Chapter IV: Introduction (3)

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.

The goblin marked his monarch well;
He spake not, but he bowed him low,
Then plucked a crimson colen bell,
And turned him round in act to go.
The way is long, he cannot fly,
His soiled wing has lost its power,
And he winds adown the mountain high,
For many a sore and weary hour.
Through dreary beds of tangled fern,
Through groves of nightshade dark and dern,
Over the grass and through the brake,
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake;
Now o’er the violet’s azure flush
He skips along in lightsome mood:
And now he thrids the bramble-bush,
Till its points are dyed in fairy blood.
He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the briar,
He has swam the brook, and waded the mire,
Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak,
And the red waxed fainter in his cheek.
He had fallen to the ground outright,
For rugged and dim was his onward track,
But there came a spotted toad in sight,
And he laughed as he jumped upon her back;
He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist,
He lashed her sides with an osier thong;
And now through evening’s dewy mist
With leap and spring they bound along,
Till the mountain’s magic verge is past,
And the beach of sand is reached at last.

XI.

Soft and pale is the moony beam,
Moveless still the glassy stream,
The wave is clear, the beach is bright
With snowy shells and sparkling stones;
The shore-surge comes in ripples light,
In murmurings faint and distant moans;
And ever afar in the silence deep
Is heard the splash of the sturgeon’s leap,
And the bend of his graceful bow is seen—
A glittering arch of silver sheen,
Spanning the wave of burnished blue,
And dripping with gems of the river dew.

XII.

The elfin cast a glance around,
As he lighted down from his courser toad,
Then round his breast his wings he wound,
And close to the river’s brink he strode;
He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer,
Above his head his arms he threw,
Then tossed a tiny curve in air,
And headlong plunged in the waters blue.

XIII.

Up sprung the spirits of the waves,
From sea-silk beds in their coral caves,
With snail-plate armour snatched in haste,
They speed their way through the liquid waste;
Some are rapidly borne along
On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong,
Some on the blood-red leeches glide,
Some on the stony star-fish ride,
Some on the back of the lancing squab,
Some on the sideling soldier-crab;
And some on the jellied quarl, that flings
At once a thousand streamy stings;
They cut the wave with the living oar,
And hurry on to the moonlight shore,
To guard their realms and chase away
The footsteps of the invading Fay.

XIV.

Fearlessly he skims along,
His hope is high, and his limbs are strong,
He spreads his arms like the swallow’s wing,
And throws his feet with a frog-like fling;
His locks of gold on the water shine,
At his breast the tiny foam-beds rise,
His back gleams bright above the brine,
And the wake-line foam behind him lies.
But the water-sprites are gathering near
To check his course along the tide;
Their warriors come in swift career
And hem him round on every side;
On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold,
The quarl’s long arms are round him rolled,
The prickly prong has pierced his skin,
And the squab has thrown his javelin,
The gritty star has rubbed him raw,
And the crab has struck with his giant claw;
He howls with rage and he shrieks with pain,
He strikes around, but his blows are vain;
Hopeless is the unequal fight,
Fairy! nought is left but flight.

XV.

He turned him round and fled amain
With hurry and dash to the beach again,
He twisted over from side to side,
And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide.
The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet,
And with all his might he flings his feet,
But the water-sprites are round him still,
To cross his path and work him ill.
They bade the wave before him rise;
They flung the sea-fire in his eyes,
And they stunned his ears with the scallop stroke,
With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak.
Oh! but a weary wight was he
When he reached the foot of the dogwood tree
—Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore,
He laid him down on the sandy shore;
He blessed the force of the charmed line,
And he banned the water-goblins’ spite,
For he saw around in the sweet moonshine
Their little wee faces above the brine,
Giggling and laughing with all their might
At the piteous hap of the fairy wight.

XVI.

Soon he gathered the balsam dew
From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud;
Over each wound the balm he drew,
And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood.
The mild west wind was soft and low,
It cooled the heat of his burning brow,
And he felt new life in his sinews shoot,
As he drank the juice of the cal’mus root;
And now he treads the fatal shore
As fresh and vigorous as before.

XVII.

Wrapped in musing stands the sprite:
’Tis the middle wane of night,
His task is hard, his way is far,
But he must do his errand right
Ere dawning mounts her beamy car,
And rolls her chariot wheels of light;
And vain are the spells of fairy-land,
He must work with a human hand.

XVIII.

