The Kelpie gallops across the green,
On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind,
With Jessie’s mournful ghost behind.
XXVI.
I warn you, maids, whoever you be,
Beware of pride and vanity;
And ere on change of love you reckon,
Beware the Kelpie of Corrievreckan.
CHARLES MACKAY.
THE ELF OF THE WOODLANDS. A CHILD’S STORY.
In his bed the summer sun is sleeping,
And the air is murky and cool;
The vapours o’er the grass are creeping,
Or hanging above the pool;
But a timid gleam,
Like a half-awake dream,
Comes peering and peeping soon;
Till dew-drops trickle gay
In the spider’s web to play,
And swing in his spangled festoon.
A soft beam tips the trunks and leaves
Of this green silent wood,
And presently a net-work weaves,
And presently a hood;
A net-work and a hood of gold,
Spread in many a lovely fold,
And many a gleaming band,
Silently as minutes, told
Into a Lover’s hand.
Oh, it is a silent wood
In this early summer morning!
Even the birds are not half awake,
But whisper their chirrups in the brake,
Like a prelude of sweet warning.
It is as if the placid hours
Hung their heads like folded flowers,
Or like sweet flowers in bud,
Still and happy, smiling and good,
As children in a morning dream,
Who move not—yet awake they seem,
Their close lids gilded by the beam.
There is a pretty cottage white,
Which also seems asleep,
Dreaming in the early light—
Its very roof and windows sleep!
Each gentle shade that fades away,
Before the rays that following creep,
Is nothing more than dreaming play—
The cottage surely _is_ asleep!
What buzzing tickles yon oak-tree’s foot,
Bustling and busy, with nought to be seen!
There’s something fidgeting at the root,
With a foo-fooing sound like a school-boy’s flute,
And a rattling like pods of dry bean!
See! see! there’s a thing scarce five inches high,
With a comical motion and funny bright eye,
And a look both roguish and bold—
His limbs are all antics—he skips like a flea—
His body is brown as the bark of a tree,
Mix’d with green streaks and tarnish’d gold!
With little legs straddling,
He dances about—
Pretends to be waddling—
Then leaps with a flout
At something he sees in the bright quiet air,
And in front of the cottage he makes antics rare!
He dances, he prances,
Gives hiccups and kick-ups,
But all without noise is his merriment made;
He laughs at the little cot!
Threatens the chimney-pot!
But soft as a moth, or as light plays with shade.
Now he stops—
Now he hops—
Now cautiously trips!
On tip-toe,
And slip-toe
He skuttles and skips;
Along the grass gliding,
Half-dancing—half-sliding—
Oft stooping—half hiding—
Then bolt upright walks,
And whispering talks
To himself,
Pretty elf;
And quaint sounds he utters,
Till close to the shutters
Of the cot that’s still sleeping,
He climbs up close, peeping,
And pokes in each crevice his sharp little nose;
Till one shutter creaks,
And opening squeaks,
And the elfin springs down, and dances and crows!
Till softly again,
He climbs to the lattice,
Taps once, twice, and thrice!
Puffs and blows—
And through the crack’d pane
In he goes!
Within this cottage lived a child—
“Toody” her name—she was not very big
You might judge by the plants and shrubs that grew wild,
And o’er her head nodded or lifted a sprig.
Within the same cot there also resided
Her cousins—in love they were never divided—
Kitty and Crocus, Tiny and Twig.
But accurate words in good time to employ,
We say “Tiny’s” a small dog, and not a small boy;
And likewise explain that Grandmama Grey,
In spectacles, tucker, and flower’d chintz gown,
Took care of them all—often grave, seldom gay,
Yet she always half smiled when trying to frown.
Five o’clock in the morning!
“What noise do I hear below?”
Cried Grandmama Grey. “Although it’s broad day,
There’s no one up, I know.”
Then her head’s complete adorning—
Her turret cover’d with snow,
Skull-cap and bandage, and double-frill’d night-cap,
With puff-crown and ribbon, bows, broad-strings, and all,
Not stopping to think, and not caring what might hap,
She cast off, and threw at the opposite wall!
Crying loudly, “Come, children! jump up with me—
There’s a rat in the dairy! run quickly and see!
