “To wrong ye, Hynde Etin,

I wad be unco laith.”

But he has taen her by the yellow locks,And tied her till a tree,And said, “For slichting my commands,An ill death ye sall die!”

But he has taen her by the yellow locks,

And tied her till a tree,

And said, “For slichting my commands,

An ill death ye sall die!”

He pou’d a tree out o’ the wood,The biggest that was there;And he howkit a cave many fathoms deep,And put May Margaret there.

He pou’d a tree out o’ the wood,

The biggest that was there;

And he howkit a cave many fathoms deep,

And put May Margaret there.

“Now rest ye there, ye saucy May,My woods are free for thee;And gif I take ye to my cell,The better ye’ll like me.”

“Now rest ye there, ye saucy May,

My woods are free for thee;

And gif I take ye to my cell,

The better ye’ll like me.”

Nae rest, nae rest May Margaret took;Sleep she gat never nane;Her back lay on the cauld, cauld floor,Her head upon the stane.

Nae rest, nae rest May Margaret took;

Sleep she gat never nane;

Her back lay on the cauld, cauld floor,

Her head upon the stane.

“O tak me out,” May Margaret cried,“O tak me hame to thee;And I sall be your bounden page,Until the day I dee.”

“O tak me out,” May Margaret cried,

“O tak me hame to thee;

And I sall be your bounden page,

Until the day I dee.”

He took her out the dungeon deep,And awa wi’ him she’s gane;But sad was the day when a king’s daughterGaed hame wi’ Hynde Etin.

He took her out the dungeon deep,

And awa wi’ him she’s gane;

But sad was the day when a king’s daughter

Gaed hame wi’ Hynde Etin.

O they hae lived in Elmond woodFor six lang years and one;Till six pretty sons to him she bore,And the seventh she’s brought home.

O they hae lived in Elmond wood

For six lang years and one;

Till six pretty sons to him she bore,

And the seventh she’s brought home.

These seven bairns, sae fair and fine,That she to him did bring;They never were in good church door,Nor ever gat good kirking.

These seven bairns, sae fair and fine,

That she to him did bring;

They never were in good church door,

Nor ever gat good kirking.

And aye at nicht, wi’ harp in hand,As they lay still asleep,She sat hersell by their bedside,And bitterly did weep.

And aye at nicht, wi’ harp in hand,

As they lay still asleep,

She sat hersell by their bedside,

And bitterly did weep.

Singing, “Ten lang years now have I livedWithin this cave of stane,And never was at good kirk-door,Nor heard the kirk-bell ring.”

Singing, “Ten lang years now have I lived

Within this cave of stane,

And never was at good kirk-door,

Nor heard the kirk-bell ring.”

But it fell once upon a day,Hynde Etin went from home;And for to carry his game to him,Has taen his oldest son.

But it fell once upon a day,

Hynde Etin went from home;

And for to carry his game to him,

Has taen his oldest son.

And as they through the good greenwood,Wi’ slowsome pace did gae,The bonnie boy’s heart grew grit and sair,And thus he goud to say:

And as they through the good greenwood,

Wi’ slowsome pace did gae,

The bonnie boy’s heart grew grit and sair,

And thus he goud to say:

“A question I would ask, father,An ye wadna angry be;”“Say on, say on, my bonnie boy;Ask onything at me.”

“A question I would ask, father,

An ye wadna angry be;”

“Say on, say on, my bonnie boy;

Ask onything at me.”

“My mither’s cheeks are often wet;I seldom see them dry;And I wonder aye what aileth my mitherTo mourn continually?”

“My mither’s cheeks are often wet;

I seldom see them dry;

And I wonder aye what aileth my mither

To mourn continually?”

“Nae wonder that your mither’s cheeksYe seldom see them dry;Nae wonder, nae wonder, my bonnie boy,Though she suld brast and die!

“Nae wonder that your mither’s cheeks

Ye seldom see them dry;

Nae wonder, nae wonder, my bonnie boy,

Though she suld brast and die!

“For she was born a king’s daughter,Of noble birth and fame,And now she is Hynde Etin’s wife,Wha ne’er got Christendome.

“For she was born a king’s daughter,

Of noble birth and fame,

And now she is Hynde Etin’s wife,

Wha ne’er got Christendome.

“But we’ll shoot the laverock in the lift,The buntlin on the tree;And ye’ll take theme hame to your mither,An’ see if blythe she’ll be.”

“But we’ll shoot the laverock in the lift,

The buntlin on the tree;

And ye’ll take theme hame to your mither,

An’ see if blythe she’ll be.”

It fell upon another day,Hynde Etin he thocht lang;And he is to the gude greenwood,As fast as he can gang.

It fell upon another day,

Hynde Etin he thocht lang;

And he is to the gude greenwood,

As fast as he can gang.

Wi’ bow and arrow by his side,He’s off, single, alane,And left his seven bairns to stayWi’ their mither at home.

