Chapter I: Preface: |TRUSTING to the sweet charity of little folk

To find some grace, in spite of halting rhyme

And frequent telling, in these little tales,

I say again:--Now, once upon a time!

ONCE UPON A TIME

|NOW, once upon a time, a nest of fairies

Was in a meadow 'neath a wild rose-

tree;

And, once upon a time, the violets clustered

So thick around it one could scarcely see;

And, once upon a time, a troop of children

Came dancing by upon the flowery ground;

And, once upon a time, the nest of fairies,

With shouts of joy and wonderment they

found;

And, once upon a time, the fairies fluttered

On purple winglets, shimmering in the sun;

And, once upon a time, the nest forsaking,

They flew off thro' the violets, every one;

And, once upon a time, the children followed

With loud halloos along the meadow green;

And, once upon a time, the fairies vanished,

And never more could one of them be seen;

And, once upon a time, the children sought

them

For many a day, but fruitless was their quest,

For, once upon a time, amid the violets,

They only found the fairies' empty nest.

THE SICK FAIRY.

|BREW some tea o' cowslips, make some

poppy-gruel,

Serve it in a buttercup--ah, 'tis very cruel,

That she is so ailing, pretty Violetta!

Locust, stop your violin, till she's feeling better.

THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS.

"_Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross,

To see an old woman jump on a white horse;

With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,

She shall make music wherever she goes."_

--Old Nursery Rhyme.

|PRAY show the way to Banbury Cross,"

_Silver bells are ringing _;

"To find the place I'm at a loss,"

_Silver bells are ringing._

"Pass six tall hollyhocks red and white;

Then, turn the corner toward the right,

Pass four white roses; turn once more,

Go by a bed of gilly-flower,

And one of primrose; turn again

Where, glittering with silver rain,

There is a violet-bank; then pass

A meadow green with velvet grass,

Where lovely lights and shadows play,

And white lambs frolic all the day,

Where blooming trees their branches toss---

Then will you come to Banbury Cross."

The white horse arched his slender neck,

_Silver bells are ringing_;

Snow-white he was without a speck,

_Silver bells are ringing_.

`An old wife held his bridle-rein,

`(The king was there with all his train),

`Her gray hair fluttered in the wind,

`Her gaze turned inward on her mind;

`And not one face seemed she to see

`In all that goodly company.

`Gems sparkled on her withered hands;

`Her ankles gleamed with silver bands

`On which sweet silver bells were hung,

`And always, when she stirred, they rung.

The white horse waited for the start,

Silver bells are ringing;

Before him leapt his fiery heart,

_Silver bells are ringing._

`Up on his back the old wife sprung,

Her silver bells, how sweet

they rung!

`She gave her milk-white

steed the rein,

`And round they swept,

and round again.

`A merry sight it was

to see,

`And the silver bells

The Old Wife.

rang lustily.

The gallant horse with gold was shod;

So fleetly leapt he o'er the sod,

He passed the king before he knew,

And past his flying shadow flew.

`A pretty sight it was, forsooth,

_Silver bells are ringing;_

`For dame and children, maid and youth,

_Silver bells are ringing_.

`The princess laughed out with delight,

`And clapped her hands, so lily-white--

`The darling princess, sweet was she

`As any flowering hawthorn-tree.

`She stood beside her sire, the king,

`And heard the silvery music ring,

`And watched the white horse, o'er the

`Sweep round, and round, and round again

`Until the old wife slacked his pace

`Before the princess' wondering face,

Then snatched her up before they knew,

_Silver bells are ringing;_

And with her from their vision flew,

_Silver bells are ringing._

The nobles to their saddles spring

And follow, headed by the king!

`But, when they reach it, it is gone

`The white dew falls, the sun is set,

`And no trace of the princess yet.

`They gallop over meadows green;

`They leap the bars that lie between;

`Thro' the cool woodland ride they now,

`'Neath rustling branches, bending low;

`The silver music draws them

`Along the beams of moonlight pale,

_Silver bells are ringing;_

`In violet shadows in the vale,

_Silver bells are ringing._

`"Return with us, oh, gracious king!

`This search is but a bootless thing.

`A spell is laid upon our minds,

`Our thoughts are tossed as by the winds,

`And deeper o'er our senses swells

`The music of those silver bells!

`Return, oh, king, ere 'tis

late;

`The Wise Man by the

palace gate

`Will give to thee his

kindly aid,

`So shalt thou find the

royal maid."

