His cheeks like the rose’s hue;
The Elfin-King, like the merlin’s wing
Are his pinions of glossy blue.”
“No Elfin-King, with azure wing,
On the dark brown moor I see;
But a courser keen, and a Knight in Green,
And full fair I ween is he.
“Nor Elfin-King, nor azure wing,
Nor ringlets sparkling bright;”
Sir Geoffrey cried, and forward hied
To join the stranger Knight.
He knew not the path of the lonely strath,
Where the Elfin-King went his round;
Or he never had gone with the Green Knight on,
Nor trod the charmèd ground.
How swift they flew! no eye could view
Their track on heath or hill;
Yet swift across both moor and moss
St. Clair did follow still.
And soon was seen a circle green,
Where a shadowy wassel crew
Amid the ring did dance and sing,
In weeds of watchet blue.
And the windlestrae,[2] so limber and grey,
Did shiver beneath the tread
Of the coursers’ feet, as they rushed to meet
The morrice of the dead.
“Come here, come here, with thy green fere,
Before the bread be stale;
To roundel dance with speed advance,
And taste our wassel ale.”
Then up to the Knight came a grizly wight,
And sounded in his ear,
“Sir Knight, eschew this goblin crew,
Nor taste their ghostly cheer.”
The tabors rung, the lilts were sung,
And the Knight the dance did lead;
But the maidens fair seemed round him to stare,
With eyes like the glassy bead.
The glance of their eye, so cold and so dry,
Did almost his heart appal;
Their motion is swift, but their limbs they lift
Like stony statues all.
Again to the Knight came the grizly wight,
When the rounded dance was o’er;
“Sir Knight, eschew this goblin crew,
Or rue for evermore.”
But forward pressed the dauntless guest
To the tables of ezlar red,
And there was seen the Knight in Green,
To grace the fair board head.
And before that Knight was a goblet bright
Of emerald smooth and green,
The fretted brim was studded full trim
With mountain rubies’ sheen.
Sir Geoffrey the Bold of the cup laid hold
With health-ale mantling o’er;
And he saw as he drank that the ale never shrank
But mantled as before.
Then Sir Geoffrey grew pale as he quaffed the ale,
And cold as the corpse of clay;
And with horny beak the ravens did shriek,
And fluttered o’er their prey.
But soon throughout the revel rout
A strange commotion ran,
For beyond the round they heard the sound
Of the steps of an uncharmed man.
And soon to St. Clair the grim wight did repair,
From the midst of the wassel crew;
“Sir Knight, beware of the revellers there,
Nor do as they bid thee do.”
“What woeful wight art thou?” said the Knight,
“To haunt this wassel fray?”
“I was once,” quoth he, “a mortal, like thee,
Though now I’m an elfin grey.
“And the Knight so bold as the corpse lies cold,
Who trode the greensward ring;
He must wander along with that restless throng,
For aye, with the Elfin-King.
“With the restless crew, in weeds so blue,
The hapless Knight must wend;
Nor ever be seen on haunted green
Till the weary seven years’ end.
“Fair is the mien of the Knight in Green,
And bright his sparkling hair;
’Tis hard to believe how malice can live
In the breast of aught so fair.
“And light and fair are the fields of air,
Where he wanders to and fro;
Still doomed to fleet from the regions of heat
To the realms of endless snow.
“When high overhead fall the streamers[3] red,
He views the blessed afar;
And in stern despair darts through the air
To earth, like a falling star.
“With his shadowy crew, in weeds so blue,
That Knight for aye must run;
Except thou succeed in a perilous deed,
Unseen by the holy sun.
“Who ventures the deed, and fails to succeed,
Perforce must join the crew.”
“Then brief, declare,” said the brave St. Clair,
“A deed that a Knight may do.”
“’Mid the sleet and the rain thou must here remain
By the haunted greensward ring,
Till the dance wax slow, and the song faint and low,
Which the crew unearthly sing.
“Then right at the time of the matin chime,
Thou must tread the unhallowed ground,
And with mystic pace the circles trace
That inclose it nine times round.
“And next thou must pass the rank green grass
To the tables of ezlar red;
And the goblet clear away thou must bear,
Nor behind thee turn thy head.
“And ever anon as thou treadest upon
The sward of the green charmed ring,
Be no word expressed in that space unblessed
That ’longeth of holy thing.
“For the charmed ground is all unsound,
And the lake spreads wide below,
And the Water-Fiend there, with the Fiend of Air,
Is leagued for mortals’ woe.”
’Mid the sleet and the rain did St. Clair remain
Till the evening star did rise;
And the rout so gay did dwindle away
To the eldritch dwarfy size.