Wi’ bow and arrow by his side,

He’s off, single, alane,

And left his seven bairns to stay

Wi’ their mither at home.

“I’ll tell you, mither,” quoth the auldest son,“An’ ye wadna angry be;”“Speak on, speak on, my bonnie boy,Ye’se nay be quarrelled by me.”

“I’ll tell you, mither,” quoth the auldest son,

“An’ ye wadna angry be;”

“Speak on, speak on, my bonnie boy,

Ye’se nay be quarrelled by me.”

“As we came from the hynd-hunting,We heard fine music ring!”“My blessings on ye, my bonnie boy!I wish I’d been there, my lane!”

“As we came from the hynd-hunting,

We heard fine music ring!”

“My blessings on ye, my bonnie boy!

I wish I’d been there, my lane!”

He’s ta’en his mither by the hand—His six brothers also;And they are on through Elmond woodAs fast as they could go.

He’s ta’en his mither by the hand—

His six brothers also;

And they are on through Elmond wood

As fast as they could go.

They wistna weel where they were gaun,Wi’ the stratlings o’ their feet;They wistna weel where they were gaun,Till at her father’s yett.

They wistna weel where they were gaun,

Wi’ the stratlings o’ their feet;

They wistna weel where they were gaun,

Till at her father’s yett.

“I hae nae money in my pocket,But royal rings hae three;I’ll gie them you, my auldest son,And ye’ll walk there for me:

“I hae nae money in my pocket,

But royal rings hae three;

I’ll gie them you, my auldest son,

And ye’ll walk there for me:

“Ye’ll gie the first to the proud porter,And he will let you in;Ye’ll gie the next the butler boy,And he will show you ben:

“Ye’ll gie the first to the proud porter,

And he will let you in;

Ye’ll gie the next the butler boy,

And he will show you ben:

“Ye’ll gie the next to the ministrellThat plays before the king;He’ll play success to the bonnie boy,Cam through the wood his lane.”

“Ye’ll gie the next to the ministrell

That plays before the king;

He’ll play success to the bonnie boy,

Cam through the wood his lane.”

He gae the first the proud porter,And he opened and let him in.He gae the next to the butler-boy,And he has shown him ben.

He gae the first the proud porter,

And he opened and let him in.

He gae the next to the butler-boy,

And he has shown him ben.

He gae the third to the ministrellThat play’d before the king;And he play’d success to the bonnie boyCam through the wood his lane.

He gae the third to the ministrell

That play’d before the king;

And he play’d success to the bonnie boy

Cam through the wood his lane.

Now when he came before the king,He fell low on his knee;The king he turn’d him round about,And the saut tear blint his e’e.

Now when he came before the king,

He fell low on his knee;

The king he turn’d him round about,

And the saut tear blint his e’e.

“Win up, win up, my bonnie boy!Gang frae my companie!Ye look sae like my dear dauchter,My heart will burst in three.”

“Win up, win up, my bonnie boy!

Gang frae my companie!

Ye look sae like my dear dauchter,

My heart will burst in three.”

“If I look like your dear dauchter,A wonder it is none:If I look like your dear dauchter,I am her eldest son.”

“If I look like your dear dauchter,

A wonder it is none:

If I look like your dear dauchter,

I am her eldest son.”

“Will ye tell me, my little wee boy,Where may my Margaret be?”“She’s gist now standing at your yetts,And my six brothers her wi’.”

“Will ye tell me, my little wee boy,

Where may my Margaret be?”

“She’s gist now standing at your yetts,

And my six brothers her wi’.”

“O where are a’ my porter boys,That I pay meat and fee,To open my yetts, baith wide and braid—Let her come in to me!”

“O where are a’ my porter boys,

That I pay meat and fee,

To open my yetts, baith wide and braid—

Let her come in to me!”

When she came in before the king,She fell low on her knee;“Win up, win up, my dauchter dear,This day ye’ll dine wi’ me.”

When she came in before the king,

She fell low on her knee;

“Win up, win up, my dauchter dear,

This day ye’ll dine wi’ me.”

“Ae bit I canna eat, father,Nor ae drap can I drink,Till I see my mither and sister dear,For lang o’ them I think.”

“Ae bit I canna eat, father,

Nor ae drap can I drink,

Till I see my mither and sister dear,

For lang o’ them I think.”

When she came in before the queen,She fell low on her knee:“Win up, win up, my dauchter dear,This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”

When she came in before the queen,

She fell low on her knee:

“Win up, win up, my dauchter dear,

This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”

“Ae bit I canna eat, mither,Nor ae drop can I drink,Until I see my dear sister—For lang o’ her I think.”

“Ae bit I canna eat, mither,

Nor ae drop can I drink,

Until I see my dear sister—

For lang o’ her I think.”

And when her sister dear cam in,She hailed her courteouslie:“Come ben, come ben, my sister dear,This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”

And when her sister dear cam in,

She hailed her courteouslie:

“Come ben, come ben, my sister dear,

This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”

“Ae bit I canna eat, sister,Nor ae drop can I drink,Until I see my dear husband,For lang o’ him I think.”