`They galloped back o'er hill and dale,

_Silver bells are ringing;_

`In soft gusts came the southern gale,

_Silver bells are ringing._

The trembling king knelt down before

The Wise Man at the palace-door:

"Oh, Wise Man! art thou truly wise--

Find out my child with thy bright eyes!"

"Thy daughter clings to carven stone,

White dove-wings from her shoulders

grown;

In downy dove-plumes is she drest;

They shine like jewels on her breast;

She sits beneath the minster eaves,

Amongst the clustering ivy leaves."

"She was so full of angel-love,"

_Silver bells are ringing_;

"They could but make her a white dove,"

_Silver bells are ringing._

The king stood 'neath the minster wall,

And loudly on his child did call.

A snow-white dove beneath the eaves,

Looked down from 'mongst the ivy leaves,

Then flew down to the monarch's breast,

And, sorely panting, there did rest.

Then spake the Wise Man by his side:

"Oh, king, canst thou subdue thy pride,

And hang thy crown beneath the eaves,

Amongst the clustering ivy leaves

"In thine unhappy daughter's place?"

_Silver bells are ringing;_

"For thus she'll find her maiden grace,"

_Silver bells are ringing._

The jewels in the royal

crown,

Out from the dark

green ivy shone!

The white dove softly

folds her wings,

Then lightly to the ground

she springs--

A princess, sweeter than before,

For being a white dove an hour.

They went home through the happy town,

The king forgot his royal crown,

And soon, beneath the minster eaves,

'Twas hidden by the ivy leaves.

A-BERRYING.

|NOW Susan Jane a-berrying goes,

With her dipper and pail a-berry-

ing goes--

Now Susan Jane creeps dolefully home, and

mournfully hangs her head;

For she tumbled down and bumped her

nose,

`She tore her frock and she stubbed her toes,

And the blueberries all were green, alas! and

the blackberries all were red!

TWO MOODS.

|MEADOWS shadowy and sunny,

Pink with clover, sweet with honey,

Green with grass that shakes and swings,

Rustling 'till it almost sings,

From her open window show

For a pleasant mile or so.

She with earnest, pensive look,

Bending o'er an open book,

Her own happy self forgets

Following a story-child's

Pretty pleasures and regrets.

Straightening up her golden head,

Now she sees the fields instead,

Where the grass and clover stir,

And her glad self and her day

Radiantly come back to her.

THE THREE MARGERY DAWS.

|SEE-SAW, see-saw, up and down we gay-

ly go!

See-saw, see-saw, such a lovely teeter, O!

See-saw, see-saw,

grass across a

`daisy-stalk--

Up and down the robins teetered with their

silvery talk.

See-saw, see-saw! robins, they know how to

play

See-saw, see-saw, as well as children any day;

See-saw, see-saw! lads and lassies, don't you

know,

Grass across a daisy-stalk makes a lovely

teeter, O!

A LITTLE SEAMSTRESS.

|SHE sat in her little rocking-chair, a-sigh-

ing and twirling her thumbs:

"Oh, everything for my doll is done, and

never to mending comes!

I haven't a morsel of sewing!--dear mother,

in all the town,

Can't you find me one doll, no matter how

small, who will wear out her gown?"

THE GOLDEN SLIPPERS.

|MY lady's ready for the ball;

But she's lost her golden slippers,

And the servants scurry all,

From the pantry, from the hall,

`Brooms in hand, and spoons and dippers.

Ah, my lady's golden slippers!

Footman, cook, and housemaid--run!

Hunt ye nimbly, every one!

Round they whirl, the lightsome trippers,

And the music has begun:

Ah, my lady's golden slippers!

Hurry, hurry; for she yet,

`If ye find her golden slippers,

May lead off the minuet

With the Prince of Popinet,

`Foremost of the stately steppers.

`Ah, my lady's golden slippers!

Guess ye where they found them all!

Dancing bravely at the ball,

`Of themselves, these frisky slippers,

Wheeling at the fiddle's call--

`Ah, my lady's golden slippers!

THE TITHING-MAN.

|BONNY sweet-marjoram was in flower,

The pinks had come with their spices

sweet;

Thro' the village sounded the Sabbath-bell,

`And the reverent people flocked down the

street.

Little Elizabeth, prim and pale,

`A decorous little Puritan maid,

Walked soberly up the meeting-house hill,

`With a look on her face as if she prayed.

Her catechism was in her hand,

`Unvexed was she by the scholar's art;

Her simple lesson she simply learned,

`And loved the Father with all her heart.

