In a quiet, pleasant meadow,
Beneath a summer sky,
Where green old trees their branches waved,
And winds went singing by;
Where a little brook went rippling
So musically low,
And passing clouds cast shadows
On the waving grass below;
Where low, sweet notes of brooding birds
Stole out on the fragrant air,
And golden sunlight shone undimmed
On all most fresh and fair;—
There bloomed a lovely sisterhood
Of happy little flowers,
Together in this pleasant home,
Through quiet summer hours.
No rude hand came to gather them,
No chilling winds to blight;
Warm sunbeams smiled on them by day,
And soft dews fell at night.
So here, along the brook-side,
Beneath the green old trees,
The flowers dwelt among their friends,
The sunbeams and the breeze.
One morning, as the flowers awoke,
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
A little worm came creeping by,
And begged a shelter there.
“Ah! pity and love me,” sighed the worm,
“I am lonely, poor, and weak;
A little spot for a resting-place,
Dear flowers, is all I seek.
I am not fair, and have dwelt unloved
By butterfly, bird, and bee.
They little knew that in this dark form
Lay the beauty they yet may see.
Then let me lie in the deep green moss,
And weave my little tomb,
And sleep my long, unbroken sleep
Till Spring’s first flowers come.
Then will I come in a fairer dress,
And your gentle care repay
By the grateful love of the humble worm;
Kind flowers, O let me stay!”
But the wild rose showed her little thorns,
While her soft face glowed with pride;
The violet hid beneath the drooping ferns,
And the daisy turned aside.
Little Houstonia scornfully laughed,
As she danced on her slender stem;
While the cowslip bent to the rippling waves,
And whispered the tale to them.
A blue-eyed grass looked down on the worm,
As it silently turned away,
And cried, “Thou wilt harm our delicate leaves,
And therefore thou canst not stay.”
Then a sweet, soft voice, called out from far,
“Come hither, poor worm, to me;
The sun lies warm in this quiet spot,
And I’ll share my home with thee.”
The wondering flowers looked up to see
Who had offered the worm a home:
’T was a clover-blossom, whose fluttering leaves
Seemed beckoning him to come;
It dwelt in a sunny little nook,
Where cool winds rustled by,
And murmuring bees and butterflies came,
On the flower’s breast to lie.
Down through the leaves the sunlight stole,
And seemed to linger there,
As if it loved to brighten the home
Of one so sweet and fair.
Its rosy face smiled kindly down,
As the friendless worm drew near;
And its low voice, softly whispering, said
“Poor thing, thou art welcome here;
Close at my side, in the soft green moss,
Thou wilt find a quiet bed,
Where thou canst softly sleep till Spring,
With my leaves above thee spread.
I pity and love thee, friendless worm,
Though thou art not graceful or fair;
For many a dark, unlovely form,
Hath a kind heart dwelling there;
No more o’er the green and pleasant earth,
Lonely and poor, shalt thou roam,
For a loving friend hast thou found in me,
And rest in my little home.”
Then, deep in its quiet mossy bed,
Sheltered from sun and shower,
The grateful worm spun its winter tomb,
In the shadow of the flower.
And Clover guarded well its rest,
Till Autumn’s leaves were sere,
Till all her sister flowers were gone,
And her winter sleep drew near.
Then her withered leaves were softly spread
O’er the sleeping worm below,
Ere the faithful little flower lay
Beneath the winter snow.
Spring came again, and the flowers rose
From their quiet winter graves,
And gayly danced on their slender stems,
And sang with the rippling waves.
Softly the warm winds kissed their cheeks;
Brightly the sunbeams fell,
As, one by one, they came again
In their summer homes to dwell.
And little Clover bloomed once more,
Rosy, and sweet, and fair,
And patiently watched by the mossy bed,
For the worm still slumbered there.
Then her sister flowers scornfully cried,
As they waved in the summer air,
“The ugly worm was friendless and poor;
Little Clover, why shouldst thou care?
Then watch no more, nor dwell alone,
Away from thy sister flowers;
Come, dance and feast, and spend with us
These pleasant summer hours.