“Ae bit I canna eat, sister,

Nor ae drop can I drink,

Until I see my dear husband,

For lang o’ him I think.”

“O where are all my rangers bold,That I pay meat and fee,To search the forest far and wide,And bring Etin to me?”

“O where are all my rangers bold,

That I pay meat and fee,

To search the forest far and wide,

And bring Etin to me?”

But out then spak the little wee boy,“Na, na, this maunna be;Without ye grant a free pardon,I hope ye’ll nae him see.”

But out then spak the little wee boy,

“Na, na, this maunna be;

Without ye grant a free pardon,

I hope ye’ll nae him see.”

“O here I grant a free pardon,Weel sealed by my own hand,And see make search for Hynde Etin,As sure as e’er ye can.”

“O here I grant a free pardon,

Weel sealed by my own hand,

And see make search for Hynde Etin,

As sure as e’er ye can.”

They searched the country wide and braid—The forests far and near,Till they found him into Elmond wood,Tearing his yellow hair.

They searched the country wide and braid—

The forests far and near,

Till they found him into Elmond wood,

Tearing his yellow hair.

“Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin—Win up and boune wi’ me;We’re messengers sent frae the court—The king wants ye to see.”

“Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin—

Win up and boune wi’ me;

We’re messengers sent frae the court—

The king wants ye to see.”

“O let him tak frae me the head,Or hang me on a tree;For sin I’se lost my dear Margaret,Life’s nae pleasure to me.”

“O let him tak frae me the head,

Or hang me on a tree;

For sin I’se lost my dear Margaret,

Life’s nae pleasure to me.”

“Your head will nae be touched, Etin,Nor hanged upon a tree;Your leddy’s in her father’s court,And all she wants is thee.”

“Your head will nae be touched, Etin,

Nor hanged upon a tree;

Your leddy’s in her father’s court,

And all she wants is thee.”

When in he came before the king,He fell low on his knee;“Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin,This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”

When in he came before the king,

He fell low on his knee;

“Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin,

This day ye’se dine wi’ me.”

But as they were at dinner set,The boy asked a boon:“I wis we were in the good kirk,For to get Christendoun.

But as they were at dinner set,

The boy asked a boon:

“I wis we were in the good kirk,

For to get Christendoun.

“We hae liv’d in gude greenwoodThis seven years and ane;But a’ this time, sin e’er I mind,Were ne’er a church within.”

“We hae liv’d in gude greenwood

This seven years and ane;

But a’ this time, sin e’er I mind,

Were ne’er a church within.”

“Your asking’s nae sae great, my boy,But granted it sall be;This day to gude church ye sall gang,And your mither sall gang ye wi’.”

“Your asking’s nae sae great, my boy,

But granted it sall be;

This day to gude church ye sall gang,

And your mither sall gang ye wi’.”

When unto the gude church she cam,She at the door did stan’;She was sae sair sunk down wi’ shame,She waldna come far’r ben,

When unto the gude church she cam,

She at the door did stan’;

She was sae sair sunk down wi’ shame,

She waldna come far’r ben,

Then out it speaks the parish priest—A good auld man was he:“Come ben, come ben, my lily flouir,Present your babes to me.”

Then out it speaks the parish priest—

A good auld man was he:

“Come ben, come ben, my lily flouir,

Present your babes to me.”

But they staid lang in royal court,Wi’ mirth and high renown;And when her father was deceased,She was heir o’ his crown.Anonymous.

But they staid lang in royal court,

Wi’ mirth and high renown;

And when her father was deceased,

She was heir o’ his crown.

Anonymous.

Come follow me, follow me,You fairy elves that be—Which circle on the greene,Come follow Mab your Queene.Hand in hand let’s dance around,For this place is fairy ground.When mortals are at rest,And snoring in their nest,Unheard and unespy’dThrough key-holes we do glide;Over tables, stools, and shelves,We trip it with our fairy elves.And if the house be foul,With platter, dish, or bowl,Up stairs we nimbly creep,And find the sluts asleep:There we pinch their armes and thighes;None escapes, nor none espiesBut if the house be swept,And from uncleanness kept,We praise the household maid,And duly she is paid;For we use before we goe,To drop a tester in her shoe.Upon a mushroom’s headOur table-cloth we spread;A grain of rye or wheatIs manchet which we eat;Pearly drops of dew we drinkIn acorn cups fill’d to the brink.The brains of nightingales,With unctuous fat of snails,Between two cockles stew’d,Is meat that’s easily chew’d;Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice,Do make a dish that’s wonderous nice.The grasshopper, gnat, and flyServe for our minstrelsie;Grace said, we dance awhile,And so the time beguile:And if the moone doth hide her head,The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.On tops of dewie grasseSo nimbly we do passe,The young and tender stalkNe’er bends when we do walk;Yet in the morning may be seeneWhere we the night before have beene.Anonymous, about the year 1600.