Down with me, each one, as blithe as a grig—
Toody and Kitty, and Crocus and Twig!”
At once down the stairs they ran scrambling and fumbling,
In night-gowns and night-caps—all laughing and jumbling,
With Tiny between their legs, barking and tumbling.
Down at last they are safely landed,
Dusky the parlour—the shutters closed,
Though one swings a-jar (which the Elfin’s hand did),
By green blinds the light is still opposed.
So one by one, some rosy, some pale—
As Indians cautiously pass through a mead,
Holding each other by night-gown tail,
Dame Grey and the children in silence proceed.
They reach the dairy—pause at the door;
They look at each other, then clap their hands,
And in they bounce, as a wave on the shore
Scatters its foam on the lonely sands,
On all sides they spread, and stare round about,
But soon they huddle together in fear,
For behind a milk-jug, under the spout,
They see a small figure that’s wondrous queer!
It is golden, and greenish, and earthy brown,
With a perking nose and a pointed chin,
It has very bright eyes and a funny frown,
With a russetin, apple’s network skin.
They see him! they see him!
He knows it, too well!—
They flee him! they flee him!—
In terror pell-mell!
But Tiny springs up—and around a milk-pan
Gives chase!—now they scour round as fast as they can!—
They whirl round so swift their two bodies seem one,
And like a dark band on a humming-top spun.
Dame Grey and the children ran back from their nook,—
The chase takes away their breath as they look!
Till at length with a noise like a bark, laugh, and scream,
The elf leapt in!—and swam across three pans of cream!
On the opposite side,
He had quickly espied
In the wall a small shelf,
And there landed himself.
“We’ve lost him! we’ve lost him!”
The children all cried!
But Grandmama Grey,
I am happy to say,
Being in her own dairy,
Was wise as a fairy,
And quick with a jelly-bag,
At the shelf’s end,
Into its belly-swag
Swept our small friend!
Now you must know that good Dame Grey
Had prudence at her fingers’ ends,
And to the parlour leads the way,
But no one knows what she intends.
Said she, “Now, all go up and dress,
I’ll leave the bag upon the floor
Mouth downwards; Tiny’s watchfulness
Shall guard the window, chimney, door.”
So Tiny came, and gravely stood
With both ears cock’d, and nose down bent,
While with as fix’d an attitude
The pointed bag stood, like a tent!
Soon they were dress’d, and down they came;
Breakfast was ready, the tea-kettle singing;
Toast, hot rolls, water-cresses, and ham,—
And the parlour-bell still for more egg-cups ringing!
But mute as a tree, with a truant notching it!
Stood the jelly-bag tent, with Tiny watching it.
Up rose little Toody, and said, “Don’t you think
An Elf of the woods would like something to drink?
Coffee or tea, by way of exhorter
Not to turn sulky—perhaps, milk-and-water!”
So under one edge of the jelly-bag tent
Toody a saucer cautiously push’d,
Then roll’d an egg under with merriment,
Though silently all in the room sat hush’d.
Ten minutes they listened—and then—shall I tell?
They all plainly heard the crack of a shell.
“Away with the tea-things!” said Grandmama Grey;
In a twinkling the tea-things were taken away!
And Martha ran back to see what they meant
To do with the small rogue under the tent.
Cried Dame Grey, “Bring the bird-cage—look sharp—and run quicker!”
It once was a blackbird’s, and made of white wicker.
The bird-cage was brought, and Grandmama Grey
Took the jelly-bag up in her carefullest way,
Clapt its mouth to the open door—shook it—at last
In popp’d the Elf!—the cage-door was made fast!
Now, what do you think the small prisoner did?
Shed many tears, and jibber’d, and groan’d?
Crouch’d at the bottom, d’ye fancy he did,
And there his sad capture and fate bemoan’d?
Nothing like this: with one spring and ten kicks
He climbed to the perch, and himself he seated,
Like a young thing practising calisthenics,
With his hands on his pole, as if tired and heated.
Toddy ran close to the cage—so did Crocus;
Twig cried, “Here’s mischief and hocus-pocus!”
And Kitty stared smiling; her soft hazel eyes
With wonder seem’d double their natural size.