When the moonbeams pale fell through the white hail,
With a wan and a watery ray,
Sad notes of woe seemed round him to grow,
The dirge of the elfins grey.
And right at the time of the matin chime
His mystic pace began,
And murmurs deep around him did creep
Like the moans of a murdered man.
The matin bell was tolling farewell
When he reached the central ring,
And there he beheld, to ice congealed,
That crew, with the Elfin-King.
For aye, at the knell of the matin bell,
When the black monks wend to pray,
The spirits unblessed have a glimpse of rest
Before the dawn of day.
The sigh of the trees, and the rush of the breeze,
Then pause on the lonely hill;
And the frost of the dead clings round their head,
And they slumber cold and still.
The Knight took up the emerald cup,
And the ravens hoarse did scream,
And the shuddering elfins half rose up,
And murmured in their dream:
They inwardly mourned, and the thin blood returned
To every icy limb;
And each frozen eye, so cold and so dry,
’Gan roll with lustre dim.
Then brave St. Clair did turn him there
To retrace the mystic track,
He heard the sigh of his lady fair,
Who sobbed behind his back.
He started quick and his heart beat thick,
And he listened in wild amaze;
But the parting bell on his ear it fell,
And he did not turn to gaze.
With panting breast as he forward pressed,
He trod on a mangled head;
And the skull did scream, and the voice did seem
The voice of his mother dead.
He shuddering trode: on the great name of God
He thought—but he nought did say;
And the greensward did shrink, as about to sink,
And loud laughed the Elfins grey.
And loud did resound, o’er the unblessed ground,
The wings of the blue Elf-King;
And the ghostly crew to reach him flew,
But he crossed the charméd ring;
The morning was grey, and dying away
Was the sound of the matin bell;
And far to the west the fays that ne’er rest,
Fled where the moonbeams fell.
And Sir Geoffrey the Bold, on the unhallowed mould,
Arose from the green witch-grass;
And he felt his limbs, like a dead man’s, cold,
And he wist not where he was.
And that cup so rare, which the brave St. Clair
Did bear from the ghostly crew,
Was suddenly changed, from the emerald fair,
To the ragged whinstone blue;
And instead of the ale that mantled there
Was the murky midnight dew.
JOHN LEYDEN.
[2] Rye-grass.
[3] Northern Lights.
THE YOUNG TAMLANE.
“O I forbid ye, maidens a’
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tamlane is there.
“There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh,
But maun leave him a wad,
Either gowd rings or green mantles,
Or else their maidenheid.
“Now gowd rings ye may buy, maidens,
Green mantles ye may spin;
But, gin ye lose your maidenheid,
Ye’ll ne’er get that agen.”—
But up then spake her, fair Janet,
The fairest o’ a’ her kin;
“I’ll cum and gang to Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave o’ him.”
Janet has kilted her green kirtle,
A little abune her knee;
And she has braided her yellow hair,
A little abune her bree.
And when she came to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsell.
She hadna pu’d a red red rose,
A rose but barely three;
Till up and starts a wee wee man,
At lady Janet’s knee.
Says—“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet?
What gars ye break the tree?
Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,
Withouten leave o’ me?”—
Says—“Carterhaugh it is mine ain;
My daddie gave it me;
I’ll come and gang to Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave o’ thee.”
He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
Among the leaves sae green;
And what they did, I cannot tell—
The green leaves were between.
He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
Among the roses red;
And what they did, I cannot say—
She ne’er return’d a maid.
When she came to her father’s ha’,
She looked pale and wan;
They thought she’d dreed some sair sickness,
Or been with some leman.
She didna comb her yellow hair,
Nor make meikle o’ her head;
And ilka thing that lady took,
Was like to be her deid.
It’s four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba’;
Janet, the brightest of them anes,
Was faintest o’ them a’.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess;
And out there came the fair Janet,
As green as any grass.
Out and spak an old grey-headed knight
Lay o’er the castle wa’—
“And ever, alas! for thee, Janet,
But we’ll be blamed a’!”
“Now hand your tongue, ye auld grey knight!
And an ill deid may ye die,
Father my bairn on whom I will
I’ll father nane on thee.”
Out then spake her father dear,
And he spake meek and mild—
“And ever, alas! my sweet Janet,
I fear ye gae with child.”
“And if I be with child, father,
Mysell maun bear the blame;
There’s ne’er a knight about your ha’
Shall hae the bairnie’s name.
“And if I be with child, father,
’Twill prove a wondrous birth,
For weel I swear I’m not wi’ bairn
To any man on earth.