Come follow me, follow me,You fairy elves that be—Which circle on the greene,Come follow Mab your Queene.Hand in hand let’s dance around,For this place is fairy ground.

Come follow me, follow me,

You fairy elves that be—

Which circle on the greene,

Come follow Mab your Queene.

Hand in hand let’s dance around,

For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest,And snoring in their nest,Unheard and unespy’dThrough key-holes we do glide;Over tables, stools, and shelves,We trip it with our fairy elves.

When mortals are at rest,

And snoring in their nest,

Unheard and unespy’d

Through key-holes we do glide;

Over tables, stools, and shelves,

We trip it with our fairy elves.

And if the house be foul,With platter, dish, or bowl,Up stairs we nimbly creep,And find the sluts asleep:There we pinch their armes and thighes;None escapes, nor none espies

And if the house be foul,

With platter, dish, or bowl,

Up stairs we nimbly creep,

And find the sluts asleep:

There we pinch their armes and thighes;

None escapes, nor none espies

But if the house be swept,And from uncleanness kept,We praise the household maid,And duly she is paid;For we use before we goe,To drop a tester in her shoe.

But if the house be swept,

And from uncleanness kept,

We praise the household maid,

And duly she is paid;

For we use before we goe,

To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroom’s headOur table-cloth we spread;A grain of rye or wheatIs manchet which we eat;Pearly drops of dew we drinkIn acorn cups fill’d to the brink.

Upon a mushroom’s head

Our table-cloth we spread;

A grain of rye or wheat

Is manchet which we eat;

Pearly drops of dew we drink

In acorn cups fill’d to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,With unctuous fat of snails,Between two cockles stew’d,Is meat that’s easily chew’d;Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice,Do make a dish that’s wonderous nice.

The brains of nightingales,

With unctuous fat of snails,

Between two cockles stew’d,

Is meat that’s easily chew’d;

Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice,

Do make a dish that’s wonderous nice.

The grasshopper, gnat, and flyServe for our minstrelsie;Grace said, we dance awhile,And so the time beguile:And if the moone doth hide her head,The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly

Serve for our minstrelsie;

Grace said, we dance awhile,

And so the time beguile:

And if the moone doth hide her head,

The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewie grasseSo nimbly we do passe,The young and tender stalkNe’er bends when we do walk;Yet in the morning may be seeneWhere we the night before have beene.Anonymous, about the year 1600.

On tops of dewie grasse

So nimbly we do passe,

The young and tender stalk

Ne’er bends when we do walk;

Yet in the morning may be seene

Where we the night before have beene.

Anonymous, about the year 1600.

THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.

From Oberon, in fairy land,The king of ghosts and shadowes there,Mad Robin, I, at his command,Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.What revell routIs kept aboutIn every corner where I go,I will o’erseeAnd merrie be,And make good sport with ho, ho, ho!More swift than lightning can I flyeAbout the aery welkin soone,And in a minute’s space descryeEach thing that’s done belowe the moone.There’s not a hagOr ghost shall wag,Or cry 'ware goblins! where I go,But Robin, I,Their feates will spy,And send them home with ho, ho, ho!Whene’er such wanderers I meete,As from their night-sports they trudge home,With counterfeiting voice I greete,And call them on with me to roame.Thro’ woods, thro’ lakes,Thro’ bogs, thro’ brakes;Or else, unseene, with them I go,All in the nicke,To play some tricke,And frolick it with ho, ho, ho!Sometimes I meete them like a man;Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound,And to a horse I turn me can,To trip and trot about them round,But, if to ride,My backe they stride,More swift than wind away I goe,O’er hedge and lands,Thro’ pools and ponds,I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho!When lads and lasses merry be,With possets, and with junkets fine;Unseene of all the company,I eat their cakes and sip their wine;And to make sportI fume and snort,And out the candles I do blow:The maids I kiss,They shrieke, Who’s this?I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!Yet now and then, the maids to please,At midnight I card up their wooll;And while they sleepe and take their ease,With wheel, to threads their flax I pull.I grind at mill,Their malt up still;I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.If any wake,And would me take,I wend me laughing ho, ho, ho!When house or hearth doth sluttish lye,I pinch the maidens black and blue,The bedd-clothes from the bedd pull I,And in their ear I bawl too-whoo!’Twixt sleepe and wakeI do them take,And on the clay-cold floor them throw,If out they cry,Then forth I fly,And loudly laugh out ho, ho, ho!When any need to borrow ought,We lend them what they do require,And for the use demand we nought,Our owne is all we do desire.If to repay,They do delay,Abroad amongst them then I go,And night by night,I them affright,With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!When lazie queans have nought to do,But study how to cog and lye,To make debate and mischief too,’Twixt one another secretlyI marke their gloze,And it disclose,To them whom they have wronged so.When I have done,I get me goneAnd leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!When men do traps and engines setIn loope holes, where the vermine creepe,Who from their foldes and houses getTheir duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe;I spy the gin,And enter in,And seeme a vermin taken so;But when they thereApproach me neare,I leap out laughing ho, ho, ho!By wells and rills, in meadowes green,We nightly dance our hey-day guise;And to our fairye kinge and queeneWe chaunt our moon-lighte minstrelsies.When larkes gin singe,Away we flinge;And babes new-born steale as we go,And shoes in bedWe leave instead,And wend us laughing ho, ho, ho!From hag-bred Merlin’s time have IThus nightly revell’d to and fro:And for my prankes, men call me byThe name of Robin Good-Fellow.Friends, ghosts, and spritesWho haunt the nightes,The hags and goblins do me know,And beldames oldMy feates have told,Sovale,vale, ho, ho, ho!Anonymous—attributed toBen Jonson,about 1600.

