Chapter VII: Part 7

"Great Manabozho," said the speaker, "the animals of the woods find rose-bushes such delicious food that they eat blossoms, leaves, and stems. Our number is decreasing so rapidly that in a little while there will be none left to gladden the earth. The destruction of your hedge proves how ruthlessly the animals destroy us. Help us, O Chief! Devise some plan to protect us."

"You shall, indeed, have my help," said Manabozho, thoughtfully.

For some time the chief was silent. Then he said, "I'll give _you_ weapons and you shall protect yourselves. Sharp thorns shall grow on your branches and needle-like prickles shall cover the stems which hold your lovely blossoms. While you are armed with these, the cruel animals will not venture to touch you."

The messengers thanked Manabozho with all their hearts. Delighted with his gift, they hastened back to tell the Council how the Great Chief had saved the roses of the world. Ever since that day roses have had thorns.

Adapted from _Algonquin Indian Tales_, by Egerton R. Young. Copyright, 1903, by Egerton R. Young. Reprinted by permission of the Abingdon Press, Publishers.

SWEET PEAS

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight,
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bend them all about with tiny rings.

JOHN KEATS.

A LEGEND OF THE PRIMROSE

In a cottage which stood near a large meadow lived a poor woman and her little child Elizabeth. The mother earned a scant living by spinning and weaving. She was not strong and could work for only a few hours at a time.

Each morning after the little girl had swept the cottage she ran to the meadow and gathered a large bunch of golden primroses. They were her mother's favorite flowers and Elizabeth knew that their sunny color brought good cheer to the room where her mother worked.

One fair morning Elizabeth wandered far across the meadows searching for the brightest blossoms. She filled her arms with the sweetest primroses she could find and turned to hasten back to the cottage when she saw standing near her a lovely little creature. Her dress was made from the golden petals of the primrose and so were her dainty shoes. On her head sparkled a tiny crown studded with yellow jewels. She carried a fairy basket which held a number of wonderfully beautiful primroses.

"Elizabeth," said the little creature, speaking in the most friendly way, "I'm the queen of the key-flower fairies. Tell me why you choose daily to pluck our blossoms."

"These are primroses," said Elizabeth, looking at the flowers in her arms.

"Yes, yes, I know that is the name you mortals call them but their proper name is the key-flower," nodded the fairy.

"They are the blossoms mother loves best," said Elizabeth, answering the little creature's first question. "She is not strong enough to walk in the meadow so each day I fill a bowl with primroses and put them near her spinning wheel."

The queen of the key-flowers fairies came close to Elizabeth, took a blossom from her basket, and offering it to the little girl said, "Today I'm going to send your mother a gift. Hold this flower in your hand and walk to the hills on the east side of the meadow. You will find a path all the way bordered with our blossoms. Follow the path carefully until you come to a hillside in which there is a great arched doorway marked out by the pale gold of these flowers. Touch the door gently with this key-flower which I give you. It will open, and you may enter into an enchanted hall."

Elizabeth took the flower which the fairy offered her and the next moment the tiny creature vanished.

Stretching across the meadow Elizabeth now noticed the flower-bordered path which the fairy had directed her to follow. It led to a sunny hillside where the little girl found exactly what the fairy had described—an arched doorway around which grew pale golden primroses in full bloom.

Very gently Elizabeth tapped with her key-flower on the door, which immediately swung open without the least bit of noise.

"Come in," called a silvery voice. And there, standing in a hall marvellously lighted, stood the queen of the key-flower fairies. Elizabeth walked into the enchanted hall. Through a crystal roof the golden sunlight streamed on lovely hanging-baskets filled with brilliant primroses. The floor and walls were covered with rich green moss and the curious furniture was fashioned from pale yellow petals. On the tables stood baskets and vases holding large bunches of primrose blossoms. Their delicious scent filled the air.

"This is key-flower hall," said the fairy.

Then, pointing to some golden chests which stood near the walls she continued, "Your key-flower will unlock those treasure-boxes. Open one of them and see what it holds."

Elizabeth tapped gently with her fairy primrose on one of the boxes. Immediately the lid opened and she saw that the chest was filled with pale golden flower petals.

"You may take home to your mother as many flower petals as you can carry in your apron," said the fairy.

Elizabeth began to fill her apron with the soft golden disks, but, strange to say, she no sooner lifted them from the treasure-chest than they hardened into golden coins.

The fairy laughed merrily when she saw the astonished look on Elizabeth's face. Then, suddenly, again the little creature vanished.

Elizabeth hurried home as fast as she could and gave the fairy's gift to her mother. There was plenty of money to buy all the food and comforts which the poor woman needed to make her grow strong again.

Elizabeth loved to tell her about her adventure with the queen of the primrose fairies and the treasure which the magic key-flower unlocked.

EVENING PRIMROSES

While grey was the summer evening
Hast never a small sprite seen
Lighting the fragrant torches
For the feast of the Faerie Queen?

The buds in the primrose-bushes
Upspring into yellow light,
But ever the wee deft spirit
Escapes my bewildered sight.