But the Elf met their looks without a wince,
While his cheek was yellow and tart as quince,
And his tongue at one side thrust a bulb on the skin
As the sight of his left eye slid out and in.
He sat on his perch, not the least in despair,
But swinging his little legs—and, I declare,
With a perking, half-winking, impertinent air.
Dame Grey with her spectacles now rose up,
“Who are you, little sir? and what may you be?
Do you know you have broken my best China cup,
And spoilt all my cream?—now, answer to me!
Tell us your story from first to last—
Where you were born—where educated—
Or here a captive for life you stay fast!—
Begin, sir, at once—all must be stated.”
Rough the crown of the Elf did bristle,
His brutus rose like a flowering thistle,
Till his anger through his nose did whistle;
But his feelings he master’d, and tried to look
Demure as a good child over his book.
Some yellow of egg he rubb’d off his chin,
And stuck like a buttercup on his shin,
Then shrugg’d his shoulders up in a hunch,
With a wheezing squeal, and a noise like Punch,
Though not half so loud. And now with a sneeze,
Like a parrot’s, who suffers much from a cold,
His account of his life among the trees
He thus, in his way, began to unfold.
“Nine white witches sat in a circle close,
With their backs against a greenwood tree,
As around the dead-nettle’s summer stem
Its woolly white blossoms you see.
_Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee!_
Rills and hills,
Lawns and horns,
Hedges, sedges,
Rushes, thrushes,
_Twangle dee!_
“With hooded heads bent ’neath the broad green shade,
And hands laid flat on each knee,
They sat, as around the death-nettle’s stem
Its beldame-shaped bloom you may see.
_Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee!_
Woods and broods,
Birds and herds,
Eggs and curds,
Osiers, rosiers,—
_Tangle dee!_
“Now the witches so white they worked a charm
For the life of my mother and me,
And said in the woodlands we ever should dwell,
From man’s knavish fingers free.
_Tangle fangle, jangle hangle, wrangle see!_
Guns and runs,
Hops and pops,
Nettings, frettings,
Pools and fools—
_Dangle dee!_
“Then from hedges and ditches, these old lady-witches,
Took bird-weed and rag-weed, and spear-grass for me,
And they wove me a bower, ’gainst the snow-storm or shower,
In a dry old hollow beech tree.
_Tangle dangle, suns and funs, twangle tee!_
Sticks and tricks,
Light and sprites,
Moons, festoons,
Glooms, mushrooms,
_Tangle dee!_
“My nest-home inside, is dark, warm, and soft
As the sable-hair’d breast of a panting bee;
And never in my life will I have an elfin wife,
Till the prettiest comes to court me.
_Twangle tangle, kisses blisses, tangle tee!_
Courts and sports,
Eyes and sighs,
Peeps and leaps,
Hands and bands,
Huts and nuts—
_Twangle twee!_
Ivy wreaths,
Flowering heaths,
Jays and fays,
Owls and fogs,
Bats and frogs,
Holes and moles,
Music sound
Under ground—
_Twangle dee!_
Twining, shining,
Dances, prances,
Berries, cherries,
Sorrels, laurels,
Reed-pipe, seed ripe,
Burrows, furrows,
Habits, rabbits,
Paths and crosses,
Plots and mosses,
Hares and stags,
Dwarfs and hags,
Shrubs all burry,
Creatures furry,
Wren and titmouse,
Wasp and woodlouse—
_Twangle tee!_
Races, graces,
Woodland faces,
Quaint grimaces,
Silver gushes,
Tall bull-rushes,
Rambles, scrambles,
Bogs and brambles,
Buzzes, fuzzes,
Trailing briers,
Red wood-fires,
Squirrels, jackdaws,
Things with black claws,
Legs, horns, eyes,
Blythe butterflies,
Rush-knot shoe-tie,
Peeps of blue sky,
Distant steeple,
Bee and beetle,
Fairy people,
Small legs fleetest,
Echoes sweetest,
Joy completest—
_Twangle tee!_
_Ri-rigdum, dingle shade-laugh, tingle dee!_”
Each look’d at the other—none knew what to say.