From Oberon, in fairy land,

The king of ghosts and shadowes there,

Mad Robin, I, at his command,

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.

What revell rout

Is kept about

In every corner where I go,

I will o’ersee

And merrie be,

And make good sport with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightning can I flyeAbout the aery welkin soone,And in a minute’s space descryeEach thing that’s done belowe the moone.There’s not a hagOr ghost shall wag,Or cry 'ware goblins! where I go,But Robin, I,Their feates will spy,And send them home with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightning can I flye

About the aery welkin soone,

And in a minute’s space descrye

Each thing that’s done belowe the moone.

There’s not a hag

Or ghost shall wag,

Or cry 'ware goblins! where I go,

But Robin, I,

Their feates will spy,

And send them home with ho, ho, ho!

Whene’er such wanderers I meete,As from their night-sports they trudge home,With counterfeiting voice I greete,And call them on with me to roame.Thro’ woods, thro’ lakes,Thro’ bogs, thro’ brakes;Or else, unseene, with them I go,All in the nicke,To play some tricke,And frolick it with ho, ho, ho!

Whene’er such wanderers I meete,

As from their night-sports they trudge home,

With counterfeiting voice I greete,

And call them on with me to roame.

Thro’ woods, thro’ lakes,

Thro’ bogs, thro’ brakes;

Or else, unseene, with them I go,

All in the nicke,

To play some tricke,

And frolick it with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meete them like a man;Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound,And to a horse I turn me can,To trip and trot about them round,But, if to ride,My backe they stride,More swift than wind away I goe,O’er hedge and lands,Thro’ pools and ponds,I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meete them like a man;

Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound,

And to a horse I turn me can,

To trip and trot about them round,

But, if to ride,

My backe they stride,

More swift than wind away I goe,

O’er hedge and lands,

Thro’ pools and ponds,

I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be,With possets, and with junkets fine;Unseene of all the company,I eat their cakes and sip their wine;And to make sportI fume and snort,And out the candles I do blow:The maids I kiss,They shrieke, Who’s this?I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be,

With possets, and with junkets fine;

Unseene of all the company,

I eat their cakes and sip their wine;

And to make sport

I fume and snort,

And out the candles I do blow:

The maids I kiss,

They shrieke, Who’s this?

I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!

Yet now and then, the maids to please,At midnight I card up their wooll;And while they sleepe and take their ease,With wheel, to threads their flax I pull.I grind at mill,Their malt up still;I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.If any wake,And would me take,I wend me laughing ho, ho, ho!

Yet now and then, the maids to please,

At midnight I card up their wooll;

And while they sleepe and take their ease,

With wheel, to threads their flax I pull.

I grind at mill,

Their malt up still;

I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.

If any wake,

And would me take,

I wend me laughing ho, ho, ho!

When house or hearth doth sluttish lye,I pinch the maidens black and blue,The bedd-clothes from the bedd pull I,And in their ear I bawl too-whoo!’Twixt sleepe and wakeI do them take,And on the clay-cold floor them throw,If out they cry,Then forth I fly,And loudly laugh out ho, ho, ho!

When house or hearth doth sluttish lye,

I pinch the maidens black and blue,

The bedd-clothes from the bedd pull I,

And in their ear I bawl too-whoo!

’Twixt sleepe and wake

I do them take,

And on the clay-cold floor them throw,

If out they cry,

Then forth I fly,

And loudly laugh out ho, ho, ho!

When any need to borrow ought,We lend them what they do require,And for the use demand we nought,Our owne is all we do desire.If to repay,They do delay,Abroad amongst them then I go,And night by night,I them affright,With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!

When any need to borrow ought,

We lend them what they do require,

And for the use demand we nought,

Our owne is all we do desire.

If to repay,

They do delay,

Abroad amongst them then I go,

And night by night,

I them affright,

With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!

When lazie queans have nought to do,But study how to cog and lye,To make debate and mischief too,’Twixt one another secretlyI marke their gloze,And it disclose,To them whom they have wronged so.When I have done,I get me goneAnd leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!

When lazie queans have nought to do,

But study how to cog and lye,

To make debate and mischief too,

’Twixt one another secretly

I marke their gloze,

And it disclose,

To them whom they have wronged so.