Yet oft through the dusky garden
A dainty white moth will fly,
Or, pink as a pink rose-petal,
One lightly will waver by.

Perhaps 'tis the shape he comes in
Perhaps it is he, indeed,
Sir Moth or the merry Cobweb
Or the Whimsical Mustard-Seed!

HELEN GRAY CONE.

LEGEND OF THE LILY-OF-THE-VALLEY

ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

Once when the Little Child of Bethlehem was playing, he grew very tired and thirsty, and his playmate was very thirsty, too. So Jesus ran to the well for a cup of water and hurried back with it without stopping to drink. But his playmate was greedy, for he seized the cup and drank it all except a few drops at the bottom; then he gave the empty cup to Jesus, who took it and let the last few drops fall on the grass, when suddenly, from where they fell, there flowed a little clear stream of water with lilies-of-the-valley blooming along its bank.

KATRINA'S SUN-DIAL

Hours fly,
Flowers die,
New days,
New ways
Pass by,
Love stays.

HENRY VAN DYKE.

THE THREE LITTLE BUTTERFLIES

There were once three little butterflies, one was white, one was red, and one was yellow. They played in the sunshine and danced from one blossom to another. They never grew tired, for they loved to play among the flowers in the garden.

One day a heavy rain fell and the little butterflies became very wet. They soon hurried home but when they got to their house they found the door locked and they could not find the key. So they had to stay outdoors and they became wetter and wetter.

But by and by they flew to a yellow and red striped tulip and said:

"Dear Tulip, open your little flower cup so that we may slip in until the rain is over?"

The tulip answered, "I will gladly open my flower cup to the red butterfly and the yellow one. They are like me. But the white one may not come in."

But the butterflies, the red and the yellow ones, said: "No, if our white brother may not go into your flower cup with us, we will stay out here in the rain with him." And away they flew. It rained harder and harder and they flew to a white lily and said: "Good lily, open your flower cup a little so that we may find shelter from this rain." The lily answered, "I will open my flower cup so that the white butterfly may come in because he is like me, but the red and yellow butterflies must stay out in the rain." Then the white butterfly said: "No; if you will not shelter my brothers, you cannot shelter me. We would rather stay outside together and be wet than leave one another in need."

And the three little butterflies flew farther on together.

It happened that the jolly old sun who was behind the clouds heard all that was said and he knew how kind the little butterfly brothers were to each other, for, had they not stayed together in spite of the hard, hard rain? So his sunbeams pierced the clouds and drove away the rain, and it was clear and bright once more in the garden. The butterflies were not wet long for the sunbeams soon dried their wings and warmed their bodies. Then how merry they were! They danced again and played among the flowers until it was evening, then they flew away together to their house—and the door was wide open!

THE PINKS

The pinks along my garden walks
Have all shot forth their summer stalks,
Thronging their buds 'mong tulips hot,
And blue forget-me-not.

Their dazzling snows forth-bursting soon
Will lade the idle breath of June:
And waken through the fragrant night
To steal the pale moonlight.

ROBERT BRIDGES.

THE FLOWER'S THANKS

LYMAN ABBOTT

A little flower lay drooping on the ground under an August sun. For days there had been no rain. The earth was dry and hard. The little flower had held up its open mouth for rain, but no rain had come.

And now it was dying of thirst.

As it lay dying a shadow passed over the sun. The air became dark.

Heavy thunder rolled. Flashes of lightning chased each other across the sky.

The birds hushed their singing. The very leaves of the tree stood still.

At last two big drops fell at the root of the little flower.

A moment, and then the air was full of raindrops. They lifted the dying flower. They washed it, fed it and brought it back to life.

When the sun broke through the clouds, two great tears glistened on the little flower's cheek. They were tears of thankfulness.

Then the flower lifted up its voice and said:

"Thank you, raindrops,—good raindrops,—you have saved my life."

But the raindrops answered, "Thank not us; thank the clouds; they sent us."

Then the flower lifted up its voice and said:

"Thank you, clouds,—good clouds,—you have saved my life."

But the clouds answered, "Thank not us; thank the sun. It saw you dying and called us from the ocean. The winds heard you sighing, and brought us here to help you."

Then the little flower turned to the wind and the sun. The wind bent down to the earth, and stopped for a moment to hear its words.

The sun sent down its beams to receive the flower's message.

"Thank you, wind,—good wind," said the little flower.

"Thank you, sun,—good sun,—you have saved my life."

"Thank not us," said the sun and the wind; "thank the good God. He saw you dying; He heard you sighing, He took pity on you. We, sun and winds and clouds and falling raindrops are only the givers of His bounty."

And the flower breathed a prayer of thanks to the great and good God.

PANSIES

Pansies! pansies! How I love you, pansies,
Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped and dewy-eyed with glee;
Would my song might blossom out in little five-leaved stanzas
As delicate in fancies,
As your beauty is to me.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

From the Biographical Edition of the complete works of James Whitcomb Riley. Copyright 1913. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

THE LITTLE HEARTSEASE

One morning a king went into his garden for a walk. He noticed that the trees and flowers were drooped and somewhat withered. Turning to a great branching oak tree, his majesty said, "Tell me what has happened to my garden?"