We pity thee, foolish little flower,
To trust what the false worm said;
He will not come in a fairer dress,
For he lies in the green moss dead.”
But little Clover still watched on,
Alone in her sunny home;
She did not doubt the poor worm’s truth,
And trusted he would come.
At last the small cell opened wide,
And a glittering butterfly,
From out the moss, on golden wings,
Soared up to the sunny sky.
Then the wondering flowers cried aloud,
“Clover, thy watch was vain;
He only sought a shelter here,
And never will come again.”
And the unkind flowers danced for joy,
When they saw him thus depart;
For the love of a beautiful butterfly
Is dear to a flower’s heart.
They feared he would stay in Clover’s home,
And her tender care repay;
So they danced for joy, when at last he rose
And silently flew away.
Then little Clover bowed her head,
While her soft tears fell like dew;
For her gentle heart was grieved, to find
That her sisters’ words were true,
And the insect she had watched so long
When helpless, poor, and lone,
Thankless for all her faithful care,
On his golden wings had flown.
But as she drooped, in silent grief,
She heard little Daisy cry,
“O sisters, look! I see him now,
Afar in the sunny sky;
He is floating back from Cloud-Land now,
Borne by the fragrant air.
Spread wide your leaves, that he may choose
The flower he deems most fair.”
Then the wild rose glowed with a deeper blush,
As she proudly waved on her stem;
The Cowslip bent to the clear blue waves,
And made her mirror of them.
Little Houstonia merrily danced,
And spread her white leaves wide;
While Daisy whispered her joy and hope,
As she stood by her gay friends’ side.
Violet peeped from the tall green ferns,
And lifted her soft blue eye
To watch the glittering form, that shone
Afar in the summer sky.
They thought no more of the ugly worm,
Who once had wakened their scorn;
But looked and longed for the butterfly now,
As the soft wind bore him on.
Nearer and nearer the bright form came,
And fairer the blossoms grew;
Each welcomed him, in her sweetest tones;
Each offered her honey and dew.
But in vain did they beckon, and smile, and call,
And wider their leaves unclose;
The glittering form still floated on,
By Violet, Daisy, and Rose.
Lightly it flew to the pleasant home
Of the flower most truly fair,
On Clover’s breast he softly lit,
And folded his bright wings there.
“Dear flower,” the butterfly whispered low,
“Long hast thou waited for me;
Now I am come, and my grateful love
Shall brighten thy home for thee;
Thou hast loved and cared for me, when alone,
Hast watched o’er me long and well;
And now will I strive to show the thanks
The poor worm could not tell.
Sunbeam and breeze shall come to thee,
And the coolest dews that fall;
Whate’er a flower can wish is thine,
For thou art worthy all.
And the home thou shared with the friendless worm
The butterfly’s home shall be;
And thou shalt find, dear, faithful flower,
A loving friend in me.”
Then, through the long, bright summer hours
Through sunshine and through shower,
Together in their happy home
Dwelt butterfly and flower.
“Ah, that is very lovely,” cried the Elves, gathering round little
Sunbeam as she ceased, to place a garland in her hair and praise her
song.
“Now,” said the Queen, “call hither Moon-light and Summer-Wind, for
they have seen many pleasant things in their long wanderings, and will
gladly tell us them.”
“Most joyfully will we do our best, dear Queen,” said the Elves, as
they folded their wings beside her.
“Now, Summer-Wind,” said Moonlight, “till your turn comes, do you sit
here and fan me while I tell this tale of
LITTLE ANNIE’S DREAM;
OR,
THE FAIRY FLOWER.
In a large and pleasant garden sat little Annie all alone, and she
seemed very sad, for drops that were not dew fell fast upon the flowers
beside her, who looked wonderingly up, and bent still nearer, as if
they longed to cheer and comfort her. The warm wind lifted up her
shining hair and softly kissed her cheek, while the sunbeams, looking
most kindly in her face, made little rainbows in her tears, and
lingered lovingly about her. But Annie paid no heed to sun, or wind, or
flower; still the bright tears fell, and she forgot all but her sorrow.