“If my love were an earthly knight,
As he’s an elfin grey,
I wadna gie my ain true love
For nae lord that ye hae.”
She prink’d hersell and prinn’d hersell,
By the ae light o’ the moon,
And she’s away to Carterhaugh,
To speak wi’ young Tamlane.
And when she came to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
But there she saw the steed standing,
But away was himsell.
She hadna pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twae,
When up and started young Tamlane,
Says—“Lady, thou pu’s nae mae!
“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet,
Within this garden grene,
And a’ to kill the bonny babe,
That we got us between?”
“The truth ye’ll tell to me, Tamlane,
A word ye mauna lie;
Gin e’er ye was in haly chapel,
Or sained in Christentie?”—
“The truth I’ll tell to thee, Janet,
A word I winna lie;
A knight me got, and a lady me bore,
As well as they did thee.
“Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,
Dunbar, Earl March, is thine;
We loved when we were children small,
Which yet you well may mind.
“When I was a boy just turn’d of nine,
My uncle sent for me,
To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,
And keep him companie.
“There came a wind out of the north,
A sharp wind and a snell;
And a deep sleep came over me,
And frae my horse I fell.
“The Queen of Fairies keepit me,
In yon green hill to dwell;
And I’m a fairy, lyth and limb;
Fair lady, view me well.
“But we, that live in Fairyland,
No sickness know, nor pain;
I quit my body when I will,
And take to it again.
“I quit my body when I please,
Or unto it repair;
We can inhabit, at our ease,
In either earth or air.
“Our shapes and size we can convert
To either large or small;
An old nutshell’s the same to us
As is the lofty hall.
“We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,
We revel in the stream;
We wanton lightly on the wind,
Or glide on a sunbeam.
“And all our wants are well supplied
From every rich man’s store,
Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,
And vainly grasps for more.
“Then would I never tire, Janet,
In elfish land to dwell;
But aye, at every seven years,
They pay the teind to hell;
And I’m sae fat and fair of flesh,
I fear ’twill be mysell.
“This night is Hallowe’en, Janet,
The morn is Hallowday;
And, gin ye dare your true love win,
Ye hae nae time to stay.
“The night it is good Hallowe’en,
When fairy folk will ride;
And they that wad their true love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide.”—
“But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane?
Or how shall I thee knaw,
Amang so many unearthly knights,
The like I never saw?”—
“The first company that passes by.
Say na, and let them gae;
The next company that passes by,
Say na, and do right sae;
The third company that passes by,
Then I’ll be ane o’ thae.
“First, let pass the black, Janet,
And syne let pass the brown;
But grip ye to the milk-white steed,
And pu’ the rider down.
“For I ride on the milk-white steed,
And aye nearest the town;
Because I was a christen’d knight,
They gave me that renown.
“My right hand will be gloved, Janet,
My left hand will be bare;
And these the tokens I gie thee,
Nae doubt I will be there.
“They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
An adder and a snake,
But haud me fast, let me not pass,
Gin ye would buy me maik.
“They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
An adder and an ask;
They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
A bale that burns fast.
“They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
A red-hot gad o’ airn;
But haud me fast, let me not pass,
For I’ll do you no harm.
“First dip me in a stand o’ milk,
And then in a stand o’ water;
But haud me fast, let me not pass—
I’ll be your bairn’s father.
“And, next, they’ll shape me in your arms
A tod, but and an eel;
But haud me fast, nor let me gang,
As you do love me weel.
“They’ll shape me in your arms, Janet,
A dove, but and a swan;
And last they’ll shape me in your arms
A mother-naked man:
Cast your green mantle over me—
I’ll be myself again.”—
Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eiry was the way,
As fair Janet, in her green mantle,
To Miles Cross she did gae.
The heavens were black, the night was dark,
And dreary was the place;
But Janet stood, with eager wish,
Her lover to embrace.
Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,
A north wind tore the bent;
And she heard strange elritch sounds
Upon that wind which went.
About the dead hour o’ the night
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad o’ that
As any earthly thing.
Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,
The hemlock small blew clear;
And louder notes from hemlock large,
And bog-reed, struck the ear;
But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,
The Fairies cannot bear.
They sing, inspired with love and joy,
Like skylarks in the air;
Of solid sense, or thought that’s grave,
You’ll find no traces there.
Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,
The dreary heath upon;
And louder, louder wax’d the sound,
As they came riding on.
Will o’-Wisp before them went,
Sent forth a twinkling light;
And soon she saw the Fairy bands
All riding in her sight.
