Through fogs, and mists, and damps she wades,
To Proserpine the Queen of Shades,
To treat, that it would please her
The cause into her hands to take,
For ancient love and friendship’s sake,
And soon thereof an end to make,
Which of much care would ease her.
Awhile there let we Mab alone,
And come we to King Oberon,
Who arm’d to meet his foe is gone,
For proud Pigwiggen crying:
Who sought the Fairy King as fast,
And had so well his journies cast,
That he arrivèd at the last,
His puissant foe espying.
Stout Tomalin came with the King,
Tom Thumb doth on Pigwiggen bring,
That perfect were in ev’rything
To single fights belonging:
And therefore they themselves engage,
To see them exercise their rage,
With fair and comely equipage,
Not one the other wronging.
So like in arms these champions were,
As they had been a very pair,
So that a man could almost swear
That either had been either:
Their furious steeds began to neigh,
That they were heard a mighty way:
Their staves upon their rests they lay;
Yet ere they flew together,
Their seconds minister an oath,
Which was indifferent to them both,
That on their knightly faith and troth,
No magic them supplied;
And sought them that they had no charms,
Wherewith to work each other’s harms,
But come with simple open arms,
To have their causes tried.
Together furiously they ran,
That to the ground came horse and man;
The blood out of their helmets span,
So sharp were their encounters:
And though they to the earth were thrown,
Yet quickly they regain’d their own;
Such nimbleness was never shewn,
They were two gallant mounters.
When in a second course again,
They forward came with might and main,
Yet which had better of the twain,
The seconds could not judge yet:
Their shields were into pieces cleft,
Their helmets from their heads were ’reft,
And to defend them nothing left,
These champions would not budge yet.
Away from them their staves they threw,
Their cruel swords they quickly drew,
And freshly they the fight renew,
They every stroke redoubled:
Which made Proserpina take heed,
And make to them the greater speed,
For fear lest they too much should bleed,
Which wond’rously her troubled.
When to th’ infernal Styx she goes,
She take the fogs from thence that rose,
And in a bag doth them enclose,
When well she had them blended:
She hies her then to Lethe spring,
A bottle and thereof doth bring,
Wherewith she meant to work the thing
Which only she intended.
Now Proserpine with Mab is gone
Unto the place where Oberon
And proud Pigwiggen, one to one,
Both to be slain were likely:
And there themselves they closely hide,
Because they would not be espy’d;
For Prosperpine meant to decide
The matter very quickly.
And suddenly unties the poke,
Which out of it sent such a smoke,
As ready was them all to choke,
So grievous was the pother:
So that the knights each other lost,
And stood as still as any post,
Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast
Themselves of any other.
But when the mist ’gan somewhat cease,
Proserpina commandeth peace,
And that a while they should release
Each other of their peril:
“Which here (quoth she) I do proclaim
To all, in dreadful Pluto’s name,
That as ye will eschew his blame,
You let me hear the quarrel.
“But here yourselves you must engage,
Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage,
Your grievous thirst and to assuage,
That first you drink this liquor;
Which shall your understandings clear,
As plainly shall to you appear,
Those things from me that you shall hear,
Conceiving much the quicker.”
This Lethe water, you must know,
The memory destroyeth so,
That of our weal, or of our woe,
It all remembrance blotted,
Of it nor can you ever think:
For they no sooner took this drink,
But nought into their brains could sink,
Of what had them besotted.
King Oberon forgotten had
That he for jealousy ran mad;
But of his queen was wond’rous glad,
And ask’d how they came thither.
Pigwiggen likewise doth forget
That he Queen Mab had ever met,
Or that they were so hard beset
When they were found together.
Nor either of ’em both had thought
That e’er they had each other fought,
Much less that they a combat sought,
But such a dream were loathing.
Tom Thumb had got a little sup,
And Tomalin scarce kiss’d the cup,
Yet had their brains so sure lockt up,
That they remember’d nothing.
Queen Mab and her light maids the while
Amongst themselves do closely smile,
To see the king caught with this wile,
With one another jesting:
And to the Fairy Court they went,
With mickle joy and merriment,
Which thing was done with good intent;
And thus I left them feasting.
MICHAEL DRAYTON.
PRINCE BRIGHTKIN.
SCENE: _A Forest in Fairyland_.
DAWN.
_First Fairy._ Fairies and Elves!
Shadows of night
Pale and grow thin,
Branches are stirr’d;
Rouse up yourselves;
Sing to the light,
Fairies, begin,—
Hark, there’s a bird!