“Little Annie, tell me why you weep,” said a low voice in her ear; and,
looking up, the child beheld a little figure standing on a vine-leaf at
her side; a lovely face smiled on her, from amid bright locks of hair,
and shining wings were folded on a white and glittering robe, that
fluttered in the wind.
“Who are you, lovely little thing?” cried Annie, smiling through her
tears.
“I am a Fairy, little child, and am come to help and comfort you; now
tell me why you weep, and let me be your friend,” replied the spirit,
as she smiled more kindly still on Annie’s wondering face.
“And are you really, then, a little Elf, such as I read of in my fairy
books? Do you ride on butterflies, sleep in flower-cups, and live among
the clouds?”
“Yes, all these things I do, and many stranger still, that all your
fairy books can never tell; but now, dear Annie,” said the Fairy,
bending nearer, “tell me why I found no sunshine on your face; why are
these great drops shining on the flowers, and why do you sit alone when
BIRD and BEE are calling you to play?”
“Ah, you will not love me any more if I should tell you all,” said
Annie, while the tears began to fall again; “I am not happy, for I am
not good; how shall I learn to be a patient, gentle child? good little
Fairy, will you teach me how?”
“Gladly will I aid you, Annie, and if you truly wish to be a happy
child, you first must learn to conquer many passions that you cherish
now, and make your heart a home for gentle feelings and happy thoughts;
the task is hard, but I will give this fairy flower to help and counsel
you. Bend hither, that I may place it in your breast; no hand can take
it hence, till I unsay the spell that holds it there.”
As thus she spoke, the Elf took from her bosom a graceful flower, whose
snow-white leaves shone with a strange, soft light. “This is a fairy
flower,” said the Elf, “invisible to every eye save yours; now listen
while I tell its power, Annie. When your heart is filled with loving
thoughts, when some kindly deed has been done, some duty well
performed, then from the flower there will arise the sweetest, softest
fragrance, to reward and gladden you. But when an unkind word is on
your lips, when a selfish, angry feeling rises in your heart, or an
unkind, cruel deed is to be done, then will you hear the soft, low
chime of the flower-bell; listen to its warning, let the word remain
unspoken, the deed undone, and in the quiet joy of your own heart, and
the magic perfume of your bosom flower, you will find a sweet reward.”
“O kind and generous Fairy, how can I ever thank you for this lovely
gift!” cried Annie. “I will be true, and listen to my little bell
whenever it may ring. But shall I never see YOU more? Ah! if you would
only stay with me, I should indeed be good.”
“I cannot stay now, little Annie,” said the Elf, “but when another
Spring comes round, I shall be here again, to see how well the fairy
gift has done its work. And now farewell, dear child; be faithful to
yourself, and the magic flower will never fade.”
Then the gentle Fairy folded her little arms around Annie’s neck, laid
a soft kiss on her cheek, and, spreading wide her shining wings, flew
singing up among the white clouds floating in the sky.
And little Annie sat among her flowers, and watched with wondering joy
the fairy blossom shining on her breast.
The pleasant days of Spring and Summer passed away, and in little
Annie’s garden Autumn flowers were blooming everywhere, with each day’s
sun and dew growing still more beautiful and bright; but the fairy
flower, that should have been the loveliest of all, hung pale and
drooping on little Annie’s bosom; its fragrance seemed quite gone, and
the clear, low music of its warning chime rang often in her ear.
When first the Fairy placed it there, she had been pleased with her new
gift, and for a while obeyed the fairy bell, and often tried to win
some fragrance from the flower, by kind and pleasant words and actions;
then, as the Fairy said, she found a sweet reward in the strange, soft
perfume of the magic blossom, as it shone upon her breast; but selfish
thoughts would come to tempt her, she would yield, and unkind words
fell from her lips; and then the flower drooped pale and scentless, the
fairy bell rang mournfully, Annie would forget her better resolutions,
and be again a selfish, wilful little child.