"Sire," moaned the oak tree, "I am most unhappy. See how thick my trunk is and how gnarled and twisted my great branches are. Now the pine tree, which stands at the other end of the garden, is a picture of grace and beauty. How tall and slender the stem is, and what dainty needles—like leaves—adorn the branches."

The king walked on until he came to the pine tree. As he drew near he heard a deep sigh.

"What troubles you, slender pine tree?" he asked.

"Sire," replied the pine, "I've been wishing for many a day that I could bear luscious grapes such as ripen on the vine which trails over the garden wall. To bear rich clusters of purple fruit must, indeed, bring great happiness."

The king walked on until he came to the garden wall where the grapevine trailed. But he saw that the vine was withering and slipping down from the wall.

"What a rich harvest of fruit you bear this autumn!" said the king, going close to the grapevine. But, to his surprise, he heard a deep sigh and the grapevine said, "It is very hard to be obliged to cling to a garden wall for support. I should like to stand erect in the sunlight where all could see my ripe fruit." And the vine looked longingly at a peach tree which stood near.

The king turned down a little winding path, which led to a quieter spot in his garden. There he saw a bright-faced pansy drinking the morning dew, and beaming with happiness.

"Heartsease, my brave little flower," said the king, "you seem very cheerful. Tell me what wish you are nursing in that golden heart of yours?"

"Sire," answered the little flower, "my dearest wish is to be the very best heartsease that ever I can."

LEGEND OF THE RED GERANIUM

Once upon a time there lived in a country far over the sea a prophet whose name was Mohammed. He was a great leader and traveled many miles through his country, teaching the people who looked to him for guidance.

One scorching hot day, after a long pilgrimage through a dusty country, the great prophet stopped to rest. A clear stream flowed near him, and Mohammed bathed in its cool waters and then washed his travel-stained clothes. He spread the clean linen over a tall mallow plant. Then he lay down to rest while his garments were drying.

After sleeping for an hour or two the prophet wakened, much refreshed. He lifted his dry linen from the common plant, and lo! a great surprise met his eye. The mallow had been changed into a magnificent geranium, whose red clusters were dazzlingly bright in the sunshine.

ENCHANTED TULIPS

Tulips white and tulips red,
Sweeter than a violet bed!
Say, old Mother Bailey, say,
Why your tulips look so gay,
Why they smell so sweet and why
They bloom when others die?

"By the pixies' magic power
Do my tulips always flower,
By the pixies' magic spell
Do they give so sweet a smell!
Tulips, tulips, red and white,
Fill the pixies with delight.

"Pixie women, pixie men,
Seek my tulips from the glen;
Midnight comes, they may be heard
Singing sweet as any bird,
Singing their wee babes to rest
In the tulips they love best!"

MAUD KEARY.

IRIS

Juno, the wife of Jupiter, was queen of the earth and sky. In her beautiful golden chariot, drawn by six brilliant peacocks, the proud queen sometimes drove on errands to all parts of the kingdom and even to the ends of the earth.

But when she wished a message to be delivered quickly she usually sent Iris, her faithful messenger, who was swift as the wind, to carry out her queen's requests. She would arch a lovely bridge of many colors from the skies to the earth; then, in robes of violet, blue, green, yellow, and red, she would pass over the bridge like a flash of light with her message to the earth or, perhaps, to the depths of the sea. When the people saw the brilliant arch in the sky they would call out, "See the rainbow. Iris brings us a message from Juno."

One day Juno invited all the flowers to a festival, for it was Iris's birthday. Many flowers came clothed in wondrous beauty. While the merry-making was at its highest, three strange flowers, who were sisters, appeared. One wore a rich red gown, another a bright yellow, and a third was clad in the softest violet. Each was adorned with richest jewels.

"Who are they and whence do they come?" asked the revelers. No one could answer, for no one knew the names of the strange visitors; indeed, not one flower could remember ever having seen them before.

When the strangers neared the others to join in the festival, the rain began to fall, and the little raindrops laughed and frolicked and danced in glee, while the flowers caught them in their cups and quickly let them roll away again to join the rest of their playmates.

Soon the sun was shining gorgeously again. And right across the sky spread the splendid arch of a rainbow, like bent sunbeams, one end of which was held by the strange flowers.

"The rainbow," cried the others, as soon as they saw it. "See, Iris's bridge. And the colors worn by the strange flowers are exactly like the red, yellow, and violet of the rainbow. Let us give our new friends the name of Iris. It was they who brought her lovely arched bridge into our midst."

Ever since that day these tall, stately flowers have been called by the name of Iris, the faithful messenger of the gods.