He cast a saddened look around,
But he felt new joy his bosom swell,
When, glittering on the shadowed ground,
He saw a purple mussel shell;
Thither he ran, and he bent him low,
He heaved at the stern, and he heaved at the bow,
And he pushed her over the yielding sand,
Till he came to the verge of the haunted land.
She was as lovely a pleasure-boat
As ever fairy had paddled in,
For she glowed with purple paint without,
And shone with silver pearl within;
A sculler’s notch in the stern he made,
An oar he shaped of the bootle-blade;
Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap,
And launched afar on the calm blue deep.

XIX.

The imps of the river yell and rave;
They had no power above the wave,
But they heaved the billow before the prow,
And they dashed the surge against her side,
And they struck her keel with jerk and blow,
Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide.
She wimpled about in the pale moonbeam,
Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed stream;
And momently athwart her track
The quarl upreared his island back,
And the fluttering scallop behind would float,
And spatter the water about the boat;
But he bailed her out with his colen-bell,
And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread,
While on every side like lightning fell
The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade.

XX.

Onward still he held his way,
Till he came where the column of moonshine lay,
And saw beneath the surface dim
The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim:
Around him were the goblin train—
But he sculled with all his might and main,
And followed wherever the sturgeon led,
Till he saw him upward point his head;
Then he dropped his paddle blade,
And held his colen-goblet up
To catch the drop in its crimson cup.

XXI.

With sweeping tail and quivering fin,
Through the wave the sturgeon flew,
And, like the heaven-shot javelin,
He sprang above the waters blue.
Instant as the star-fall light,
He plunged him in the deep again,
But left an arch of silver bright,
The rainbow of the moony main.
It was a strange and lovely sight
To see the puny goblin there;
He seemed an angel form of light,
With azure wing and sunny hair,
Throned on a cloud of purple fair,
Circled with blue and edged with white,
And sitting at the fall of even
Beneath the bow of summer heaven.

XXII.

A moment, and its lustre fell,
But ere it met the billow blue,
He caught within his crimson bell,
A droplet of its sparkling dew—
Joy to thee, Fay! thy task is done,
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won—
Cheerily ply the dripping oar,
And haste away to the elfin shore.

XXIII.

He turns, and lo! on either side
The ripples on his path divide;
And the track o’er which his boat must pass
Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass.
Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave,
With snowy arms half swelling out,
While on the glossed and gleamy wave
Their sea-green ringlets loosely float;
They swim around with smile and song;
They press the bark with pearly hand,
And gently urge her course along,
Toward the beach of speckled sand;
And, as he lightly leaped to land,
They bade adieu with nod and bow,
Then gaily kissed each little hand,
And dropped in the crystal deeps below.

XXIV.

A moment stayed the fairy there;
He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer,
Then spread his wings of gilded blue,
And on to the elfin court he flew;
As ever ye saw a bubble rise,
And shine with a thousand changing dyes,
Till lessening far through ether driven,
It mingles with the hues of heaven;
As, at the glimpse of morning pale,
The lance-fly spreads his silken sail,
And gleams with blending soft and bright,
Till lost in the shades of fading night;
So rose from earth the lovely Fay—
So vanished, far in heaven away!

...

Up, Fairy! quit thy chick-weed bower,
The cricket has called the second hour,
Twice again, and the lark will rise
To kiss the streaking of the skies—
Up! thy charmed armour don,
Thou’lt need it ere the night be gone.

XXV.

He put his acorn-helmet on;
It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down;
The corslet-plate that guarded his breast
Was once the wild-bees’ golden vest;
His cloak of a thousand mingled dyes,
Was formed of the wings of butterflies;
His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,
Studs of gold on a ground of green;
And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
Swift he bestrode his firefly steed;
He bared his blade of the bent grass blue;
He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,
And away like a glance of thought he flew,
To skim the heavens and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.

XXVI.

The moth-fly, as he shot in air,
Crept under the leaf, and hid her there;
The katy-did forgot its lay,
The prowling gnat fled fast away,
The fell moscheto checked his drone
And folded his wings till the Fay was gone,
And the wily beetle dropped his head,
And fell on the ground as if he were dead;
They crouched them close in the darksome shade,
They quaked all o’er with awe and fear,
For they had felt the blue-bent blade,
And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear;
Many a time on a summer’s night,
When the sky was clear and the moon was bright,
They had been roused from the haunted ground,
By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound;
They had heard the tiny bugle-horn,
They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string,
When the vine-twig boughs were tightly drawn,
And the nettle shaft through air was borne,
Feathered with down of the hum-bird’s wing.
And now they deemed the courier ouphe,
Some hunter sprite of the elfin ground;
And they watched till they saw him mount the roof
That canopies the world around;
Then glad they left their covert lair,
And freaked about in the midnight air.

XXVII.