“This won’t do for me!” said Grandmama Grey;
“None of your hoaxing about white witches,
Nettles and nonsense, and hedges and ditches;
I never before heard so clever a blade
At an answer in genuine rhodomontade.
Why do you prattle of woodland and stream?
What do I care how your small heels you kick up?
You know you came here to steal _cake_ and drink _cream_;
And, besides, you have broken a china tea-cup!”
Hereat the Elf gazed up on high,
Through the cage-top bars with rueful gloom,
And then he gave a little sigh,
Fixing his eyes on Martha’s broom;
And meditated thoughtfully.
But presently he cast a glance
At Toody, who was winking nigh;
And now this Elf with nonchalance
Look’d round and shouted pleasantly,
“I vow, by the tom-tit’s foolish ways,
By the mole’s front claws and his pin-hole eye,
The woodpecker’s thorn-tongue and groundless dismays,
I have told my biography faithfully.”
Again at Toody a look he stole,
Then coolly resumed his rigmarole.
“Loitering once in a wood,” he said,
Cocking his nose with a side-bent head,—
“A wood full of rabbit-runs, spaces, and turns,
And crowded regiments of feathery ferns,
With all sorts of groundlings pleasant to see,
Such as cup-moss and wild anemone,—
I sat me down in a silent nook,
By a rill that pearl’d from a grassy dell,
And being in want of an excellent book,
I took up a pebble, which did as well.
I pondered much on its class and merit;
Its natural secrets my heart did ferret,—
I consider’d it in a learned spirit;
And while I was thus at study,
I heard near at hand a fussing and spirting,
And a ruffling sound of dipping and flirting,
’Neath a morning sky all ruddy.
On tiptoe I trip—o’er the bushes I look—
And close at the red-gravell’d edge of the brook,
There stood a robin bathing!
He ruffled his feathers with a spattering sound,
And made himself look like a fussy round,
Or some fairy’s curious plaything,
With a spangly shower all flying and splashing,
In a circle of water-drops showering and flashing!
But presently—
His eye—his eye!——”
“His eye—his eye!” all the children cried—
“What of his eye?” The Elf, aside,
Once more at Toody stole a glance,
And Toody a quiet nod gave askance,
As much as to say, “I’ll find you a chance.”
And then the Elf gave a downward squint
At the close cage-door, by way of a hint;
And, after scratching his apricot cheek,
Of the robin again he proceeded to speak,—
Jumping down to the floor of the cage,
And acting a “robin” as if on the stage.
“His eye! his eye!
The clear round mirror of jet and light,
Caught a glimpse of me.
He bobbed—took wing—and was out of sight.
Well, good folks—well!
I have more to tell!
Then I stood up in the rabbit-path,
Winding along the low banks of the rill,
Where I saw the robin taking his bath,
And I fancy I see him still!
True, as I say, he came back once more,
With a fluster’d air, and in anger; I vow
He look’d like an alderman lecturing the poor,
But meaning at last to—_unlock the cage-door_!
Methinks, I see him now!
Along and across, he hops and he flits
Just so!—on my word—just so!
Then suddenly—look, there he sits
Upon a topmost twig!
He took a flight—and then a hop—
Again a flight,
Then perch’d so light
Upon the twig’s tip-top!
Look at his large bright eye,
Very round and very black;
Now he bobs, and now he bows,
Incessantly,
With head, and tail, and back;
Bob, tail—and now bob, nose,
Up and down he goes,
Then off he flies in a crack!
Upon a tall tree bough,
There—there! I see him now!
Come, Bob, come!
He sits quite dumb—
What cares he for a crumb—
Look at his breast so red!
Again he bows his head,
Bobs and bows—ruffles his wings—
Now smoothes them down, and then he sings.
How he sings and warbles sweet!
No more bobbing,
Hob-and-nobbing,
Quiet he sits, and fills the air
With music delicate and rare;
And now he glances at his feet,
Then like a gentleman complete
He bobs again—gives one quick bow,
As I do now!—
Points down his tail, and up his nose—
And _off_ he goes!”
“Run, Tiny—run!—Oh, Kitty, Twig, and Crocus!
The little wretch is gone!—oh, villain, thus to joke us!