THE YELLOW-BIRD[3]

Hey! my little yellow-bird,
What you doing there?
Like a flashing sun-ray
Flitting everywhere;
Dangling down the tall weeds
And the holly-hocks,
And the lovely sunflowers
Along the garden walks.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

Footnote 3:

From the Biographical Edition of the complete works of James Whitcomb
Riley. Copyright, 1913. Used by special permission of the publishers,
The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

ORIGIN OF THE SUNFLOWER

(GREEK MYTH)

Clytie was the name of a beautiful nymph who lived in a coral cave far down in the depths of the sea. It happened one morning that she ventured to the surface of the water and looked toward the east. In the distance where the earth and sky met she saw a marvellous sight. Aurora, the goddess of dawn, rolled aside the soft grey curtains of the morning sky and there, waiting for the day's journey, stood Apollo's jeweled car.

Clytie saw the sun-god leap into his seat and take lightly in hand the reins of his restless, prancing steeds. Then up the steep slope of the eastern sky he drove, and the gleam from his dazzling chariot filled the air with golden light. All day long Clytie sat on the rocks near the shore and watched Apollo in his brilliant course. At evening when the last beams from the sun-god's car sank into the western sea, the nymph, with a deep sigh, returned to her coral halls.

But she no longer took keen delight in fashioning delicate shells and tending her seaweed gardens. She had fallen in love with the sun-god and longed with all her heart to see him again. One morning very early she rose to the surface of the water and wandered eastward toward a large green meadow which was very near the place where Apollo started his course. Again she saw the "rosy-fingered Dawn" roll aside the soft grey curtains; again she saw the radiant beauty of the sun-god. Clytie fixed her eyes on the driver of the golden chariot and never for one moment lost sight of him in his day's journey through the sky. For nine days the sea-nymph lingered in the meadow, tasting neither food nor drink, hoping for some small sign of favour from Apollo. But he was too intent on his marvellous course to find interest in the adoring Clytie. Her constancy, however, touched the heart of the sun-god with pity, and he changed her into a flower. Her slender limbs became a tall green stem, her delicate sea-green dress turned into leaves, and her lovely face and golden hair changed into sun-like flowers which faithfully follow the brilliant god of day all through his course.

THE BLUEBELL

There is a story I have heard;
A poet learned it of a bird,
And kept its music, every word.

About two thousand years ago,
A little flower, as white as snow,
Swayed in the silence to and fro.

Day after day with longing eye,
The floweret watched the narrow sky
And the fleecy clouds that floated by.

And swiftly o'er its petals white,
There crept a blueness like the light
Of skies, upon a summer night.

And in its chalice, I am told,
The bonny bell was found to hold
A tiny star that gleamed like gold.

THE DEW MOTHER'S GIFT TO THE
ROSE

On warm summer evenings, when the afterglow of sunset tints the sky, the Dew Mother comes to care for her children of the earth, the trees, grass, and flowers. She is dressed in garments of softest grey, so delicate and so much like the mists of the evening sky that it is very hard, indeed, to see her wander about with her precious refreshing gift.

One evening, after a scorching hot day, the Dew Mother had heavy work to perform. She was needed everywhere. The fierce rays of the sun had parched the forest leaves; the fruit in the orchards and vineyards must be bathed in the life-giving dew; the thirsty flowers, hanging their heads, waited patiently for her tender care and they knew she would not forsake them.

When the Dew Mother had completed her task she was so weary that she felt she must rest before leaving the earth. It happened that she was in an old-fashioned garden where she found a bed of velvet moss. Here she lay down and slept until sunrise. When she opened her eyes she saw bending over her a beautiful rose bush.

"My queen of flowers, thou hast watched me through the night, and sheltered me with tender care from the sun's first rays," said the Dew Mother. "But what new gift can I add to the beauty of the rose whose perfume is the richest I can bestow; whose colour is like the first flush of the morning sky?"

Very humbly the queen of flowers replied, "Grant me a gift of the green moss, which made your resting place under my branches."

So the Dew Mother gladly added the gift of delicate soft moss to the manifold beauties of the rose, and to-day in many an old-fashioned garden one finds the exquisite moss rose.

A YELLOW PANSY

To the wall of the old green garden
A butterfly, quivering, came;
His wings in the somber lichens
Played like a yellow flame.

He looked at the grey geraniums,
And the sleepy four-o'clocks;
He looked at the low lanes bordered
With the glossy-growing box.

He longed for the peace and the silence,
And the shadows that lengthened there,
And his wee wild heart was weary
Of skimming the endless air.

And now in the old green garden,—
I know not how it came,—
A single pansy is blooming,
Bright as a yellow flame.

And whenever a gay gust passes,
It quivers as if with pain,
For the butterfly-soul that is in it
Longs for the winds again!

HELEN GRAY CONE.

MIGNONETTE

There was once a queen who was so fond of flowers that she wished to make her garden the most beautiful one in the world. Messengers from her court were sent into strange lands, and commanded to bring her majesty rare and wonderful flowering plants to fill her garden with a wealth of bloom.

"It must be a garden fit for a queen," she said to those who were sent at her bidding.

So great was this queen's love of flowers that she ordered her servants to keep a bouquet in every room of the palace during the flower season. And every morning her handmaidens gathered the choicest blossoms and placed them upon a table in the queen's own room.

