How I’ll thrid the vaulted air!
A Dragon-fly with glassy wings,
Born beside the meadow-springs,
That can arrow-swiftly glide
Thorough the glowing eventide,
Nor at twilight-fall grow slack,
Shall bear me on his long blue back.
Dew-stars, meteors of the night,
May not strike him with affright,
He can needle through the wood,
That’s like a green earth-chainèd cloud,
Mountain-summits deftly rake,
Draw swift line o’er plain and lake.
If at Lysco I be last,
Other elves must journey fast.
Lu a vo!”
1. “But, Elf, I rede,
Of all your Herbs take special heed.
Our Mistress tholes no garden flowers,
Though we have freedom of these bowers.
Tell me what you mean to treasure,
Each in ’s atom?”
2. “Gold-of-Pleasure,
Medic, Plumeseed, Fountain-arrow,
Vervain, Hungry-grass, and Yarrow,
Quatrefoil and Melilot.”
1. “These are well. And I have got
Moonwort and the Filmy Fern,
Gather’d nicely on the turn.
Wo to Fairy that shall bring
Bugloss for an offering,
Toad-flax, Barley of the Wall,
Enchanter’s Nightshade, worst of all.
—Oh, brother, hush! I faint with fear!
A mortal footstep threatens near.”
2. “None can see us, none can hear.
Yet, to make thee less afraid,
Hush we both as thou hast pray’d.
I will seek the verse to spell
Written round my dark flow’r’s bell,
To sing at sunset. So, Farewell!”
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
ELFIN SONG.
I.
Far in the western ocean’s breast
The summer fairies have found a nest;
The heavens ever unclouded smile
Over the breadth of their beautiful isle;
Through it a hundred streamlets flow,
In spangled paths, to the sea below,
And woo the vales that beside them lie
With a low and tremulous minstrelsy.
The elfin brood have homes they love
In the earth below and skies above;
But the haunt which of all they love the best
Is the palm-crowned isle, in the ocean’s breast,
That mortals call Canary;
And many an Ariel, blithesome, airy,
And each laughing fay and lithesome fairy,
Know well the mystical way in the West
To the sweet isle of Canary.
II.
With an ever-sounding choral chant,
And a clear, cerulean, wild desire
To clasp that fairy island nigher,
The sinuous waves of ocean pant;
For here all natural things are free
To mingle in passionate harmony.
The light from their mirror turns away
With a golden splendour, in the day,
But nightly, when coroneted Even
Marshals the shining queen of heaven,
There gleams a silvery scenery,
From the rim of the great prismatic sea
Around the isle of Canary
To the central crags of Pisgatiri,
Where the crested eagle builds his eyry,
Scanning the shores of sweet Canary.
III.
Lustrously sailing here and there,
Afloat in the beatific air,
Birds, of purple and blue and gold,
Pour out their music manifold;
All day long in the leas they sing,
While the sun-kissed flowers are blossoming;
At eve, when the dew-drop feeds the rose,
And the fragrant water-lilies close,
The marvellous-throated nightingale
With a dying music floods each vale,
Till the seaward breezes, listening, stay
To catch the harmony of his lay
And cool the air of Canary;
And thus the melodies ever vary,
In the vales of the ocean aviary,
In the blissful valleys of sweet Canary.
IV.
The Elle-King’s palace was builded there
By elves of water and earth and air;
Lovingly worked each loyal sprite,
And it grew to life in a summer night.
Over the sheen of its limpid moat,
Wafted along, in a magic boat,
By fairy wings that fan the sails,
And eddying through enchanted vales,
Through walls of amber and crystal gates,
We come where a fairy warder waits;
And so, by many a winding way
Where sweet bells jingle and fountains play,
To the inmost, royalest room of all,—
The elfin monarch’s reception-hall,
The pearl and pride of Canary!
To guard its fastness the elves are wary,
And no weird thing, of pleasure chary,
Can enter with evil in sweet Canary!
V.