At last she tried no longer, but grew angry with the faithful flower,
and would have torn it from her breast; but the fairy spell still held
it fast, and all her angry words but made it ring a louder, sadder
peal. Then she paid no heed to the silvery music sounding in her ear,
and each day grew still more unhappy, discontented, and unkind; so,
when the Autumn days came round, she was no better for the gentle
Fairy’s gift, and longed for Spring, that it might be returned; for now
the constant echo of the mournful music made her very sad.
One sunny morning, when the fresh, cool Winds were blowing, and not a
cloud was in the sky, little Annie walked among her flowers, looking
carefully into each, hoping thus to find the Fairy, who alone could
take the magic blossom from her breast. But she lifted up their
drooping leaves, peeped into their dewy cups in vain; no little Elf lay
hidden there, and she turned sadly from them all, saying, “I will go
out into the fields and woods, and seek her there. I will not listen to
this tiresome music more, nor wear this withered flower longer.” So out
into the fields she went, where the long grass rustled as she passed,
and timid birds looked at her from their nests; where lovely
wild-flowers nodded in the wind, and opened wide their fragrant leaves,
to welcome in the murmuring bees, while butterflies, like winged
flowers, danced and glittered in the sun.
Little Annie looked, searched, and asked them all if any one could tell
her of the Fairy whom she sought; but the birds looked wonderingly at
her with their soft, bright eyes, and still sang on; the flowers nodded
wisely on their stems, but did not speak, while butterfly and bee
buzzed and fluttered away, one far too busy, the other too idle, to
stay and tell her what she asked.
Then she went through broad fields of yellow grain, that waved around
her like a golden forest; here crickets chirped, grasshoppers leaped,
and busy ants worked, but they could not tell her what she longed to
know.
“Now will I go among the hills,” said Annie, “she may be there.” So up
and down the green hill-sides went her little feet; long she searched
and vainly she called; but still no Fairy came. Then by the river-side
she went, and asked the gay dragon-flies, and the cool white lilies, if
the Fairy had been there; but the blue waves rippled on the white sand
at her feet, and no voice answered her.
Then into the forest little Annie went; and as she passed along the
dim, cool paths, the wood-flowers smiled up in her face, gay squirrels
peeped at her, as they swung amid the vines, and doves cooed softly as
she wandered by; but none could answer her. So, weary with her long and
useless search, she sat amid the ferns, and feasted on the rosy
strawberries that grew beside her, watching meanwhile the crimson
evening clouds that glowed around the setting sun.
The night-wind rustled through the boughs, rocking the flowers to
sleep; the wild birds sang their evening hymns, and all within the wood
grew calm and still; paler and paler grew the purple light, lower and
lower drooped little Annie’s head, the tall ferns bent to shield her
from the dew, the whispering pines sang a soft lullaby; and when the
Autumn moon rose up, her silver light shone on the child, where,
pillowed on green moss, she lay asleep amid the wood-flowers in the dim
old forest.
And all night long beside her stood the Fairy she had sought, and by
elfin spell and charm sent to the sleeping child this dream.
Little Annie dreamed she sat in her own garden, as she had often sat
before, with angry feelings in her heart, and unkind words upon her
lips. The magic flower was ringing its soft warning, but she paid no
heed to anything, save her own troubled thoughts; thus she sat, when
suddenly a low voice whispered in her ear,—
“Little Annie, look and see the evil things that you are cherishing; I
will clothe in fitting shapes the thoughts and feelings that now dwell
within your heart, and you shall see how great their power becomes,
unless you banish them for ever.”
Then Annie saw, with fear and wonder, that the angry words she uttered
changed to dark, unlovely forms, each showing plainly from what fault
or passion it had sprung. Some of the shapes had scowling faces and
bright, fiery eyes; these were the spirits of Anger. Others, with
sullen, anxious looks, seemed gathering up all they could reach, and
Annie saw that the more they gained, the less they seemed to have; and
these she knew were shapes of Selfishness. Spirits of Pride were there,
who folded their shadowy garments round them, and turned scornfully
away from all the rest. These and many others little Annie saw, which
had come from her own heart, and taken form before her eyes.