Now it chanced one day that while the handmaidens were picking the flowers for their queen, one of them looked over the garden wall to the blue hills that lay beyond. To her great surprise, she discovered that a field alight with wonderful colors—yellow, blue, and crimson—stretched before her. It reached out toward a bank of white daisies which bordered the distant hills.

"Come, come!" she called to the others. "See, is this not a fair sight?"

The handmaidens came at the call and were lost in wonder at the beauty of the scene.

"Let us gather her majesty's bouquet this morning from the flowers here," suggested one. "I am sure our queen does not know how much beauty lies so close to her own garden."

The others were well pleased with the plan. Together they climbed the stone wall, ran into the field, and gathered a wealth of blossoms. In a little while these field flowers graced the royal table.

Now the queen who, as you know, loved her flowers more than any other one thing in the world, never failed each morning to look at her bouquet and examine with loving care each blossom in it. And it was with no small surprise that she discovered the strange flowers placed that morning upon her table.

"These blossoms are rare, indeed," said she. "Is it possible that my garden contains so many plants that are strangers to me? I have seen blossoms more beautiful than some of these, but never before have I enjoyed a perfume so delicious. To which one of them does it belong, I wonder?" And the queen bent close to the bouquet to see if she could detect the flower with the sweet odor.

"I shall want the same kind of bouquet for many days," she said, smiling.

So it happened that each morning the handmaidens ran to the fields beyond the palace garden, and gathered some of the flowers which had won her majesty's heart.

One morning the queen called her handmaidens to her and said, "The flower with the delicious odor is missing. Do you know which one was not gathered to-day?"

"We do not know," said the maidens; "each day we have tried to bring the same kind of flowers. We will search for it."

But day after day the queen was disappointed, because she missed from her flowers the one whose perfume was the sweetest she had ever enjoyed.

Once or twice she thought the handmaidens had found the blossom, but in a little while she knew the scent was not the one she was hoping to find.

One morning she said, "I'll go with you to gather the blossoms, my handmaidens. I shall find the flower by its rare odor."

Then the maidens told the queen about the meadow outside the royal park, and together they went to the beautiful field, whose blossoms delighted her majesty's heart. Many times while they were all searching for the treasure, they saw the queen stoop over a bright flower and linger for a moment or two. Then she would shake her head and say, "No, that is not the perfume I am searching."

"It must be in this meadow somewhere," said one of the maidens, "for many days we have gathered flowers nowhere but here."

"We'll search until we find it, then," said the queen.

As she spoke a light breeze began to stir the flowers, and a delicate perfume filled the air.

"I smell the rare odor now," called out her majesty. "Come, stand near for a moment, and enjoy it. Surely the flower is not far away."

The handmaidens gathered round their queen. Suddenly one of them said, "Can it be that this odor comes from the little plant under your majesty's foot?" asked one of the maidens.

"Surely not," answered another; "those flowers are so small and colorless."

The queen stooped down and took a spray from the humble little plant which had sent forth an exquisite perfume when a careless foot had crushed its blossoms.

"It is! It is!" cried the queen in delight. "I have found it at last. It shall be brought into the royal gardens, and shall be my special treasure. What a modest little plant it is, and what rare delight it gives."

"Shall you give your treasure a name?" asked the handmaidens.

The queen looked for a moment at the spray she held. Then she said, "I shall call it Mignonette, which means 'little darling.'"

Accordingly, the mignonette was taken from its wild life in the meadows and brought into the gardens, where it still gives forth the sweetest of all perfumes.

FLOWERS

Her garden was her pleasure and her care;
Morning and evening one could find her there
Working and wondering. Every scent and hue
Filled her with joy, with beauty pierced her through.

For as her flowers opened to the sun
Each seemed a radiant world her soul had won,
This paradise of perfume her own hand
Had made, this glowing tapestry she planned.
From walls that kept marauding winds shut out,
A fountain splashed, a brook wound slow about
Field of spiced-candy-tuft, hedged with trim box,
Dark blue verbenas, larkspur, snow-white phlox,
And beds of heliotrope that in the night
Offered rare incense for the stars' delight.
Robin and catbird sought her iris pool,
Fluttered and bathed them in its shallow cool,
Then poised one happy moment on the banks
To offer to the stream their lyric thanks.

EDWARD BLISS REED.

ON A MIDSUMMER DAY

O, grown-ups cannot understand
And grown-ups never will,
How short's the way to fairy-land
Across the purple hill:
They smile: their smile is very bland,
Their eyes are wise and chill;
And yet—at just a child's command—
The world's an Eden still.

ALFRED NOYES.

THE FRIENDLY COWSLIP BELLS

One midsummer day the bright sun shone from morning until evening; not even a wisp of white cloud floated across the blue, blue sky. The fairies were delighted, for that night they were going to have their gayest sport.

"We shall have a fine revel in cowslip meadow to-night," said a happy little creature to the fairy shoemaker who had been busy for many a day making shoes for the midsummer revel.