All that saddens, and care and pain,
Are banished far from that fair domain;
There forever, by day and night,
Is naught but pleasance and love’s delight;
Daily, the Genii of the flowers
Shade with beauty a hundred bowers;
Nightly, the Gnomes of precious stones
Emblazon and light a hundred thrones;
And the Elves of the field, so swift and mute,
Bring wine and honey and luscious fruit;
And the Sylphs of the air, at noontide, cool
The depths of each bower and vestibule;
And all are gay,—from the tricksome Fay
Who flutters in woodlands far away,
To the best-beloved attendant Elf,
And the royal heart of the king himself,
Who rules in bright Canary;
And the labouring Fairies are blithe and merry,
Who press the juice from the swollen berry
That reddens the vines of sweet Canary.
VI.
What if there be a fated day
When the Faëry Isle shall pass away,
And its beautiful groves and fountains seem
The myths of a long, delicious dream!
A century’s joys shall first repay
Our hearts, for the evil of that day;
And the Elfin-King has sworn to wed
A daughter of Earth, whose child shall be,
By cross and water hallowéd,
From the fairies’ doom forever free.
What if there be a fated day!
It is far away! it is far away!
Maiden, fair Maiden, I, who sing
Of this summer isle, am the island king.
I come from its joys to make thee mine:
Half of my kingdom shall be thine;
Our horses of air and ocean wait—
Then hasten, and share the Elle-King’s state
In the sweet isle of Canary;
And many an Ariel, blithsome, airy,
And each laughing fay and lithesome fairy,
Shall rovingly hover around and over thee,
And the love of a king shall evermore cover thee,
Nightly and daily in sweet Canary.
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
THE FERLIE.
A Ferlie came ben to me yestreen,
A lady jimp an’ sma’,
Wi’ a milk-white snood an’ a kirtle green,
Yellow an’ roun were her bonny e’en,
And she said, “Will ye come awa’?
“Will ye gang wi’ me to the Elflyn Knowe,
To milk our queene’s coo?”
“Na, na,” quo’ I, “I maun shear my sheep,
I’ve my barn to bigg, an’ my corn to reap,
Sae I canna come the noo.”
The ferlie skirled as she turned to gae,
For an angry elf was she,
“O a wilfu’ man maun hae his way,
An I mak’ sma’ doot but ye’ll rue the day
That ye wouldna gang wi’ me.”
“O, ance again will ye speir at me
An’ I’ll aiblins come awa’?”
“O I’ll come again to your yetts,” quo’ she,
“When broom blooms bright on yon rowan-tree
An’ the laverock sings i’ th’ snaw!”
GRAHAM R. TOMSON.
Miscellaneous.
THE FOUNTAIN OF THE FAIRIES.
There is a fountain in the forest call’d
The Fountain of the Fairies: when a child
With a delightful wonder I have heard
Tales of the elfin tribe who on its banks
Hold midnight revelry. An ancient oak,
The goodliest of the forest, grows beside;
Alone it stands, upon a green grass plat,
By the woods bounded like some little isle.
It ever hath been deem’d their favourite tree,
They love to lie and rock upon its leaves,
And bask in moonshine. Here the woodman leads
His boy, and showing him the green-sward mark’d
With darker circlets, says the midnight dance
Hath traced the rings, and bids him spare the tree.
Fancy had cast a spell upon the place
Which made it holy; and the villagers
Would say that never evil thing approach’d
Unpunish’d there. The strange and fearful pleasure
Which fill’d me by that solitary spring,
Ceased not in riper years; and now it wakes
Deeper delight, and more mysterious awe.
ROBERT SOUTHEY.
SONGS OF THE PIXIES.
[The Pixies, in the superstitions of Devonshire, are a race of beings
invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance
from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an
excavation, called the Pixies’ parlour. The roots of old trees form its
ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable ciphers, among which the author
discovered his own cipher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of
their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. To this
place the author conducted a party of young ladies, during the summer
months of the year 1793; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of
complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen: on which
occasion, and at which time, the following irregular ode was written.]
I.
Whom the untaught shepherds call
PIXIES in their madrigal,
Fancy’s children, here we dwell:
Welcome, ladies! to our cell.
Here the wren of softest note
Builds its nest and warbles well;
Here the blackbird strains his throat;
Welcome, ladies! to our cell.
II.
When fades the moon all shadowy-pale,
And scuds the cloud before the gale,
Ere morn with living gems bedight
Streaks the East with purple light,
We sip the furze flowers fragrant dews,
Clad in robes of rainbow hues
Richer than the deepened bloom
That glows on summer’s scented plume:
Or sport amid the rosy gleam,
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team,
While lusty labour, scouting sorrow,
Bids the dame a glad good-morrow,
Who jogs th’ accustomed road along,
And paces cheery to her cheering song.