Her little kerchief was white as snow,

`Like a rose she looked in her Sunday gown

As she soberly climbed the meeting-house

hill,

`With her pretty eyes east meekly down.

`Little Elizabeth sat alone

In the queer old-fashioned oaken pew,

`And earnestly on the parson bent

Her modest, innocent eyes of blue.

`But, ah! the sermon was deep and long,

The parson spoke with a weary drone;

`And she heard the honey-bees out of doors

Hum, in a drowsy monotone;

`The very wind had a sleepy sound--

Little Elizabeth began to nod,

`Though she told herself 'twas a dreadful thing

To fall asleep in the house of God.

`"My fourthly is," the parson droned;--

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep,"

`Mused little Elizabeth in a maze--

And then--ah me! she fell asleep.

`The tithing-man crept down the aisle

In solemn state, with his awful rod,

`To chide the folk in the meeting-house

Who dared to whisper, or smile, or nod.

`Little Elizabeth soundly slept,

All by herself, in the oaken pew,

`With the heavy gold-fringed eyelids drooped

Over her innocent eyes of blue.

`Close to her tiptoed the tithing-man,

And over her reached his awful rod,

`And poked the little Puritan maid

For falling asleep in the house of God.

`Dear little Elizabeth, prim and pale!

How her poor heart jumped when she

woke and found

`The dreaded tithing-man at her side,

And the queer poke-bonnets all turning

round!

`Then she sat straight up in the old oak pew,

Grave and pale as a lily-flower;

`But she thought the people all looked at her,

While all their eyes did lower and glower;

`And, going home, she fancied the birds

Called back and forth, with a knowing nod:

`"There's the little maid whom the tithing-

man

Caught fast asleep in the house of God."

THE BARLEY-CANDY BOY.

|O THE Barley-Candy Boy! O the Bar-

ley-Candy Boy!

Who lived in the toy-man's window, 'tis little

he had of joy!

For he could not eat a bit of sweet, nor any

sugar at all,

Unless he ran a fearful risk of being a can-

nibal.

DOWN IN THE CLOVER.

( _A Duet, with Sheep Obligato._)

|MID feeding lambs and springing grass

There sat a little lad and lass,

A green umbrella overhead,

The flickering shade of boughs instead,

And read a book of fairy rhyme,

All in their gay vacation time.

Quoth he: "The dearest, queerest story

Was that one of the fairy prince,

Who sailed down stream in his pearl dory,

Neath boughs of rose and flowering quince,

To save the lovely princess whom

The wicked, white-haired, old witch-lady

Kept in a tower of awful gloom,

Deep in a magic forest shady:

How proud he tossed his plumèd head

Before the witch's door, and said "--

Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Honey-sweet the clover's

blowing

Ba-a, ba-a! Juicy-green the grass is

growing.

"I think," quoth she, "there's one that's

better:

About that little fairy girl,

`Who bound the ogre with a fetter

Of spiderwort and grass and pearl;

`Then singing in the gateway sat,

Till up the road the prince came prancing,

`A jewelled feather in his hat,

And set the cherry-boughs a-dancing.

`How low he bent his handsome head

Before the fairy girl, and said "--

Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Who the day so sweetly

passes

As a lamb who never stops,

`But from dawn to twilight crops

Clover-heads and dewy grasses?

`"Well, by and by I think I'll be

`A fairy prince as brave as he:

`I'll wind a silver bugle clear,

`Low and dim you'll hear it, dear;

`A sword with jewelled hilt I'll bear,

`A cap and heron-plume I'll wear,

And I will rescue you," quoth

he.

"Fast to the witch's tower I'll

And beat upon the gate, and

cry

`Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Sweet the

simple life we're leading,

`In the sweet green pasture

feeding!

Then quoth the little reader

fair.

`"I've changed my mind, for I don't dare

`To stay there in the witch's tower;

`I'll be the dame who found a flower

`Of gold and rubies--in the tale--

`And sold it for a fairy veil,

`Which made her look so sweet and true

`That she was dearly loved; then you "--

`Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Turn the juicy morsel over.

Who would be a lad or lass,

If he could his summer pass

As the sheep amongst the clover?

Grasshoppers on daisies teeter,

Dew-drops clovers sweeten sweeter.

Who can care for stupid tales,

Fairy horns and f airy veils,

Fairy princess, fairy prince?

Yet we must not blame them, since

`( Turn the juicy morsel over)

`They cannot be sheep in clover.

THE BALLAD OF THE BLACK-SMITH'S SONS.