The little wrinkled old man was fastening a diamond buckle on the queen's dancing slippers and he did not like to be bothered when he was busy, so he merely shook his head and sang:

"Red sky at night
Is the fairies' delight;
Red sky in the morning
Is the fairies' warning."

"But there hasn't been a cloud as big as my thumb nail in the sky all day long," said the merry little fairy. "How can there be rain without clouds?"

The shoemaker nodded his head, went on with his work, and sang again:

"The clear blue sky
Means rain is nigh."

One hour before midnight when the big round moon lit up the fields and dells a rainbow troop of fairies in dainty gossamer robes and sparkling slippers came forth from their village in the hills for the midsummer night merry-making.

The dancing in a ring was the greatest sport. First they formed a circle standing very close together. Then, keeping time to the music of the fairy fiddler, who stood in the center, the little revellers danced round and round in a ring which grew larger and larger until the dancers could scarcely touch one another's tiny fingers. Peals of silvery laughter filled the air as they broke away from the ring and had a merry game of hide and seek or catch, until the fairy fiddler's music lured them back to the dancing ring.

Three times they had danced in the ring; three times they had frolicked among the grass blades in the merry games of hide and seek and catch, when suddenly they noticed a dark shadow fall on the green dancing rings.

Wistfully they peered at the sky to see what was the matter. Soft clouds were sailing right across the moon's face and the next moment a few pattering raindrops began to fall, and the fairy shoemaker, who had brought his work out into the fields (he never joined in the sport), sang out in a high, ringing voice:

"A clear blue sky
Means rain is nigh."

The fairies all knew what he meant for he had sung the same little rhyme several times during the day when they had rejoiced about the promise of a clear, moonlight night.

"What shall we do?"

"Where shall we go?" asked the tiny creatures, for the raindrops were beginning to fall faster.

"See how the cowslip bells are bending. Perhaps they mean to shelter us," said the fairy queen.

In a twinkling groups of fairies fled to the stalks of cowslip tufts. One after another each crept quickly into one of the hanging bells of the flowers, and there they nestled softly, safe from the pattering raindrops, which fell faster and faster in a midnight summer shower. How cosy they were, cuddled up in the golden bells which swayed gently to and fro as light breezes touched them. So delighted they were with these lovely cradles that they sang one of their sweetest melodies when the clouds disappeared and the full moon again flooded the meadow with light.

The fairies did not forget the service of the friendly cowslip bells. They gave the flower a new name—the fairy-cup—and always in their midsummer night's revel, at a sign from the fairy queen, they stop dancing for a few moments, creep into the bells of the cowslips, and sing their sweetest melody of Fairyland.

FAIRY DAWN

'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."

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW

ERNEST RHYS

Once upon a time, a great while ago, when men did eat and drink less, and were more honest, and knew no knavery, there was wont to walk many harmless sprites called fairies, dancing in brave order in fairy rings on green hills with sweet music. Sometimes they were invisible, and sometimes took divers shapes. Many mad pranks would they play, as pinching of untidy damsels black and blue, and misplacing things in ill-ordered houses; but lovingly would they use good girls, giving them silver and other pretty toys, which they would leave for them, sometimes in their shoes, other times in their pockets, sometimes in bright basins and other clean vessels.

Now it chanced that in those happy days, a babe was born in a house to which the fairies did like well to repair. This babe was a boy, and the fairies, to show their pleasure, brought many pretty things thither, coverlets and delicate linen for his cradle; and capons, woodcock, and quail for the christening, at which there was so much good cheer that the clerk had almost forgot to say the babe's name—Robin Goodfellow. So much for the birth and christening of little Robin.

When Robin was grown to six years of age, he was so knavish that all the neighbors did complain of him; for, no sooner was his mother's back turned, but he was in one knavish action or other, so that his mother was constrained (to avoid the complaints) to take him with her to market or wheresoever she went or rode. But this helped little or nothing, for, if he rode before her, then would he make mouths and ill-favored faces at those he met: if he rode behind her, then would he clap his hand on the tail; so that his mother was weary of the many complaints that came against him. Yet knew she not how to beat him justly for it, because she never saw him do that which was worthy of blows. The complaints were daily so renewed that his mother promised him a whipping. Robin did not like that cheer, and, therefore, to avoid it, he ran away, and left his mother a-sorrowing for him.

After Robin had travelled a good day's journey from his mother's house he sat down, and, being weary, he fell asleep. No sooner had slumber closed his eye-lids, but he thought he saw many goodly proper little personages in antic measures tripping about him, and withal he heard such music, as he thought that Orpheus, that famous Greek fiddler (had he been alive), compared to one of these had been but a poor musician. As delights commonly last not long, so did those end sooner than Robin would willingly they should have done; and for very grief he awaked, and found by him lying a scroll wherein was written these lines following, in golden letters:—

"Robin, my only son and heir,
How to live take thou no care:
By nature thou hast cunning shifts,
Which I'll increase with other gifts.
Wish what thou wilt, thou shalt it have;
And for to fetch both fool and knave,
Thou hast the power to change thy shape,
To horse, to hog, to dog, to ape,
Transformed thus, by any means
See none thou harm'st but knaves and queans:
But love thou those that honest be,
And help them in necessity.
Do thus and all the world shall know
The pranks of Robin Goodfellow,
For by that name thou called shalt be
To age's last posterity;
And if thou keep my just command,
One day thou shalt see Fairy-land!"