_Second._ For dreams are now fading,
Old thoughts in new morning;
Dull spectres and goblins
To dungeon must fly.
The starry night changeth,
Its low stars are setting,
Its lofty stars dwindle
And hide in the sky.
_First._ Fairies, awake!
Light on the hills!
Blossom and grass
Tremble with dew;
Gambols the snake,
Merry bird shrills,
Honey-bees pass,
Morning is new.
_Second._ Pure joy of the cloudlets,
All rippled in crimson!
Afar over world’s edge
The night-fear is roll’d;
O look how the Great One
Uplifts himself kingly;
At once the wide morning
Is flooded with gold!
_First._ Fairies, arouse!
Mix with your song
Harplet and pipe,
Thrilling and clear.
Swarm on the boughs!
Chant in a throng!
Morning is ripe,
Waiting to hear.
_Second._ The merle and the skylark
Will hush for our chorus,
Quick wavelets of music,
Begin them anon!
Good-luck comes to all things
That hear us and hearken,—
Our myriads of voices
Commingling in one.
_General Chorus._ Golden, golden
Light unfolding,
Busily, merrily, work and play,
In flowery meadows,
And forest-shadows,
All the length of a summer day!
All the length of a summer day!
Sprightly, lightly,
Sing we rightly!
Moments brightly hurry away!
Fruit-tree blossoms,
And roses’ bosoms—
Clear blue sky of a summer day!
Dear blue sky of a summer day!
Springlets, brooklets,
Greeny nooklets,
Hill and valley, and salt-sea spray!
Comrade rovers,
Fairy lovers,—
All the length of a summer day!
All the livelong summer day!
FORENOON.
_Enter two Fairies_ (ROSLING _and_ Another) _separately_.
_First._ Greeting, brother!
_Second._ Greet thee well!
Hast thou any news to tell?
How goes sunshine?
_First._ Flowers of noon
All their eyes will open soon,
While ours are closing. What hast done
Since the rising of the sun?
_Second._ Four wild snails I’ve taught their paces,
Pick’d the best ones for the races.
Thou?
_First._ Where luscious dewdrops lurk,
I with fifty went to work,
Catching delicious wine that wets
The warm blue heart of violets;
Last moon it was hawthorn-flower,
Next moon ’twill be virgin’s bower,
Moon by moon, the varied rose,—
To seal in flasks for winter mirth,
When frost and darkness wrap the earth.
Which wine delights you, fay?
_Second._ All those;
But none is like the Wine of Rose.
With Wine of Rose,
In midst of snows
The sunny season flows and glows!
_First._ Elf, thou lovest best, I think,
The time to sit in a cave and drink.
_Second._ Is’t not well to have good reason,
Thus, for loving every season?
White-rose wine
Is pure and fine,
But red-rose dew, dear tipple of mine!
The red flow’rs bud
In our summery blood,
And the nightingale sings in our brain like a wood.
_First._ Some who came a-gathering dew,
Tasting, sipping, fresh and new,
Tumbled down, an idle crew,
And there among the grass they lie,
Under a toadstool; any fly
May nip their foolish noses!
_Second._ Soon
We shall hear the Call of Noon.
_First._ They cannot stir to any tune.
No evening feast for them, be sure,
But far-off sentry on the moor.
Whence that sound of music?—hist!
_Second._ Klingoling, chief lutanist,
A hundred song-birds in a ring
Is teaching all this morn to sing
Together featly, so to fill
The wedding-music,—loud and shrill,
Soft and sweet, and high and low,
Singled, mingled. He doth know
The art to make a hundred heard
Like one great surprising bird.
_First._ Here comes Rosling! He’ll report
All the doings of the Court.
_Enter a Third Fairy._
Greeting, brothers!
_First._ Greet thee well!
Hast thou any news to tell?
Our Princess dear, what shadow lies
Drooping on her blissful eyes?
Her suitors plague her?—is it so?
_Third._ So in truth it is. But, lo!
Who comes our way? Fairy, whence?
Thou’rt a stranger.
_Enter a Fourth Fairy._
No offence,
I trust, altho’ my cap is blue,
While yours are green as any leaf.
Courteous fays! No spy or thief
Is here, but one who longs to view
Your famous Forest; chiefly there
Your Princess fair, the praised in song
Wheresoever fairies throng.
Oft you see her?
_Third._ Every day.
_Fourth._ And is she lovely as they say?
_Third._ Thou hast not seen her? Dost thou think
Blue and golden, white and pink,
Could paint the magic of her face?