When I have done,

I get me gone

And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!

When men do traps and engines setIn loope holes, where the vermine creepe,Who from their foldes and houses getTheir duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe;I spy the gin,And enter in,And seeme a vermin taken so;But when they thereApproach me neare,I leap out laughing ho, ho, ho!

When men do traps and engines set

In loope holes, where the vermine creepe,

Who from their foldes and houses get

Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe;

I spy the gin,

And enter in,

And seeme a vermin taken so;

But when they there

Approach me neare,

I leap out laughing ho, ho, ho!

By wells and rills, in meadowes green,We nightly dance our hey-day guise;And to our fairye kinge and queeneWe chaunt our moon-lighte minstrelsies.When larkes gin singe,Away we flinge;And babes new-born steale as we go,And shoes in bedWe leave instead,And wend us laughing ho, ho, ho!

By wells and rills, in meadowes green,

We nightly dance our hey-day guise;

And to our fairye kinge and queene

We chaunt our moon-lighte minstrelsies.

When larkes gin singe,

Away we flinge;

And babes new-born steale as we go,

And shoes in bed

We leave instead,

And wend us laughing ho, ho, ho!

From hag-bred Merlin’s time have IThus nightly revell’d to and fro:And for my prankes, men call me byThe name of Robin Good-Fellow.Friends, ghosts, and spritesWho haunt the nightes,The hags and goblins do me know,And beldames oldMy feates have told,Sovale,vale, ho, ho, ho!Anonymous—attributed toBen Jonson,about 1600.

From hag-bred Merlin’s time have I

Thus nightly revell’d to and fro:

And for my prankes, men call me by

The name of Robin Good-Fellow.

Friends, ghosts, and sprites

Who haunt the nightes,

The hags and goblins do me know,

And beldames old

My feates have told,

Sovale,vale, ho, ho, ho!

Anonymous—attributed toBen Jonson,about 1600.

SLAVIC.

AN OLD BALLAD.

The maiden went for waterTo the well o’er the meadow away;She there could draw no water,So thick the frost it lay.The mother she grew angry,She had it long to bemoan;“O daughter mine, O daughter mine,I would thou wert a stone!”The maiden’s water-pitcherGrew marble instantly,And she herself, the maiden,Became a maple tree.There came one day two lads,Two minstrels young they were;“We’ve traveled far, my brother,Such a maple we saw nowhere.“Come let us cut a fiddle,One fiddle for me and you,And from the same fine maple,For each one, fiddlesticks two.”They cut into the maple—Then splashed the blood so red;The lads fell to the ground,So sore were they afraid.Then spake from within the maiden:“Wherefore afraid are you?Cut out of me one fiddle,And for each one fiddlesticks two.“Then go and play right sadly,To my mother’s door begone,And sing: Here is thy daughterWhom thou didst curse to stone.”The lads they went, and sadlyTheir song to play began;The mother when she heardRight to the window ran.“O lads, dear lads, be silent,Do not my pain increase,For since I’ve lost my daughter,My pain doth never cease!”Translated byMrs. Robinson.

The maiden went for waterTo the well o’er the meadow away;She there could draw no water,So thick the frost it lay.

The maiden went for water

To the well o’er the meadow away;

She there could draw no water,

So thick the frost it lay.

The mother she grew angry,She had it long to bemoan;“O daughter mine, O daughter mine,I would thou wert a stone!”

The mother she grew angry,

She had it long to bemoan;

“O daughter mine, O daughter mine,

I would thou wert a stone!”

The maiden’s water-pitcherGrew marble instantly,And she herself, the maiden,Became a maple tree.

The maiden’s water-pitcher

Grew marble instantly,

And she herself, the maiden,

Became a maple tree.

There came one day two lads,Two minstrels young they were;“We’ve traveled far, my brother,Such a maple we saw nowhere.

There came one day two lads,

Two minstrels young they were;

“We’ve traveled far, my brother,

Such a maple we saw nowhere.

“Come let us cut a fiddle,One fiddle for me and you,And from the same fine maple,For each one, fiddlesticks two.”

“Come let us cut a fiddle,

One fiddle for me and you,

And from the same fine maple,

For each one, fiddlesticks two.”

They cut into the maple—Then splashed the blood so red;The lads fell to the ground,So sore were they afraid.

They cut into the maple—

Then splashed the blood so red;

The lads fell to the ground,

So sore were they afraid.

Then spake from within the maiden:“Wherefore afraid are you?Cut out of me one fiddle,And for each one fiddlesticks two.

Then spake from within the maiden:

“Wherefore afraid are you?

Cut out of me one fiddle,

And for each one fiddlesticks two.

“Then go and play right sadly,To my mother’s door begone,And sing: Here is thy daughterWhom thou didst curse to stone.”

“Then go and play right sadly,

To my mother’s door begone,

And sing: Here is thy daughter

Whom thou didst curse to stone.”