Robin, having read this, was very joyful, yet longed he to know whether he had the power or not, and to try it he wished for some meat. Presently a fine dish of roast veal was before him. Then wished he for plum-pudding; he straightway had it. This liked him well, and, because he was weary, he wished himself a horse: no sooner was his wish ended, but he was changed into as fine a nag as you need see, and leaped and curveted as nimbly as if he had been in stable at rack and manger a full month. Then he wished himself a black dog, and he was so; then a green tree, and he was so. So from one thing to another, till he was quite sure that he could change himself to anything whatsoever he liked.

Thereupon, full of delight at his new powers, Robin Goodfellow set out, eager to put them to the test.

As he was crossing a field, he met with a red-faced carter's clown and called to him to stop.

"Friend," quoth he, "what is a clock?"

"A thing," answered the clown, "that shows the time of the day."

"Why, then," said Robin Goodfellow, "be thou a clock and tell me what time of the day it is."

"I owe thee not so much service," answered the clown again, "but, because thou shalt think thyself beholden to me, know that it is the same time of the day as it was yesterday at this time!"

These shrewd answers vexed Robin Goodfellow, so that in himself he vowed to be revenged of the clown, which he did in this manner.

Robin Goodfellow turned himself into a bird and followed this fellow, who was going into a field a little from that place to catch a horse that was at grass. The horse, being wild, ran over dyke and hedge, and the fellow after, but to little purpose, for the horse was too swift for him. Robin was glad of this occasion, for now or never was the time to have his revenge.

Presently Robin shaped himself exactly like the horse that the clown followed, and so stood right before him. Then the clown took hold of the horse's mane and got on his back, but he had not ridden far when, with a stumble, Robin hurled his rider over his head, so that he almost broke his neck. But then again he stood still and let the clown mount him once more.

By the way which the clown now would ride was a great pond of water of a good depth, which covered the road. No sooner did he ride into the very middle of the pond than Robin Goodfellow turned himself into a fish, and so left him with nothing but the pack-saddle on which he was riding betwixt his legs. Meanwhile the fish swiftly swam to the bank. And then Robin, changed to a naughty boy again, ran away laughing, "Ho, ho, hoh!" leaving the poor clown half drowned and covered with mud.

As Robin took his way along a green hedge-side he fell to singing:—

"And can the doctor make sick men well?
And can the gipsy a fortune tell
Without lily, germander, and cockle-shell?
With sweet-brier,
And bon-fire
And strawberry wine,
And columbine."

And when he had sung this over, he fell to wondering what he should next turn himself into. Then, as he saw the smoke rise from the chimneys of the next town, he thought to himself it would be to him great sport to walk the streets with a broom on his shoulder, and cry:

"Chimney sweep."

But when presently Robin did this, and one did call him, then did Robin run away laughing, "Ho, ho, hoh!"

Next he set about to counterfeit a lame beggar, begging very pitifully; but when a stout chandler came out of his shop to give Robin an alms, again he skipped off nimbly, laughing as his naughty manner was.

That same night, he did knock at many men's doors, and when the servants came out he blew out their candle and straightway vanished in the dark street, with his "Ho, ho, hoh!"

All these mirthful tricks did Robin play, that day and night, and in these humours of his he had many pretty songs, one of which I will sing as perfectly as I can. He sang it in his chimney-sweeper's humour, to the tune of "I have been a fiddler these fifteen years."

"Black I am from head to foot,
And all doth come by chimney soot.
Then, maidens, come and cherish him
That makes your chimneys neat and trim."

But it befell that, on the very next night to his playing the chimney-sweep, Robin had a summons from the land where are no chimneys. For King Oberon, seeing Robin Goodfellow do so many merry tricks, called him out of his bed with these words, saying:—

"Robin, my son, come; quickly rise:
First stretch, then yawn, and rub your eyes;
For thou must go with me tonight,
And taste of Fairy-land's delight."

Robin, hearing this, rose and went to him. There were with King Oberon many fairies, all attired in green. All these, with King Oberon, did welcome Robin Goodfellow into their company. Oberon took Robin by the hand and led him a fair dance: their musician had an excellent bag-pipe made of a wren's quill and the skin of a Greenland fly. This pipe was so shrill and so sweet that a Scottish pipe, compared to it, would no more come near it than a Jew's-harp doth to an Irish harp. After they had danced, King Oberon said to Robin:—

"Whene'er you hear the piper blow,
Round and round the fairies go!
And nightly you must with us dance,
In meadows where the moonbeams glance,
And make the circle, hand in hand—
That is the law of Fairy-land!
There thou shalt see what no man knows;
While sleep the eyes of men doth close!"