All common beauty’s highest place
Being under hers how far!—
_Fourth._ How far?
_Third._ A glow-worm to the evening star.
_First._ Scarce Klingoling could say so well!
’Tis true: so much she doth excel.
Come, fairy, to our feast to-night,
Two hours from sunset; then you may
See the Forest-Realm’s Delight.
_Fourth._ But were it not presumptuous?
_First._ Nay,
Thou art, I ween, a gentle fay,
And sure of welcome.
_Fourth._ It is said
Her Highness shortly means to wed!
_Third._ Next full moon, by fairy law,
She must marry, no escape,
Were it marsh-sprite, kobold, shape
Creeping from earth-hole with horn and claw!
_Fourth._ And hath she now a suitor?
_Third._ Three;
Bloatling, Rudling, Loftling; she
Loathes them all impartially.
The first is ugly, fat, and rich,
Grandson of a miser witch;
He sends her bossy peonies,
Fat as himself, to please her eyes,
And double poppies, mock flow’rs made
In clumsy gold, for brag display’d;
Ten of the broadest shoulder’d elves
To carry one must strain themselves.
_First._ Aye! so I’ve seen them.
_Second._ This is more
Than I ever heard before.
_Third._ Field-marshal Rudling, soldier fay,
His beard a broom to sweep away
Opposition, with his frown
Biddeth common fairies, “Down!
Down on your knees!” and then his smile,
Our lovely Lady’s heart to wile—
Soft as a rat-trap! and his voice—
Angry jay makes no such noise
When bold marauders threat (as you,
Little Jinkling, sometimes do)
Her freckled eggs.
_Fourth._ And Loftling?
_Third._ True,
Prince Loftling’s chin, so grand is he,
Is where another’s nose would be;
His proud backbone the wrong way bends
With nobleness. He condescends
To come in state to our poor wood;
And then ’tis always understood
We silence every prattling bird,
Nor must one grasshopper be heard;
Which tasks our people; she, meanwhile,
Our Lady, half dead with his vile
Ceremonial and precision,—
“Madam, with your august permission,
I have the honour to remark—
Ah hum! ah haw!” from dawn to dark.
_Fourth._ He will not win her!
_Third._ No, no, no!
Dreary the wood if that were so,
Good stranger. But enough, I ween,
Of gossip now.
_Fourth._ Kind Caps o’ Green,
I thank ye for your courtesies!
Brightkin’s my name, my country lies
Round that blue peak your scout espies
From loftiest fir-tree on the skies
Of sunset. So I take my leave
Till the drawing-on of eve.
_First._ They call me Rosling, gentle fay.
Adieu! forget not; here I’ll stay
To meet thee and to show the way.
_All._ Adieu! adieu! till close of day.
THE NOON CALL.
Hear the call!
Fays, be still!
Noon is deep
On vale and hill.
Stir no sound
The Forest round!
Let all things hush
That fly or creep,—
Tree and bush,
Air and ground!
Hear the call!
Silence keep!
One and all
Hush and sleep!
NEAR SUNSET.
_Two Fairies_: ROSLING and JINKLING.
_Ros._ Little Jinkling! friend of mine!
Where dost lurk when fairies dine?
At the banquet round and round
Searching, thee I never found.
Comest thou late? The feast is done;
Slowly sinks the mighty sun.
_Jink._ Nay, fay! I was far away.
Over the tree-tops did I soar
Twenty leagues and twenty more.
Swift and high goes the dragon-fly,
And steady the death’s-head moth,
But the little bird with his beak awry
Is a better saddle than both!
The lovely Lady of Elfin-Mere,
I had a message for her ear.
_Ros._ Of state?
_Jink._ Of state: of import great,
I must not even to thee relate.
_Ros._ And is she fair?
_Jink._ Thrice fair is she;
The pearly moon less delicately
Comes shining onward than this Lady
From her water-palace shady
Floats across the lucent lake,
And all her starry lilies make
Obeisance; every water-sprite
Gazing after with delight,
Only wishing he might dare
Just to touch her streaming hair,
Meanwhile, crowds of fairies glide
Over, under, the crystal tide,
Some on swimming-birds astride,
Some with merry fishes at play,
Darting round her rippling way.
_Ros._ There was your banquet!
_Jink._ There indeed,
Among the lily and the reed.
Wavy music, as we feasted,
Floating round us while we floated,
Soothed our pleasure and increased it;
Mirth and jest more briskly glancing
Than the water-diamonds dancing
Down the lake where sunshine smote it.
Bright and gay!—might not stay!—
White the hand I kiss’d, O fay,
Leap’d on my bird, and sped away.