Run, Toody—run!—you, you are the deceiver
That loosen’d the cage-door!—I’m surely in a fever!
Tiny, chase him—Tiny, catch him!
Oh, Kitty, Twig, and Crocus—
The robin redbreast story was only meant to hoax us!
Away—away—away!
Come all into the wood!
Follow me, I say, I say, I say,
Through brambles, weeds, and mud!”
Oh, none shall run to-day
So fast as Granny Grey,
She hath the youngest blood!
Off they all ran trooping,
And hallooing and hooping,
Beneath the low boughs stooping,
Right through the wood,
For Grandmama Grey,
Like an old duck, led the way,
When a string of ducks trudge to a flood.
Then came Kitty, side by side
With Toody, who oft cried,
“Oh, Kitty dear, was ever such rare fun, fun, fun!”
And Crocus close to Twig,
Both scampered in a jig,
For they knew the Elf his freedom-race had won, won, won.
As for him, the roguish Elf,
He took good care of himself;
His mites of legs they twinkled as he fled, fled, fled!
He was scarcely seen, indeed,
He so glistened with his speed,
And his hair streamed out like silver grass behind his head!
Now leaping here, now there,
Tiny barking everywhere,
Through undergrowth and thicket made his way with nose and claw,
Till suddenly the party
Met, full drive, with laughter hearty,
Florry, Pay, Bow, Carry, Minnie, Ganner, Andy, Ock, and Daw!
Such a meeting—such quick greeting—
Such explaining and repeating!
All confusion, no one listening, but all for the chase;
So off the party pack
To follow the Elf’s track,
And Granny Grey was foremost still in this mad race!
Now flew buttons, laces, bands,
While with burning face and hands,
Through and through, and up and down, they troop with shout and crow!
Under, over, and across
Shrubs, tangles, trunks, and moss,
Till their hearts are almost bursting, and they gasp, and puff, and blow!
They struggle and they strive,
Droop—lag—and then revive;
And once again they speed along and wish for wings to fly;
They grow deaf and dizzy-eyed—
With pains in head and side;
But the Elf they cannot overtake—’tis all in vain to try!
So the party wild with heat,
And defeat—so complete—
To the cottage stagger and retreat—
Oh, oh, oh!
And, with fagg’d and streaming faces, they all sit down on the floor,
Their clothes green from bark of trees—
Torn and mudded to the knees—
With faces like red-lion signs, and feet all sore!
There they sit, a good long hour,
As for moving!—they have no such power;
And Martha with hot water comes, each hand and face to wash.
And then, still lounging on the ground,
Cups of tea are handed round,
Their dinners they had lost, while they hunted brake and bush.
All hungry as young hawks,
How the toast and butter “walks,”
With legs of fowl down hunters’ throats, who seem’d just now half dead;
But soon they laugh and shout,
Eat and drink, and loll about.
Till at last with laughing kisses they all troop off to bed.
But where to sleep none knew,
For the cottage was but small,
Yet by Dame Grey’s arrangement
There was room enough for all.
Three slept upon the floor
Of the largest room upstairs,
And in the parlour, four,
On sofa, rug, and chairs.
The night was warm and pleasant—
One filled the window seat;
And two slept in the summer-house—
And, oh, it was so sweet!
Within a very little nook
Toody always slept alone;
Its strip of window stole a look
Over the lawn and hay-rick cone.
Within the open lattice crept
Some jasmine from the cottage wall,
And to the breathing of her sleep,
Softly swayed, with rise and fall.
But something else comes creeping in,
As softly from the starry night,—
The Elf!—’tis he!—first peeping in,
Now like a moth doth he alight!
He trips up to the little bed,
And near it hangs a full-blown rose,
Then in the middle of the flower
Places a light that gleams and glows.
It is a glow-worm from the lea,
And lighting up the rose’s heart,
A fairy grot it seems to be—
Where dream-thoughts live and ne’er depart.
And now the Elf once more is gone
Into the woodlands wild,
Leaving his blessing thus to shine
Upon the dreaming child.
R. H. HORNE.
TWO FAIRIES IN A GARDEN.
1. “Whither goest, brother Elf?”