III.
But not our filmy pinion
We scorch amid the blaze of day
When noon-tide’s fiery-tressed minion
Flashes the fervid ray.
Aye from the sultry heat
We to the cave retreat,
O’ercanopied by huge roots intertwined
With wildest texture, blackened o’er with age;
Round them their mantles green the ivies bind,
Beneath whose foliage pale,
Fanned by the unfrequent gale,
We shield us from the tyrant’s mid-day rage.
IV.
Thither while the murmuring throng
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,
By indolence and fancy brought,
A youthful bard, “unknown to fame,”
Woos the queen of solemn thought,
And heaves the gentle mis’ry of a sigh,
Gazing with tearful eye,
As round our sandy grot appear
Many a rudely sculptured name
To pensive mem’ry dear!
Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue
We glance before his view:
O’er his hushed soul our soothing witch’ries shed,
And twine our faery garlands round his head.
V.
When evening’s dusky car
Crowned with her dewy star
Steals o’er the fading sky in shadowy flight;
On leaves of aspen trees
We tremble to the breeze,
Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight.
Or, haply at the visionary hour,
Along our wild sequestered walk,
We listen to th’ enamoured rustic’s talk;
Heave with the heavings of the maiden’s breast,
Where young-eyed loves have built their turtle nest;
Or guide of soul-subduing power
Th’ electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply.
VI.
Or thro’ the mystic ringlets of the vale
We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank;
Or, silent-sandalled, pay our defter court
Circling the spirit of the western gale,
Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport,
Supine he slumbers on a violet bank!
Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam,
By lonely Otter’s sleep-persuading stream;
Or where his wave with loud unquiet song
Dashed o’er the rocky channel froths along;
Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest,
The tall tree’s shadow sleeps upon his breast.
VII.
Hence! thou lingerer, light!
Eve saddens into night.
Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view
The sombre hours, that round thee stand
With down-cast eyes (a duteous band!),
Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew.
Sorceress of the ebon throne!
Thy power the Pixies own,
When round thy raven brow
Heaven’s lucent roses glow,
And clouds, in wat’ry colours drest,
Float in light drapery o’er thy sable vest;
What time the pale moon sheds a softer ray,
Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam:
For ’mid the quiv’ring light ’tis ours to play,
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.
VIII.
Welcome, ladies! to the cell,
Where the blameless Pixies dwell,
But thou, sweet nymph! proclaimed our faery queen,
With what obeisance meet
Thy presence shall we greet?
For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen
Graceful ease in artless stole,
And white-robed purity of soul,
With honour’s softer mien:
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair
And meek-eyed pity eloquently fair,
Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view,
As snow-drop wet with dew.
IX.
Unboastful Maid! tho’ now the lily pale
Transparent grace thy beauties meek;
Yet ere again along the impurpling vale,
The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove,
Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws,
We’ll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek!
And haply from the nectar-breathing rose
Extract a blush of love!
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
FAIRY FAVOURS.
Would’st thou wear the gift of immortal bloom?
Would’st thou smile in scorn at the shadowy tomb?
Drink of this cup! it is richly fraught
With balm from the gardens of genii brought;
Drink, and the spoiler shall pass thee by,
When the young all scattered like rose-leaves lie.
And would not the youth of my soul be gone,
If the loved had left me, one by one?
Take back the cup that may never bless,
The gift that would make me brotherless;
How should I live with no kindred eye
To reflect mine immortality?
Would’st thou have empire, by sign or spell,
Over the mighty in air that dwell?
Would’st thou call the spirits of shore and steep
To fetch thee jewels from ocean’s deep?
Wave but this rod, and a viewless band,
Slaves to thy will, shall around thee stand.
And would not fear, at my coming then,
Hush every voice in the homes of men?
Would not bright eyes in my presence quail?
Young cheeks with a nameless thrill turn pale?
No gift be mine that aside would turn
The human love for whose founts I yearn!
Would’st thou then read through the hearts of those
Upon whose faith thou hast sought repose?
Wear this rich gem! it is charm’d to show
When a change comes over affection’s glow,
Look on its flushing or fading hue,
And learn if the trusted be false or true!
Keep, keep the gem, that I still may trust,
Though my heart’s wealth be but pour’d on dust!