So marched they, with their piper before, to the Fairy-land. There did King Oberon show Robin Goodfellow many secrets, which he never did open to the world. And there, in Fairy-land, doth Robin Goodfellow abide now this many a long year.

A QUARREL IN FAIRYLAND

(ARRANGED FROM "A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S
DREAM")

Time—Midsummer Night.
Place—An enchanted grove.

_Characters_
OBERON—_King of Fairyland_
TITANIA—_Queen of Fairyland_
PUCK—_Robin Goodfellow_
BOTTOM—_A clownish fellow_
PEAS-BLOSSOM
COBWEB
MOTH }
MUSTARD SEED } _Fairies_
ATTENDANT FAIRIES

SCENE I

(_Enter, from opposite sides, a_ FAIRY _and_ PUCK)

PUCK.

How now, spirit! whither wander you?

FAIRY.

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be.
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, Fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours.
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone;
Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.

PUCK.

The King doth keep his revels here to-night:
Take heed the Queen come not within his sight;
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
Because that she as her attendant hath
A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king.
She never had so sweet a changeling;
And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild.
But she perforce withholds the lovèd boy,
Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:
And now they never meet in grove or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
But they do square, that all their elves for fear
Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.

FAIRY.

Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Called Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery;
Skims milk, and sometime labours in the quern,
And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn;
And sometime makes the drink to bear no barn;
Misleads night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
You do their work and they shall have good luck.
Are not you he?

PUCK.

Thou speak'st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal;
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab;
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
Then slip I from her, and down topples she,
And "tailor" cries, and falls into a cough;
And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,
And waxen in their mirth, and sneeze, and swear
A merrier hour was never wasted there.
But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.

FAIRY.

And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

(_Enter, from one side_, OBERON _with his train_;
_from the other_, TITANIA _with hers_)

OBERON.

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.

TITANIA.

What, jealous Oberon! Fairy, skip hence.

OBERON.

Tarry, rash wanton: am I not thy lord?

TITANIA.

Then I must be thy lady.
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, forest, or head,
By pavèd fountain or by rushy brook,
Or on the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlet to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.

OBERON.

Do you amend it, then; it lies in you:
Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
I do but beg a little changeling boy,
To be my henchman.

TITANIA.

Set your heart at rest:
The Fairyland buys not the child of me.
If you will patiently dance in our round,
And see our moonlight revels, go with us;
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

OBERON.

Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

TITANIA.

Not for thy Fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.

(_Exit_ TITANIA _with her train_.)

OBERON.

Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove
Till I torment thee for this injury.—
My gentle Puck, come hither.
Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once.
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again.
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

PUCK.

I'll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.

(_Exit_ PUCK)

OBERON.

Having once this juice,
I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
And drop the liquour of it in her eyes.
The next thing then she, waking, looks upon,
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,—
She shall pursue it with the soul of love;
And ere I take this charm from off her sight,—
As I can take it with another herb,—
I'll make her render up her page to me

(_Re-enter_ PUCK)

Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.

PUCK.

Aye, here it is.

OBERON.

I pray thee, give it me.
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows;
Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight.
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in;
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,
And make her full of hateful fantasies.

SCENE II

(_Another part of the wood_)

(_Enter_ Titania, _with her train_)

TITANIA.

Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;
Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves' coats; and some keep back
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
Then to your offices, and let me rest.

(_The_ FAIRIES _sing_)

FIRST FAIRY

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newt and blind-worms, do no wrong,
Come not near our fairy queen.

_Chorus._

Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.

SECOND FAIRY.

Weaving spiders, come here;
Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail, do no offense.

_Chorus._

Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm,
Nor spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.

FIRST FAIRY.

Hence, away! now all is well;
One aloof stand sentinel.

(_Exeunt_ FAIRIES. TITANIA _sleeps_.)

_Enter_ OBERON, _and squeezes the flower on_
TITANIA'S _eyelids_.

OBERON.

What thou seest when thou dost wake,
Do it for thy true-love take;
Love and languish for his sake:
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
In thy eye that shall appear
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear:
Wake when some vile thing is near.

[_Exit_ OBERON]

(The mischievous little PUCK, wandering in the forest, meets a clownish fellow named BOTTOM. Very slyly PUCK slips an ass's head over BOTTOM'S hairy pate; and in this strange disguise the clown walks very near the flowery bank where TITANIA lies sleeping. He sings in a harsh voice and awakens the Fairy Queen. The charm makes her fall in love with BOTTOM, since he is the first creature she sees upon waking.)

BOTTOM (_sings_).

The ousel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill,—

Titania (awakening).

What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

Bottom (sings).

The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo grey,
Whose note full many a man doth mark—
And dares not answer nay;—
for, indeed, who would set his wit to so
foolish a bird? Who would give a bird the
lie, though he cry "cuckoo" never so?

TITANIA.

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much enamor'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape,
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

BOTTOM.

Methinks, mistress, you should have little
reason for that: and yet, to say the truth,
reason and love keep little company together
now-a-days; the more the pity, that
some honest neighbours will not make them
friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

TITANIA.

Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

BOTTOM.