Hast any news to tell me?
_Ros._ Much!
Never didst thou hear of such.
_Jink._ A fight with spiders?—hornets?—perils
Teasing owls, or chasing squirrels?
Or some little elf, poor soul,
Lost in a winding rabbit-hole?
Are the royal trees in danger?
_Ros._ Dost thou mind the Blue-cap Stranger,
Brightkin by his name, that we
Met ere noontide lullaby?
_Jink._ Came he to your Feast?
_Ros._ My friend,
Ask no more questions, but attend!
To the Feast he came with me,
The chamberlain most courteously
Placing us nigh the upper end.
Her Highness bow’d, and Brightkin gazed
On her face like one amazed,
While our Beauty’s tender eyes
Rested with a sweet surprise
Upon the stranger-fairy: round
Went cates and wines, and Klingoling
With five new birds began to sing.
Then came a page on errand bound
To ask the stranger’s name and realm:
“Brightkin of the Purple Helm,
From the Blue Mountain, fairy knight,
Flown thence to view the Forest,—might
It please her Highness.” It did please.
So by and by we sat at ease
In shadowy bow’r, a favour’d ring,
Now talking, now with Klingoling
Join’d in a waft of harmony;
And evermore there seem’d to be
’Twixt Brightkin and our Princess dear
A concord, more than string with string
And voice with voice rejoice one’s ear.
And then _he_ took the lute and sung,
With modest grace and skilfully,
For tipt with honey seem’d his tongue;
At first a murmuring melody,
Like the far song of falling rills
Amid the foldings of the hills,
And ever nearer as it flew,
Shaping its figure, like a bird,
Till into Love’s own form it grew
In every lovely note and word.
So sweet a song we never heard!
When, think what came?
_Jink._ I cannot think.
_Ros._ A trumpet-blast that made us wink!
A hailstorm upon basking flowers!
Quick, sharp!—we started to our feet,
All save her Highness, mild and sweet,
Who said, “See who invades our bowers.”
_Jink._ Who was it, Rosling? quickly say!
_Ros._ The King of the Blue Mountains, fay,
Seeking audience, without delay.
Fierce and frowning his look at first,
Like that uncivil trumpet-burst;
But all his blackness alter’d soon,
Like clouds that melt upon the moon,
Before the gentle dignity
Of Her, Titania’s child, whom we
Obey and love.
_Jink._ Blest may she be!
But wherefore came the haughty King?
_Ros._ Hear briefly an unusual thing.
His only Son, the prince and heir,
Kept with too strict and jealous care
Within the mountain boundaries,
To-day o’erleaps them all, and flies,
No elf knows whither: flies to-day—
The Lord of Gnomes being on his way,
Bringing to that mountain Court
His gem-clad heiress. Here was sport!
Then couriers told the angry king
They saw the Prince on gray-dove’s wing
Threading our forest; and again
That he had join’d our Lady’s train.
“Madam! is’t so?” “If this be so,
Great sir, I nothing know.” When lo!
Brightkin outspringing kneels. “My son!”
Exclaims the king—“Ho! seize and bind him!”
But swift her Highness—“Stay! let none
Move hand or foot! Great King, you find him
Here in the Forest-Realm, my rule
Whereof no fairy power may school,
Saving imperial Oberon.
Free came he hither, free shall go.”
Then says the Prince, “If you command,
I leave you, Pride of Fairyland,
Else never!” Briefly now to tell,
As briefly all these things befell,
’Twas clear as new-born star they loved;
The Mountain-King their love approved;
And all were happy.
_Jink._ Where are they,
The King and Prince?
_Ros._ They fly away
On the sunset’s latest ray.
To-morrow they will come again,
With a countless noble train:
And next full moon—the Wedding Feast!
_Jink._ O joy! the greatest and the least
Will join the revelry, and bring
A marriage-gift of some fine thing.
I know a present she will prize—
A team of spot-wing’d butterflies,
Right in flight, or else with ease
Winding through the tops of trees,
Or soaring in the summer sky.
_Ros._ Well done, Jinkling!—Now, good-bye;
Sleepy as a field-mouse I,
When paws and snout coil’d he doth lie.
_Jink._ Hark to Klingoling’s lute-playing!
On the poplar-spire a-swaying
Gently to the crescent moon.
_Ros._ I cannot stay to hear the tune.
_Jink._ I linger in the yellow light.
_Ros._ And so, good-night!
_Jink._ And so, good-night!
AFTER SUNSET.