Let not a doubt in my soul have place,
To dim the light of a loved one’s face;
Leave to the earth its warm sunny smile—
That glory would pass could I look on guile!
Say, then, what boon of my power shall be,
Favour’d of spirits! pour’d forth on thee?
Thou scornest the treasures of wave and mine,
Thou wilt not drink of the cup divine,
Thou art fain with a mortal’s lot to rest—
Answer me! how may I grace it best?
Oh! give me no sway o’er the powers unseen,
But a human heart where my own may lean!
A friend, one tender and faithful friend,
Whose thoughts’ free current with mine may blend,
And leaving not either on earth alone,
Bid the bright calm close of our lives be one!
FELICIA HEMANS.
WATER-LILIES: A FAIRY SONG.
Come away, elves! while the dew is sweet,
Come to the dingles where fairies meet;
Know that the lilies have spread their bells
O’er all the pools in our forest dells;
Stilly and lightly their vases rest
On the quivering sleep of the water’s breast,
Catching the sunshine through leaves that throw
To their scented bosoms an emerald glow;
And a star from the depth of each pearly cup,
A golden star unto heaven looks up,
As if seeking its kindred where bright they lie,
Set in the blue of the summer sky.
—Come away! under arching boughs we’ll float,
Making those urns each a fairy boat;
We’ll row them with reeds o’er the fountains free,
And a tall flag-leaf shall our streamer be,
And we’ll send out wild music so sweet and low,
It shall seem from the bright flower’s heart to flow,
As if ’twere a breeze with a flute’s low sigh,
Or water drops train’d into melody.
—Come away! for the midsummer sun grows strong,
And the life of the lily may not be long.
FELICIA HEMANS.
FANTASIES.
I.
I’m weary, I’m weary,—this cold world of ours;
I will go dwell afar, with fairies and flowers.
Farewell to the festal, the hall of the dance,
Where each step is a study, a falsehood each glance;
Where the vain are displaying, the vapid are yawning;
Where the beauty of night, the glory of dawning,
Are wasted, as Fashion, that tyrant, at will
Makes war on sweet nature, and exiles her still.
II.
I’m weary, I’m weary,—I’m off with the wind:
Can I find a worse fate than the one left behind?
—Fair beings of moonlight, gay dwellers in air,
O show me your kingdom! O let me dwell there!
I see them, I see them!—how sweet it must be
To sleep in yon lily!—is there room in’t for me?
I have flung my clay fetters; and now I but wear
A shadowy seeming, a likeness of air.
III.
Go harness my chariot, the leaf of an oak;
A butterfly stud, and a tendril my yoke.
Go swing me a hammock, the poles mignionette;
I’ll rock with its scent in the gossamer net.
Go fetch me a courser: yon reed is but slight,
Yet far is the distance ’twill bear me to-night.
I must have a throne,—ay, yon mushroom may stay,
It has sprung in a night, ’twill be gather’d next day:
And fit is such throne for my brief fairy reign;
For alas! I’m but dreaming, and dreams are but vain.
L. E. L.
THE CITY OF GOLD.
Years onward have swept,
Aye, long ages have rolled—
Since the billows first slept
O’er the City of Gold!
’Neath its eddy of white
Where the green wave is swelling,
In their halls of delight
Are the fairy tribes dwelling.
And but seldom the eye
Of a mortal may scan,
Where those palaces high
Rise unaided by man.
Yet, at times the waves sever,
And then you may view
The yellow walls ever
’Neath the ocean’s deep blue.
But I warn thee, O man!
Never seek to behold,
Where the crystal streams ran
In the City of Gold!
Like a beauty with guile,
When some young knight has found her,
There is death in her smile,
And dark ruin around her!
Like a poet’s first dream
In his longings for glory;
A dagger whose gleam
With the life-blood is gory.
Like wishes possessed,
And for which we have panted,
When we find us unblest,
Tho’ our prayers have been granted.
Like ought that’s forbidden
Weak man to behold,
Death and sorrow are hid in
The City of Gold.
Rash youth! dost thou view it,
The ransom thou’lt pay,
Alas! thou must rue it,
Death takes thee to-day!
ANONYMOUS.
THE FAIRIES.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig up them in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
THE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE.
