(_An Excellent Way to get a Fairy_)
Gather, first, in your left hand
(This must be at fall of day)
Forty grains of wild sea-sand
Where you think a mermaid lay.
I have heard that it is best
If you gather it, warm and sweet,
Out of the dint of her left breast
Where you see her heart has beat.
_Out of the dint in that sweet sand
Gather forty grains, I say;
Yet--if it fail you--understand,
There remains a better way._
Out of this you melt your glass
While the veils of night are drawn,
Whispering, till the shadows pass,
"_Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!_"
Then you blow your magic vial,
Shape it like a crescent moon,
Set it up and make your trial,
Singing, "_Elaby, ah, come soon!_"
_Round the cloudy crescent go,
On the hill-top, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tip-toe,
"Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!
Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"_
Bring the blood of a white hen
Slaughtered at the break of day,
While the cock, in the fairy glen,
Thrusts his gold neck every way,
Over the brambles, peering, calling,
Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,
Far and wide--as the dews are falling--
Clamouring, calling, everywhere.
_Round the crimson vial go,
On the hill-top, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tip-toe,
"Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
If this fail, at break of day,
I can show you a better way._
Bring the buds of the hazel-copse,
Where two lovers kissed at noon;
Bring the crushed red wild-thyme tops
Where they murmured under the moon.
Bring the four-leaved clover also,
One of the white, and one of the red,
Bring the flakes of the may that fall so
Lightly over their bridal bed.
_Drop them into the vial--so--
On the hill-top, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tip-toe,
"Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
And, if once will not suffice,
Do it thrice!
If this fail, at break of day,
There remains a better way._
Bring an old and crippled child
--_Ah, tread softly, on tip-toe!_--
Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild,
From that under-world below,
Bring a wizened child of seven
Reeking from the City slime,
Out of hell into your heaven,
Set her knee-deep in the thyme.
_Feed her--clothe her--even so!
Set her on a fairy-throne.
When her eyes begin to glow
Leave her for an hour--alone._
You shall need no spells or charms,
On that hill-top, in that dawn.
When she lifts her wasted arms,
You shall see a veil withdrawn.
There shall be no veil between them,
Though her head be old and wise!
You shall know that she has seen them
By the glory in her eyes.
_Round her irons on that hill
Earth has tossed a fairy fire:
Watch, and listen, and be still,
Lest you baulk your own desire._
When she sees four azure wings
Light upon her claw-like hand;
When she lifts her head and sings,
You shall hear and understand:
You shall hear a bugle calling
Wildly over the dew-dashed down;
And a sound as of the falling
Ramparts of a conquered town.
_You shall hear a sound like thunder;
And a veil shall be withdrawn,
When her eyes grow wide with wonder
On that hill-top, in that dawn._