2. “The sun is weak—to warm myself
In a thick red tulip’s core.
Whither thou?”
1. “Till day be o’er,
To the dim and deep snow-palace
Of the closest lily-chalice,
Where is veil’d the light of noon
To be like my Lady’s moon.
Thou art of the day, I ween?”
2. “Yet I not disown our Queen,
Nor at Lysc’ am backward found,
When the mighty Feast comes round;
When She spreads abroad her power
To proclaim a midnight hour
For the pale blue Fays like thee
And the ruddy Elves like me
To mingle in a charmèd ring
With a perfect welcoming;
Guarded from the moon-stroke cold,
And wisp that scares us on the wold.”
1. “Swift that Night is drawing near,
When your abrupt and jovial cheer,
Mixes in our misty dance,
Meeting else by rarest chance.
We love dark undew’d recesses
Of the leafy wildernesses,
Or to hide in some cold flow’r,
Shelter’d from the sunlight hour,
And more afflictive mortal eye.”
2. “Gladly, gladly, do I spy
Human children playing nigh,
Feel, and so must you, the grace
Of a loving human face.
Else why come you in this place?
O, my Sister, if we might
Show ourselves to mortal sight
Far more often! if they knew
Half the friendly turns we do!
Even now, a gentle thought
Would pay my service dimly wrought,
Round these winding garden-walks,
Fruits and flow’rs and leaves and stalks.
Paler favourites of the noon,
Can ye give or take such boon?”
1. “Chantings, Brother, hear you might,
Softly sung through still of night;
Calling from the wëird North
Dreams like distant echoes forth,
Till through curtain’d shades they creep,
To inlay the gloomy floor of sleep
For babes, and souls that babe-like are:
So we bless them from afar
Like a faint but favouring star.
—But tell me how in fields or bowers
Thou hast spent these morning hours?”
2. “Through the tall hedge I have been,
Shadowy wall of crusted green,
Within whose heart the birds are seen.
Speeding swiftly thence away
To the crowning chestnut-spray,
I watch’d a Tyrant steal along
Would slay the sweet Thrush in her song;
Warned, she soon broke off from singing,
There we left the branchlet swinging.
Whispering Robin, down the walk,
News of poising, pouncing Hawk,
The Sycamore I next must strew
On every leaf with honey-dew.
And hither now from clouds I run,
For all my morning work is done.”
1. “Alas, I wither in the sun,
Witless drawn to leave my nest
Ere the day be laid to rest!
But to-night we lightly troop
By the young Moon’s silver hoop;
Weaving wide our later ranks
As on evening river-banks
Shifting crowds of midges glance
Through mazes of their airy dance:
O might you come, O might you see
All our shadow’d revelry!
Yet the next night shall be rarer,
Next and next and next, still fairer;
We are waxing every night,
Till our joy be full and bright;
Then as slowly do we wane
With gentle loss that makes no pain,
For thus are we with life endued:
Ye, I trow, have rougher food.”
2. “Yes: with fragrant soul we’re fed
Of every flower whose cheek is red,
Shunning yellow, blue, and white;
And southward go, at the nightingale’s flight.
Many the Faery Nations be.
Oh! how I long, I long to see
The moonèd midnight of our Feast,
Flushing amber through the east,
When every cap in Elfindom
Into that great ring shall come,
Owf and Elf and Fairy blended.
Till th’ imperial time be ended!
Even those fantastic Sprites
Lay aside their dear delights
Of freakish mischief and annoyance
In the universal joyance,
One of whom I saw of late
As I peep’d through window-grate,
(Under roof I may not enter)
Haunt the housewife to torment her,
Tangle up her skeins of silk,
Throw a mouse into her milk,
Hide her thimble, scorch her roast,
Quickly drive her mad almost;
And I too vex’d, because I would
Have brought her succour if I could.
—But where shall this be holden, say?
Far away?”
1. “O, far away,
Over river must we fly,
Over the sea, and the mountain high,
Over city, seen afar
Like a low and misty star,—
Soon beneath us glittering
Like million spark-worms. But our wing,
For the flight will ne’er suffice.
Some are training Flittermice,
I a Silver Moth.”