The lads they went, and sadlyTheir song to play began;The mother when she heardRight to the window ran.

The lads they went, and sadly

Their song to play began;

The mother when she heard

Right to the window ran.

“O lads, dear lads, be silent,Do not my pain increase,For since I’ve lost my daughter,My pain doth never cease!”Translated byMrs. Robinson.

“O lads, dear lads, be silent,

Do not my pain increase,

For since I’ve lost my daughter,

My pain doth never cease!”

Translated byMrs. Robinson.

“Sisters! I have seen this nightA hundred cottage fires burn bright,And a thousand happy faces shiningIn the burning blaze, and the gleam declining.I care, not I, for the stars above,The lights on earth are the lights I love;Let Venus blur the evening air,Uprise at morn Prince Lucifer;But those little tiny stars be mineThat through the softened copse-wood shine.With beauty crown the pastoral hill,And glimmer o’er the sylvan rill,Where stands the peasant’s ivied nest,And the huge mill-wheel is at rest.From out the honeysuckle’s bloomI peep’d into that laughing room,Then, like a hail-drop on the pane,Pattering, I still’d the din again,While every startled eye looked up,And, half-raised to her lips the cup,The rosy maiden’s look met mine!But I vail’d mine eyes with the silken twineOf the small wild roses, clustering thickly;Then to her seat returning quickly,She 'gan to talk with bashful gleeOf fairies 'neath the greenwood treeDancing by moonlight, and she blestGently our silent land of rest.The infants playing on the floor,At these wild words their sports gave o’er,And ask’d where liv’d the Cottage Fairy;The maid replied, 'She loves to tarryOfttimes beside our very hearth,And joins in little children’s mirth,When they are gladly innocent;And sometimes beneath the leafy tent,That murmurs round our cottage door,Our overshadowing sycamore,We see her dancing in a ring,And hear the blessed creature sing—A creature full of gentleness,Rejoicing in our happiness.’Then pluck’d I a wreath with many a gemBurning—a flowery diadem—And through the wicket, with a glideI slipped, and sat me down besideThe youngest of those infants fair,And wreath’d the blossoms in her hair.'Who placed these flowers on William’s head?’The little wondering sister said,'A wreath not half so bright and gay,Crown’d me, upon the morn of May,Queen of that sunny holiday.’The tiny monarch laughed aloudWith pride among the loving crowd,And, with my shrillest voice, I lentA chorus to their merriment;Then with such murmur as a beeMakes, from a flower-cup suddenlyBorne off into the silent sky,I skimmed away, and with delightSailed down the calm stream of the night,Till gently as a flake of snow,Once more I dropp’d on earth below—* * * * *John Wilson.

“Sisters! I have seen this night

A hundred cottage fires burn bright,

And a thousand happy faces shining

In the burning blaze, and the gleam declining.

I care, not I, for the stars above,

The lights on earth are the lights I love;

Let Venus blur the evening air,

Uprise at morn Prince Lucifer;

But those little tiny stars be mine

That through the softened copse-wood shine.

With beauty crown the pastoral hill,

And glimmer o’er the sylvan rill,

Where stands the peasant’s ivied nest,

And the huge mill-wheel is at rest.

From out the honeysuckle’s bloom

I peep’d into that laughing room,

Then, like a hail-drop on the pane,

Pattering, I still’d the din again,

While every startled eye looked up,

And, half-raised to her lips the cup,

The rosy maiden’s look met mine!

But I vail’d mine eyes with the silken twine

Of the small wild roses, clustering thickly;

Then to her seat returning quickly,

She 'gan to talk with bashful glee

Of fairies 'neath the greenwood tree

Dancing by moonlight, and she blest

Gently our silent land of rest.

The infants playing on the floor,

At these wild words their sports gave o’er,

And ask’d where liv’d the Cottage Fairy;

The maid replied, 'She loves to tarry

Ofttimes beside our very hearth,

And joins in little children’s mirth,

When they are gladly innocent;

And sometimes beneath the leafy tent,

That murmurs round our cottage door,

Our overshadowing sycamore,

We see her dancing in a ring,

And hear the blessed creature sing—

A creature full of gentleness,

Rejoicing in our happiness.’

Then pluck’d I a wreath with many a gem

Burning—a flowery diadem—

And through the wicket, with a glide

I slipped, and sat me down beside

The youngest of those infants fair,

And wreath’d the blossoms in her hair.

'Who placed these flowers on William’s head?’

The little wondering sister said,

'A wreath not half so bright and gay,

Crown’d me, upon the morn of May,

Queen of that sunny holiday.’

The tiny monarch laughed aloud

With pride among the loving crowd,

And, with my shrillest voice, I lent

A chorus to their merriment;

Then with such murmur as a bee

Makes, from a flower-cup suddenly

Borne off into the silent sky,

I skimmed away, and with delight

Sailed down the calm stream of the night,

Till gently as a flake of snow,

Once more I dropp’d on earth below—

* * * * *

John Wilson.