When first she saw them, they were small and weak; but as she looked
they seemed to grow and gather strength, and each gained a strange
power over her. She could not drive them from her sight, and they grew
ever stronger, darker, and more unlovely to her eyes. They seemed to
cast black shadows over all around, to dim the sunshine, blight the
flowers, and drive away all bright and lovely things; while rising
slowly round her Annie saw a high, dark wall, that seemed to shut out
everything she loved; she dared not move, or speak, but, with a strange
fear at her heart, sat watching the dim shapes that hovered round her.
Higher and higher rose the shadowy wall, slowly the flowers near her
died, lingeringly the sunlight faded; but at last they both were gone,
and left her all alone behind the gloomy wall. Then the spirits
gathered round her, whispering strange things in her ear, bidding her
obey, for by her own will she had yielded up her heart to be their
home, and she was now their slave. Then she could hear no more, but,
sinking down among the withered flowers, wept sad and bitter tears, for
her lost liberty and joy; then through the gloom there shone a faint,
soft light, and on her breast she saw her fairy flower, upon whose
snow-white leaves her tears lay shining.
Clearer and brighter grew the radiant light, till the evil spirits
turned away to the dark shadow of the wall, and left the child alone.
The light and perfume of the flower seemed to bring new strength to
Annie, and she rose up, saying, as she bent to kiss the blossom on her
breast, “Dear flower, help and guide me now, and I will listen to your
voice, and cheerfully obey my faithful fairy bell.”
Then in her dream she felt how hard the spirits tried to tempt and
trouble her, and how, but for her flower, they would have led her back,
and made all dark and dreary as before. Long and hard she struggled,
and tears often fell; but after each new trial, brighter shone her
magic flower, and sweeter grew its breath, while the spirits lost still
more their power to tempt her. Meanwhile, green, flowering vines crept
up the high, dark wall, and hid its roughness from her sight; and over
these she watched most tenderly, for soon, wherever green leaves and
flowers bloomed, the wall beneath grew weak, and fell apart. Thus
little Annie worked and hoped, till one by one the evil spirits fled
away, and in their place came shining forms, with gentle eyes and
smiling lips, who gathered round her with such loving words, and
brought such strength and joy to Annie’s heart, that nothing evil dared
to enter in; while slowly sank the gloomy wall, and, over wreaths of
fragrant flowers, she passed out into the pleasant world again, the
fairy gift no longer pale and drooping, but now shining like a star
upon her breast.
Then the low voice spoke again in Annie’s sleeping ear, saying, “The
dark, unlovely passions you have looked upon are in your heart; watch
well while they are few and weak, lest they should darken your whole
life, and shut out love and happiness for ever. Remember well the
lesson of the dream, dear child, and let the shining spirits make your
heart their home.”
And with that voice sounding in her ear, little Annie woke to find it
was a dream; but like other dreams it did not pass away; and as she sat
alone, bathed in the rosy morning light, and watched the forest waken
into life, she thought of the strange forms she had seen, and, looking
down upon the flower on her breast, she silently resolved to strive, as
she had striven in her dream, to bring back light and beauty to its
faded leaves, by being what the Fairy hoped to render her, a patient,
gentle little child. And as the thought came to her mind, the flower
raised its drooping head, and, looking up into the earnest little face
bent over it, seemed by its fragrant breath to answer Annie’s silent
thought, and strengthen her for what might come.
Meanwhile the forest was astir, birds sang their gay good-morrows from
tree to tree, while leaf and flower turned to greet the sun, who rose
up smiling on the world; and so beneath the forest boughs and through
the dewy fields went little Annie home, better and wiser for her dream.
Autumn flowers were dead and gone, yellow leaves lay rustling on the
ground, bleak winds went whistling through the naked trees, and cold,
white Winter snow fell softly down; yet now, when all without looked
dark and dreary, on little Annie’s breast the fairy flower bloomed more
beautiful than ever. The memory of her forest dream had never passed
away, and through trial and temptation she had been true, and kept her
resolution still unbroken; seldom now did the warning bell sound in her
ear, and seldom did the flower’s fragrance cease to float about her, or
the fairy light to brighten all whereon it fell.