_Klingoling and a Faint Chorus._
Moon soon sets now;
Elves cradled on the bough.
Day’s fays drop asleep;
Dreams through the forest creep.
_Chorus._ When broadens the moonlight, we frolic and jest;
When darkles the forest, we sink into rest.
Shine, fine star above!
Love’s come, happy love!
Haste, happy wedding-night,
Full moon, round and bright!
_Chorus._ And not till her circle is low in the west
We’ll cease from our dancing, or couch us to rest!
Lute, mute fall thy strings!
Hush, every voice that sings!
Fade away, drowsy song,
Dim forest-aisles along!
_Chorus._ Of all thy dear music a love-song is best!
Thou hushest—we’re silent—we sink into rest.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
THE CULPRIT FAY.
I.
’Tis the middle watch of a summer’s night—
The earth is dark but the heavens are bright;
Nought is seen in the vault on high
But the stars, and the moon, and the cloudless sky,
And the flood which rolls its milky hue,
A river of light on the welkin blue.
The moon looks down on old Cronest,
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.
II.
The stars are on the moving stream,
And fling, as its ripples gently flow,
A burnished 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 nought is heard on the lonely hill
But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill
Of the gauze-winged Katy-did;
And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will,
Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings,
Ever a note of wail and wo,
Till morning spreads her rosy wings,
And earth and sky in her glances glow.
III.
’Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell,
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well,
He has counted them all with click and stroke,
Deep in the heart of the mountain oak,
And he has awakened 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.”
IV.
They come from beds of lichen green,
They creep from the mullen’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 rocked about in the evening breeze;
Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest—
And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,
Had slumbered there till the charmed hour;
Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,
With glittering ising-stars inlaid,
And some had opened 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 arrayed
In the tricksey pomp of fairy pride!
V.
They come not now to print the lea,
In freak and dance around the tree,
Or at the mushroom board to sup,
And drink the dew from the buttercup;—
A scene of sorrow waits them now,
For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow;
He has loved an earthly maid,
And left for her his woodland shade;
He has lain upon her lip of dew,
And sunned him in her eye of blue,
Fanned her cheek with his wing of air,
Played in the ringlets of her hair,
And, nestling on her snowy breast,
Forgot the lily-king’s behest.
For this the shadowy tribes of air
To the elfin court must haste away:—
And now they stand expectant there,
To hear the doom of the Culprit Fay.
VI.
The throne was reared upon the grass
Of spice-wood and of sassafras;
On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell
Hung the burnished canopy—
And o’er it gorgeous curtains fell
Of the tulip’s crimson drapery.
The monarch sat on his judgment-seat,
On his brow the crown imperial shone,
The prisoner Fay was at his feet,
And his peers were ranged around the throne.
He waved his sceptre in the air,
He looked around and calmly spoke;
His brow was grave and his eye severe,
But his voice in a softened accent broke:—
VII.
“Fairy! Fairy! list and mark,
Thou has broke thine elfin chain,
Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,
And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain—
Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity
In the glance of a mortal maiden’s eye;
Thou hast scorned our dread decree,
And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high,
But well I know her sinless mind
Is pure as the angel forms above,
Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind,
Such as a spirit well might love;
Fairy! had she spot or taint,
Bitter had been thy punishment.
Tied to the hornet’s shardy wings;
Tossed on the pricks of nettles’ stings;
Or seven long ages doomed to dwell
With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell;
Or every night to writhe and bleed
Beneath the tread of the centipede;
Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim,
Your jailer a spider huge and grim,
Amid the carrion bodies to lie,
Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly:
These it had been your lot to bear,
Had a stain been found on the earthly fair.
Now list, and mark our mild decree—
Fairy, this your doom must be:—
VIII.
“Thou shalt seek the beach of sand
Where the water bounds the elfin land,
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine
Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine,
Then dart the glistening arch below,
And catch a drop from his glistening bow.
The water-sprites will wield their arms,
And dash around, with roar and rave,
And vain are the woodland spirits’ charms,
They are the imps that rule the wave.
Yet trust thee in thy single might,
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right,
Thou shalt win the warlock fight.
IX.
“If the spray-bead gem be won,
The stain of thy wing is washed away,
But another errand must be done
Ere thy crime be lost for aye;
Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,
Thou must reillume its spark.
Mount thy steed and spur him high
To the heaven’s blue canopy;
And when thou seest a shooting star,
Follow it fast, and follow it far—The
last faint spark of its burning train
Shall light the elfin lamp again.
Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay;
Hence! to the water-side, away!”
X.