Up to the vaulted firmament
His path the firefly courser bent,
And at every gallop on the wind,
He flung a glittering spark behind;
He flies like a feather in the blast
Till the first light cloud in heaven is past,
But the shapes of air have begun their work,
And a drizzly mist is round him cast,
He cannot see through the mantle murk,
He shivers with cold, but he urges fast,
Through storm and darkness, sleet, and shade,
He lashes his steed, and spurs amain,
For shadowy hands have twitched the rein,
And flame-shot tongues around him played,
And near him many a fiendish eye
Glared with a fell malignity,
And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear,
Came screaming on his startled ear.
His wings are wet around his breast,
The plume hangs dripping from his crest,
His eyes are blurred with the lightning’s glare,
And his ears are stunned with the thunder’s blare,
But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew,
He thrust before, and he struck behind,
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through,
And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind;
Howling the misty spectres flew,
They rend the air with frightful cries,
For he has gained the welkin blue,
And the land of clouds beneath him lies.

XXIX.

Up to the cope careering swift
In breathless motion fast,
Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift,
Or the sea-roc rides the blast,
The sapphire sheet of eve is shot,
The sphered moon is past,
The earth but seems a tiny blot
On a sheet of azure cast.
O! it was sweet in the clear moonlight,
To tread the starry plain of even,
To meet the thousand eyes of night,
And feel the cooling breath of heaven;
But the Elfin made no stop or stay
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way,
Then he checked his courser’s foot,
And watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot.

XXX.

Sudden along the snowy tide
That swelled to meet their footsteps’ fall,
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide,
Attired in sunset’s crimson pall;
Around the Fay they weave the dance,
They skip before him on the plain,
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance,
And one upholds his bridle-rein;
With warblings wild they lead him on
To where through clouds of amber seen,
Studded with stars, resplendent shone
The palace of the sylphid queen.
Its spiral columns gleaming bright
Were streamers of the northern light;
Its curtains’ light and lovely flush
Was of the morning’s rosy blush,
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon
The white and feathery fleece of noon.

XXXI.

But oh! how fair the shape that lay
Beneath a rainbow bending bright,
She seemed to the entranced Fay
The loveliest of the forms of light;
Her mantle was the purple rolled
At twilight in the west afar;
’Twas tied with threads of dawning gold,
And buttoned with a sparkling star.
Her face was like the lily roon
That veils the vestal planet’s hue;
Her eyes two beamlets from the moon,
Set floating in the welkin blue.
Her hair is like the sunny beam,
And the diamond gems which round it gleam,
Are the pure drops of dewy even
That ne’er have left their native heaven.

XXXII.

She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite,
And they leaped with smiles, for well I ween
Never before in the bowers of light
Had the form of an earthly Fay been seen.
Long she looked in his tiny face;
Long with his butterfly cloak she played;
She smoothed his wings of azure lace,
And handled the tassel of his blade;
And as he told in accents low
The story of his love and woe,
She felt new pains in her bosom rise,
And the tear-drop started in her eyes.
And “O, sweet spirit of earth,” she cried,
“Return no more to your woodland height,
But ever here with me abide
In the land of everlasting light!
Within the fleecy drift we’ll lie,
We’ll hang upon the rainbow’s rim,
And all the jewels of the sky
Around thy brow shall brightly beam!
And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream
That rolls its whitening foam aboon,
And ride upon the lightning’s gleam,
And dance upon the orbéd moon!
We’ll sit within the Pleiad ring,
We’ll rest on Orion’s starry belt,
And I will bid my sylphs to sing
The song that makes the dew-mist melt;
Their harps are of the umber shade
That hides the blush of waking day,
And every gleamy string is made
Of silvery moonshine’s lengthened ray;
And thou shalt pillow on my breast
While heavenly breathings float around,
And, with the sylphs of ether blest,
Forget the joys of fairy ground.”

XXXIII.

She was lovely and fair to see,
And the Elfin’s heart beat fitfully;
But lovelier far, and still more fair,
The earthly form imprinted there;
Nought he saw in the heavens above
Was half so dear as his mortal love,
For he thought upon her looks so meek,
And he thought of the light flush on her cheek;
Never again might he bask and lie
On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye,
But in his dreams her form to see,
To clasp her in his revery,
To think upon his virgin bride
Was worth all heaven and earth beside.

XXXIV.

“Lady,” he cried, “I have sworn to-night
On the word of a fairy knight,
To do my sentence-task aright;
My honour scarce is free from stain,
I may not soil its snows again;
Betide me weal, betide me woe,
Its mandate must be answered now.”
Her bosom heaved with many a sigh,
The tear was in her drooping eye;
But she led him to the palace gate,
And called the sylphs who hovered there,
And bade them fly and bring him straight
Of clouds condensed a sable car.
With charm and spell she blessed it there,
From all the fields of upper air;
Then round him cast the shadowy shroud,
And tied his steed behind the cloud;
And pressed his hand as she bade him fly
Far to the verge of the northern sky,
For by its wan and wavering light
There was a star would fall to-night.