’Twas when the spinning-room was here,
Came Three Damsels clothed in white,
With their spindles every night;
Two and one, and Three fair Maidens,
Spinning to a pulsing cadence,
Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;
Till the eleventh hour was told,
Then departed through the wold.
_Years ago, and years ago;_
_And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._
Three white Lilies, calm and clear,
And they were loved by every one;
Most of all, the Parson’s son,
Listening to their gentle singing,
Felt his heart go from him, clinging,
Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere;
Sued each night to make them stay,
Sadden’d when they went away.
_Years ago, and years ago;_
_And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._
Hands that shook with love and fear,
Dared put back the village clock,—
Flew the spindle, turn’d the rock,
Flow’d the song with subtle rounding,
Till the false “eleven” was sounding;
Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere
Swiftly, softly, left the room,
Like three doves on snowy plume.
_Years ago, and years ago;_
_And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._
One that night who wander’d near
Heard lamentings by the shore,
Saw at dawn three stains of gore
In the waters fade and dwindle.
Nevermore with song and spindle
Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere.
The Pastor’s Son did pine and die;
Because true love should never lie.
_Years ago, and years ago;_
_And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow._
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
Epilogue.
FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES.
Farewell rewards and fairies,
Good housewives now may say,
For now foul sluts in dairies
Do fare as well as they.
And though they sweep their hearths no less
Than maids were wont to do,
Yet who of late, for cleanliness,
Finds sixpence in her shoe?
Lament, lament, old abbeys,
The fairies lost command;
They did but change priests’ babies,
But some have changed your land;
And all your children sprung from thence
Are now grown Puritans;
Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your domains.
At morning and at evening both,
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleep or sloth
These pretty ladies had;
When Tom came home from labour,
Or Cis to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly went their toes.
Witness those rings and roundelays
Of theirs, which yet remain,
Were footed in Queen Mary’s days
On many a grassy plain;
But since of late Elizabeth,
And later, James came in,
They never danced on any heath
As when the time hath been.
By which we note the fairies
Were of the old profession,
Their songs were Ave Maries,
Their dances were procession:
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas;
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease.
A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure,
And whoso kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punished sore;
It was a just and Christian deed
To pinch such black and blue;
Oh, how the Commonwealth doth need
Such justices as you.
RICHARD CORBET.
FAIRY SONG.
Have ye left the greenwood lone?
Are your steps for ever gone?
Fairy King and Elfin Queen,
Come ye to the sylvan scene,
From your dim and distant shore,
Never more?
Shall the pilgrim never hear
With a thrill of joy and fear,
In the hush of moonlight hours,
Voices from the folded flowers,
Faint sweet flute-notes as of yore,
Never more?
“Mortal! ne’er shall bowers of earth
Hear again our midnight mirth:
By our brooks and dingles green
Since unhallow’d steps have been,
Ours shall thread the forests hoar
Never more.
Ne’er on earthborn lily’s stem
Will we hang the dewdrop’s gem;
Ne’er shall reed or cowslip’s head
Quiver to our dancing tread,
By sweet fount or murmuring shore,
Never more!”
FELICIA HEMANS.
AN INVOCATION.
By the Moon-Queen’s mystic light,
By the hush of holy night,
By the woodland deep and green,
By the starlight’s silver sheen,
By the zephyr’s whisper’d spell,
Brooding Powers Invisible,
Faërie Court and Elfin Throng,
Unto whom the groves belong,
And by Laws of ancient date,
Found in Scrolls of Faërie Fate,
Stream and fount are dedicate,
Wheresoe’er your feet to-day,
Far from haunts of men may stray,
We adjure you, stay no more,
Exiles on an alien shore,
But with spells of magic birth
Once again make glad the earth!
Here in glade and dingle sweet
Ye may find a snug retreat:
Can ye wish for softer bed
Than the moss that here is spread?
Here the mavis’ voice is heard,
Every late and early bird;
Many a tendril’s slender string
Here is fit for fairy swing;
Purling brooks and founts that play
Make sweet music night and day;
In the lakes that stedfast lie
Under Heaven’s eternal eye,
The blown lilies, waiting, float,
Each will serve as elfin boat;
Tender as a harper’s string
Is the low wind’s lute-playing;
Never do the evening dews
Nectar to the flowers refuse:
Who shall find a fairer spot?
Linger, fairies, linger not!
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