And first gaed by the black, black steed,
And then gaed by the brown;
And fast she gript the milk-white steed,
And pu’d the rider down.
She pu’d him frae the milk-white steed,
And loot the bridle fa’;
And up there raise an erlish cry—
“He’s wan among us a’!”—
They shaped him in fair Janet’s arms
An esk, but and an adder;
She held him fast in every shape—
To be her bairn’s father.
They shaped him in her arms at last
A mother-naked man:
She wrapp’d him in her green mantle,
And sae her lover wan!
Up then spake the Queen o’ Fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ broom—
“She that has borrow’d young Tamlane,
Has gotten a stately groom.”—
Up then spake the Queen o’ Fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ rye—
“She’s ta’en away the bonniest knight
In a’ my companie.
“But had I kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“A lady wad borrow’d thee—
I wad ta’en out thy twa grey e’en,
Put in twa e’en o’ tree.
“Had I but kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“Before ye came frae hame—
I wad ta’en out your heart o’ flesh,
Put in a heart o’ stane.
“Had I but had the wit yestreen
That I hae coft the day—
I’d paid my kanes seven times to hell
Ere you’d been won away!”
OLD BALLAD.
THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH.
There came a strange wight to our town-en’,
An’ the fient a body did him ken;
He tirled na lang, but he glided ben
Wi’ a dreary, dreary hum.
His face did glow like the glow o’ the west,
When the drumly cloud has it half o’ercast;
Or the struggling moon when she’s sair distrest,
O sirs, ’twas Aiken-drum.
I trow the bauldest stood aback,
Wi’ a gape an’ a glower till their lugs did crack,
As the shapeless phantom mum’ling spak—
“Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum!”
Oh, had ye seen the bairns’s fright,
As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wight;
As they skulkit in ’tween the dark and the light,
And graned out, “Aiken-drum!”
The black dog, growling, cowered his tail,
The lassie swarfed, loot fa’ the pail;
Rob’s lingle brak as he mendit the flail,
At the sight o’ Aiken-drum.
His matted head on his breast did rest,
A lang blue beard wan’ered down like a vest;
But the glare o’ his ee hath nae bard exprest,
Nor the skimes o’ Aiken-drum.
Roun’ his hairy form there was naething seen
But a philabeg o’ the rashes green,
An’ his knotted knees played aye knoit between—
What a sight was Aiken-drum!
On his wauchie arms three claws did meet,
As they trailed on the grun’ by his taeless feet;
E’en the old gudeman himsel’ did sweat
To look at Aiken-drum.
But he drew a score, himsel’ did sain;
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young one closer clasped her wean,
And turned frae Aiken-drum.
But the canty auld wife cam till her breath,
And she thocht the Bible might ward aff scaith,
Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith—
But it feared na Aiken-drum.
“His presence protect us!” quoth the old gudeman;
“What wad ye, whare won ye, by sea or by lan’?
I conjure ye, speak, by the beuk in my han’!”
What a grane gae Aiken-drum!
“I lived in a lan’ where we saw nae sky,
I dwelt in a spot where a burn rins na by;
But I’se dwall now wi’ you if ye like to try—
Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?
“I’ll shiel a’ your sheep i’ the mornin’ sune,
I’ll berry your crap by the light o’ the moon,
An’ ba the bairns wi’ an unkenned tune,
If ye’ll keep puir Aiken-drum.
“I’ll loup the linn where ye canna wade,
I’ll kirn the kirn, an’ I’ll turn the bread;
An’ the wildest filly that ever ran rede,
I’se tame’t,” quoth Aiken-drum.
“To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell,
To gather the dew frae the heather-bell,
An’ to look at my face i’ your clear crystal well,
Might gie pleasure to Aiken-drum.
“I’se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark;
I use nae beddin’, shoon, nor sark;
But a cogfu’ o’ brose ’tween the light an’ the dark,
Is the wage o’ Aiken-drum.”
Quoth the wylie auld wife: “The thing speaks weel;
Our workers are scant—we hae routh o’ meal;
Gif he’ll do as he says—be he man, be he deil—
Now! we’ll try this Aiken-drum.”
But the wenches skirled: “He’s no be here!
His eldritch look gars us swarf wi’ fear;
An’ the feint a ane will the house come near,
If they think but o’ Aiken-drum.”
“Puir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit;
Is’t na Hallowmas now, an’ the crap out yet?”
Sae she silenced them a’ wi’ a stamp o’ her fit—
“Sit yer wa’s down, Aiken-drum.”
Roun’ a’ that side what wark was dune
By the streamer’s gleam, or the glance o’ the moon;
A word, or a wish, an’ the brownie cam sune,
Sae helpfu’ was Aiken-drum....