So, through the long, cold Winter, little Annie dwelt like a sunbeam in
her home, each day growing richer in the love of others, and happier in
herself; often was she tempted, but, remembering her dream, she
listened only to the music of the fairy bell, and the unkind thought or
feeling fled away, the smiling spirits of gentleness and love nestled
in her heart, and all was bright again.
So better and happier grew the child, fairer and sweeter grew the
flower, till Spring came smiling over the earth, and woke the flowers,
set free the streams, and welcomed back the birds; then daily did the
happy child sit among her flowers, longing for the gentle Elf to come
again, that she might tell her gratitude for all the magic gift had
done.
At length, one day, as she sat singing in the sunny nook where all her
fairest flowers bloomed, weary with gazing at the far-off sky for the
little form she hoped would come, she bent to look with joyful love
upon her bosom flower; and as she looked, its folded leaves spread wide
apart, and, rising slowly from the deep white cup, appeared the smiling
face of the lovely Elf whose coming she had waited for so long.
“Dear Annie, look for me no longer; I am here on your own breast, for
you have learned to love my gift, and it has done its work most
faithfully and well,” the Fairy said, as she looked into the happy
child’s bright face, and laid her little arms most tenderly about her
neck.
“And now have I brought another gift from Fairy-Land, as a fit reward
for you, dear child,” she said, when Annie had told all her gratitude
and love; then, touching the child with her shining wand, the Fairy bid
her look and listen silently.
And suddenly the world seemed changed to Annie; for the air was filled
with strange, sweet sounds, and all around her floated lovely forms. In
every flower sat little smiling Elves, singing gayly as they rocked
amid the leaves. On every breeze, bright, airy spirits came floating
by; some fanned her cheek with their cool breath, and waved her long
hair to and fro, while others rang the flower-bells, and made a
pleasant rustling among the leaves. In the fountain, where the water
danced and sparkled in the sun, astride of every drop she saw merry
little spirits, who plashed and floated in the clear, cool waves, and
sang as gayly as the flowers, on whom they scattered glittering dew.
The tall trees, as their branches rustled in the wind, sang a low,
dreamy song, while the waving grass was filled with little voices she
had never heard before. Butterflies whispered lovely tales in her ear,
and birds sang cheerful songs in a sweet language she had never
understood before. Earth and air seemed filled with beauty and with
music she had never dreamed of until now.
“O tell me what it means, dear Fairy! is it another and a lovelier
dream, or is the earth in truth so beautiful as this?” she cried,
looking with wondering joy upon the Elf, who lay upon the flower in her
breast.
“Yes, it is true, dear child,” replied the Fairy, “and few are the
mortals to whom we give this lovely gift; what to you is now so full of
music and of light, to others is but a pleasant summer world; they
never know the language of butterfly or bird or flower, and they are
blind to all that I have given you the power to see. These fair things
are your friends and playmates now, and they will teach you many
pleasant lessons, and give you many happy hours; while the garden where
you once sat, weeping sad and bitter tears, is now brightened by your
own happiness, filled with loving friends by your own kindly thoughts
and feelings; and thus rendered a pleasant summer home for the gentle,
happy child, whose bosom flower will never fade. And now, dear Annie, I
must go; but every Springtime, with the earliest flowers, will I come
again to visit you, and bring some fairy gift. Guard well the magic
flower, that I may find all fair and bright when next I come.”
Then, with a kind farewell, the gentle Fairy floated upward through the
sunny air, smiling down upon the child, until she vanished in the soft,
white clouds, and little Annie stood alone in her enchanted garden,
where all was brightened with the radiant light, and fragrant with the
perfume of her fairy flower.
When Moonlight ceased, Summer-Wind laid down her rose-leaf fan, and,
leaning back in her acorn cup, told this tale of