XXXV.

Borne afar on the wings of the blast,
Northward away, he speeds him fast,
And his courser follows the cloudy wain
Till the hoof strokes fall like pattering rain.
The clouds roll backward as he flies,
Each flickering star behind him lies,
And he has reached the northern plain,
And backed his firefly steed again,
Ready to follow in its flight
The streaming of the rocket-light.

XXXVI.

The star is yet in the vault of heaven,
But it rocks in the summer gale;
And now ’tis fitful and uneven,
And now ’tis deadly pale;
And now ’tis wrapped in sulphur smoke,
And quenchéd is its rayless beam,
And now with a rattling thunder-stroke
It bursts in flash and flame.
As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance
That the storm-spirit flings from high,
The star-shot flew o’er the welkin blue,
As it fell from the sheeted sky.
As swift as the wind in its trail behind
The elfin gallops along,
The fiends of the cloud are bellowing loud,
But the sylphid charm is strong;
He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire,
While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze;
He watches each flake till its sparks expire,
And rides in the light of its rays.
But he drove his steed to the lightning’s speed,
And caught a glimmering spark;
Then wheeled around to the fairy ground,
And sped through the midnight dark.

...

Ouphe and goblin! imp and sprite!
Elf of eve! and starry Fay!
Ye that love the moon’s soft light,
Hither—hither wend your way;
Twine ye in a jocund ring,
Sing and trip it merrily,
Hand to hand, and wing to wing,
Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

Hail the wanderer again,
With dance and song, and lute and lyre,
Pure his wing and strong his chain,
And doubly bright his fairy fire.
Twine ye in an airy round,
Brush the dew and print the lea;
Skip and gambol, hop and bound,
Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

The beetle guards our holy ground,
He flies about this haunted place,
And if mortal there be found,
He hums in his ears and flaps his face:
The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay,
The owlet’s eyes our lanterns be;
Thus we sing, and dance, and play,
Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

But hark! from tower on tree-top high,
The sentry elf his call has made,
A streak is in the Eastern sky,
Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade!
The hill-tops gleam in morning’s spring,
The skylark shakes his dappled wing,
The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn,
The cock has crowed, and the Fays are gone.

J. RODMAN DRAKE.

Travels in Fairyland.

THOMAS THE RHYMER.

PART FIRST—ANCIENT.

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank
A ferlie he spied wi’ his ee;
And there he saw a ladye bright
Come riding doun by the Eildon Tree.

Her shirt was o’ the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o’ the velvet fine;
At ilka tett o’ her horse’s mane
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap,
And louted low down to his knee,
“All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth I never did see.”

“O no, O no, Thomas,” she said,
“That name does not belang to me;
I am but the Queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.

“Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said;
“Harp and carp along wi’ me;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your bodie I will be.”—

“Betide me weal, betide me wo,
That weird shall never daunton me.”
Syne he has kiss’d her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

“Now, ye maun go wi’ me,” she said;
“True Thomas, ye maun go wi’ me;
And ye maun serve me seven years,
Thro’ weal or wo as may chance to be.”

She mounted on her milk-white steed;
She’s ta’en true Thomas up behind:
And aye, whene’er her bridle rung,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on;
The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
Until they reach’d a desert wide,
And living land was left behind.

“Light down, light down, now, true Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide and rest a little space,
And I will show you ferlies three.

“O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset with thorns and briers?
That is the path of righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.

“And see ye not that braid braid road,
That lies across that lily leven?
That is the path of wickedness,
Though some call it the road to heaven.

“And see not ye that bonny road,
That winds about that fernie brae?
That is the road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae.

“But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,
Whatever ye may hear or see;
For if you speak word in Elflyn land,
Y’ll ne’er get back to your ain countrie.”

O they rade on, and farther on,
And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,
And they waded through red blude to the knee;
For a’ the blude that’s shed on earth
Rins through the springs o’ that countrie.

Syne they came on to a garden green,
And she pu’d an apple frae a tree—
“Take this for thy wages, true Thomas,
It will give thee the tongue that can never lie.”

“My tongue is mine ain,” true Thomas said;
A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
I neither dought to buy nor sell,
At fair or tryst where I may be.

“I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye—”
“Now hold thy peace!” the lady said,
“For as I say, so must it be.”—

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green;
And till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.