On Blednoch banks, an’ on crystal Cree,
For mony a day a toiled wight was he;
While the bairns played harmless roun’ his knee,
Sae social was Aiken-drum.
But a new-made wife, fu’ o’ frippish freaks,
Fond o’ a’ things feat for the first five weeks,
Laid a mouldy pair o’ her ain man’s breeks
By the brose o’ Aiken-drum.
Let the learned decide when they convene
What spell was him an’ the breeks between;
For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen,
An’ sair missed was Aiken-drum.
He was heard by a herd gaun by Thrieve,
Crying: “Lang, lang now may I greet an’ grieve:
For, alas! I hae gotten baith fee an’ leave—
Oh, luckless Aiken-drum.”
Awa’, ye wrangling sceptic tribe,
Wi’ your pros an’ your cons wad ye decide
’Gain the ’sponsible voice o’ a hail country-side,
On the facts ’bout Aiken-drum!
Though the “Brownie o’ Blednoch” lang be gane,
The mark o’ his feet’s left on mony a stane;
An’ mony a wife an’ mony a wean
Tell the feats o’ Aiken-drum.
E’en now, light loons that jibe an’ sneer
At spiritual guests an’ a’ sic gear,
At the Glashnoch mill hae swat wi’ fear,
An’ looked roun’ for Aiken-drum.
An’ guidly folks hae gotten a fright,
When the moon was set, an’ the stars gied nae light,
At the roaring linn, in the howe o’ the night,
Wi’ sighs like Aiken-drum.
WILLIAM NICHOLSON.
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.
I.
Ah, what can ail thee wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight.
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full
And the harvest’s done.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
IV.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
V.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery’s song.
VI.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
VII.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.
VIII.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz’d and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
So kiss’d to sleep.
IX.
And there we slumber’d on the moss,
And there I dream’d, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill-side.
X.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry’d—“La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!”
XI.
I saw their starv’d lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill-side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
JOHN KEATS.
THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE.
In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,
Till spells came o’er him, and, day and night,
He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite!
As once, by moonlight, he wandered o’er
The golden sands of that island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight—
’Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!
Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As bending over the stream he lay,
There peep’d down o’er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.
He turn’d, but lo, like a startled bird,
That spirit fled!—and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.
One night, still haunted by that bright look,
The boy, bewilder’d, his pencil took,
And, guided only by memory’s light,
Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.
“Oh thou, who lovest the shadow,” cried
A voice, low whisp’ring by his side,
“Now turn and see,”—here the youth’s delight
Seal’d the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.
“Of all the Spirits of land and sea,”
Then rapt he murmur’d, “there’s none like thee,
And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light
In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!”
THOMAS MOORE.
THE FAIRY BOY.
A mother came when stars were paling,
Wailing round a lonely spring;
Thus she cried while tears were falling,
Calling on the Fairy King:
“Why with spells my child caressing,
Courting him with fairy joy;
Why destroy a mother’s blessing,
Wherefore steal my baby boy?
“O’er the mountain, through the wild wood,
Where his childhood loved to play;
Where the flowers are freshly springing,
There I wander, day by day.
“There I wander, growing fonder
Of the child that made my joy;
On the echoes wildly calling
To restore my fairy boy.
“But in vain my plaintive calling
Tears are falling all in vain!
He now sports with fairy pleasure,
He’s the treasure of their train!
“Fare thee well, my child, for ever,
In this world I’ve lost my joy,
But in the _next_ we ne’er shall sever,
_There_ I’ll find my angel boy!”
SAMUEL LOVER.
THE FAIRY TEMPTER.
A fair girl was sitting in the greenwood shade,
List’ning to the music the spring birds made;
When sweeter by far than the birds on the tree,
A voice murmur’d near her, “Oh come, love, with me—
In earth or air,
A thing so fair
I have not seen as thee!
Then come, love, with me.”
“With a star for thy home, in a palace of light,
Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night;
Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold,
I will show thee the birthplace of jewels and gold—
And pearly caves
Beneath the waves,
All these, all these are thine,
If thou wilt be mine.”
Thus whisper’d a fairy to tempt the fair girl,
But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl;
For she said, “Tho’ thy gifts to a poor girl were dear,
My father, my mother, my sisters are here:
Oh! what would be
Thy gifts to me
Of earth, and sea, and air,
If my heart were not there?”
SAMUEL LOVER.
THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW. A MIDSUMMER LEGEND.
“And where have you been, my Mary,
And where have you been from me?”
“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low,
The midsummer night to see!”