FROM THE “CULPRIT FAY.”

The moon looks down on old Cro’nest,She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast,And seems his huge gray form to throwIn a silver cone on the wave below;His sides are broken by spots of shade,By the walnut bough and the cedar made,And through their clustering branches dark,Glimmers and dies the firefly’s spark—Like starry twinkles that momently breakThrough the rifts of the gathering tempest’s rack.The stars are on the moving stream,And fling, as its ripples gently flow,A burnish’d length of wavy beam,In an eel-like, spiral line below;The winds are whist, and the owl is still,The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,And naught is heard on the lonely hillBut the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrillOf the gauze-winged katydid;And the plaint of the wailing whippowil,Who moans unseen and ceaseless sings,Ever a note of wail and woe,Till morning spreads her rosy wings,And earth and sky in her glances glow.’Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell:The wood-tick has kept the minutes well,She has counted them all with click and stroke,Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak,And he has awaken’d the sentry elve,Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,To bid him ring the hour of twelve,And call the fays to their revelry.Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell(’Twas made of the white snail’s pearly shell)—“Midnight comes, and all is well!Hither, hither, wing your way!’Tis the dawn of the fairy day.”They come from beds of lichen green,They creep from the mullein’s velvet screen;Some on the backs of beetles fly,From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,Where they swung in their cobweb-hammocks high,And rock’d about in the evening breeze;Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest—They had driven him out by elfin power,And, pillow’d on plumes of his rainbow breast,Had slumber’d there till the charmed hour;Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,With glittering ising-stars inlaid;And some had open’d the four-o’clock,And stole within its purple shade,And now they throng the moonlight glade.Above—below—on every side,Their little minim forms array’dIn the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!Joseph Rodman Drake, 1795–1820.

The moon looks down on old Cro’nest,

She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast,

And seems his huge gray form to throw

In a silver cone on the wave below;

His sides are broken by spots of shade,

By the walnut bough and the cedar made,

And through their clustering branches dark,

Glimmers and dies the firefly’s spark—

Like starry twinkles that momently break

Through the rifts of the gathering tempest’s rack.

The stars are on the moving stream,And fling, as its ripples gently flow,A burnish’d length of wavy beam,In an eel-like, spiral line below;The winds are whist, and the owl is still,The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,And naught is heard on the lonely hillBut the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrillOf the gauze-winged katydid;And the plaint of the wailing whippowil,Who moans unseen and ceaseless sings,Ever a note of wail and woe,Till morning spreads her rosy wings,And earth and sky in her glances glow.

The stars are on the moving stream,

And fling, as its ripples gently flow,

A burnish’d length of wavy beam,

In an eel-like, spiral line below;

The winds are whist, and the owl is still,

The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,

And naught is heard on the lonely hill

But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill

Of the gauze-winged katydid;

And the plaint of the wailing whippowil,

Who moans unseen and ceaseless sings,

Ever a note of wail and woe,

Till morning spreads her rosy wings,

And earth and sky in her glances glow.

’Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell:The wood-tick has kept the minutes well,She has counted them all with click and stroke,Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak,And he has awaken’d the sentry elve,Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,To bid him ring the hour of twelve,And call the fays to their revelry.Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell(’Twas made of the white snail’s pearly shell)—“Midnight comes, and all is well!Hither, hither, wing your way!’Tis the dawn of the fairy day.”

’Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell:

The wood-tick has kept the minutes well,

She has counted them all with click and stroke,

Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak,

And he has awaken’d the sentry elve,

Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,

To bid him ring the hour of twelve,

And call the fays to their revelry.

Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell

(’Twas made of the white snail’s pearly shell)—

“Midnight comes, and all is well!

Hither, hither, wing your way!

’Tis the dawn of the fairy day.”

They come from beds of lichen green,They creep from the mullein’s velvet screen;Some on the backs of beetles fly,From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,Where they swung in their cobweb-hammocks high,And rock’d about in the evening breeze;Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest—They had driven him out by elfin power,And, pillow’d on plumes of his rainbow breast,Had slumber’d there till the charmed hour;Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,With glittering ising-stars inlaid;And some had open’d the four-o’clock,And stole within its purple shade,And now they throng the moonlight glade.Above—below—on every side,Their little minim forms array’dIn the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!Joseph Rodman Drake, 1795–1820.

They come from beds of lichen green,

They creep from the mullein’s velvet screen;

Some on the backs of beetles fly,

From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,

Where they swung in their cobweb-hammocks high,

And rock’d about in the evening breeze;

Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest—

They had driven him out by elfin power,

And, pillow’d on plumes of his rainbow breast,

Had slumber’d there till the charmed hour;

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,

With glittering ising-stars inlaid;

And some had open’d the four-o’clock,

And stole within its purple shade,

And now they throng the moonlight glade.

Above—below—on every side,

Their little minim forms array’d

In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!

Joseph Rodman Drake, 1795–1820.

[Pastoral Scene]

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