Chapter II: Introduction (1)

This volume appears, I trust opportunely, during the initial signs of a revival of that romantic or supernatural element which is the first characteristic of primitive song-craft in every nation, and is, by a select section of discriminating literary critics, now welcomed as the salvation of modern poetry. Independently of this fact, there can be no need for apology in presenting for the first time to the lovers of phantasy an anthology of the fairy poetry which during six centuries has made beautiful by its gracious melody the minor paths of English song. I propose in this brief introduction to consider the Elfin mythology in its connection with poetry, without attempting an actually critical estimate of the literary value of the fairy flights which follow it; their poetic merit is, for the most part, sufficiently guaranteed by the names which are attached to them—Chaucer and Spenser in the aurora or day-spring of our literature; Shakespeare, Drayton, Herrick, and other masters of melody in the splendour of its meridian light; Hogg, Horne, and Allingham at our own epoch of inspired imaginings.

From the days of Casaubon to Keightley, many conflicting derivations of the word fairy have been proposed by rival etymologists. It is now fairly established that it has come to us from the Latin _fatum_, through the Romance languages. A debased Latin verb, _fatere_, to enchant, was common in mediæval times, and was naturalised in Spain, Italy, and Provence. The French form was _faer_, _féer_. Of this verb, says Keightley, in his masterly _Fairy Mythology_, the past participle is _faé_, _fé_; hence in the romances we continually meet with _les chevaliers faés_, _les dames faées_, etc. From the verb _faér_, _féer_, to enchant, we are told by the same authority that the French made a substantive, _faerié_, _féerie_, illusion, enchantment, a word which was considerably extended in its meaning both before and after its assimilation into the English language, and which came to be employed, not only for illusion, but for the land which was _par excellence_ the home of all gramary, illusion, and _envoutement_, namely, the Land of the Fairies, for the people who dwell therein, and for every individual member of the elfin tribe.

It is also established, and by this etymology itself, that the original fairy of Frankish poetry and fiction was simply a female initiated into the mysteries and marvels of magic. Such was the mighty Morgue la Fay, the mystic sister of King Arthur, and such, in unconscious accordance with the original tradition, were those fairies of later French romance who delighted our childhood in the graceful and beautiful stories of Perrault and the Countess d’Aulnoy.

The immediate source of the conceptions which are at the base of English fairy poetry must be evidently sought in the romances and legends of early French chivalry, in such delightful, though comparatively unknown, stories as that of the Paladin Huon de Bordeaux, who was protected in direst extremity, and assisted in the successful prosecution of an almost impossible quest by the divine child Oberon, and then in a glade of dews and sunshine, fenced by the mystic darkness of a Syrian forest, was anointed with supernatural chrism, and instructed in the magical sentences which compel the obedience of elf and gnome and _lutin_, and “crowned King of all Faërie.”

Oberon himself, it is true, has a Teutonic origin, and is known to the early Germanic folk-lore by the names of Alberich, Alberon, etc., but the original inspiration of English fairy poetry is derived, as I have said, through the fairy imaginings of the French metrical romancers. By these, the supreme monarch of Elfland, who, despite the supposititious succession of Huon and his own translation to Paradise, continued to spread wide his golden rule as in pre-Provençal days, is represented as a child of four to five years, indescribable in his beauty, sirenian in voice and manner, clothed in a robe which sparkled with all manner of precious stones, and aërially conveyed in a superb, swan-drawn chariot. His palace, with its golden roof and diamond spires, seems to have followed him in his travels, and thus the Land of Faërie was substantially and for the time being in that spot wheresoever which was the tarrying-place of the Grand Master of the Elfin World.

Side by side with the fays of poetry and chivalrous history there persisted, in spite of the general diffusion of Christianity, the old spiritual traditions of the Gothic and Celtic nations, concerning the Elves, Trolls, Brownies, malignant or benevolent dwarfs, gnomes, and generally diminutive beings gifted with supernatural powers and of an other than mortal origin. These two hierarchies of supernal beings were confused in the popular imagination; the magical abilities which could only be painfully acquired by humanity were identified with the magical prerogatives which were inherent in the natures of Kelpie, Elf, and Ghoul, and the mystical combination produced that new, glorious, and beautiful hierarchy of semi-spiritual essences which was governed by the elfin Oberon.

The discrepancies in fairy traditions, as preserved in English poetry, may be partly accounted for by the fact of this confusion. We find the most eminent fairy authorities in distinct disagreement on several important points. Spenser, the poet of the elfin world _par excellence_, in his account of the “Rolls of Elfin Emperours,” deduces all Faërie from the man-monster created by Prometheus. Shakespeare, on the other hand, refers them to an Indian origin, and the dictionaries of Fairy Mythology, in accordance with this supposition, fix his abode in India, and represent him nightly crossing the intervening seas with inconceivable rapidity to dance in the western moonlight. The oriental origin of magic was generally recognised at a very early period of European gramary; the original fairies of romance received their wisdom from Persia and from India, and after the transfiguration of the elfin world by the confusion of the several spiritual conceptions already noticed, it is easy to see how an eastern source was attributed to the later fairy lineage. But on this point it must also be remembered that the Crusades were undoubtedly the means of acquainting western poets with the rich fountains of oriental romance, and that the general similarity between the Persian Peri and our own fairy, as well as the substantial identity of many supernatural fictions which are popular both in the West and in the East, are a sufficient warrant for attributing a part of this very transformation to the glamorous influence of Arabian imaginations.

The classical alternative which is offered by the poet-chronicler of Fairydom has also a base in fact. The Elizabethan age commonly identified the fairies of Gothic superstition with the classic nymphs who attended Diana, while the elfin queen was Diana herself, and was called by one of the names of that goddess, that is, Titania, which is found in the metamorphoses of Ovid as a title of the uranian queen. The opinion originated with the romance writers. Chaucer identifies the fairies with the inhabitants of the Latin Infernus—

Pluto that is King of fayrie ...
Proserpine and all her fayrie, etc.

The tradition spread wildly, and found during the early part of the fourteenth century a voice of poetic beauty in the lovely Scotch fairy-tale of “Orfeo and Heurodis,” which represents the Greek master of mystical song-craft as a “Kinge in Inglond, who abode in Traciens, or Winchester”—

The King hadde a quen of priis
That was y cleped dame Herodis,
That finest leuedi for the nones
That might gon on bodi and bones,
Full of love and of godinesse
Ac no man may tell hir fairnesse.

On a certain morn of May, Heurodis, Eurodis, or Eurydice repaired with two of her maidens “to play bi an orchard side,” in the neighbourhood of the palace—

To se the floures sprede and spring,
And to hear the foules sing.

She fell asleep on the green, and when she awoke it was in a state of frenzy which frightened her virgins away, and they ran back to alarm the whole palace.

She was borne from the orchard to her bed by a long train of knights and ladies, and was visited by the distressed king, whom she informed, amidst great lamentations, that she must go from him—

As Ich lay this under tide,
And slepe under an orchard side,
There come to me to fair knightes
Wele y armed al to rightes,
And bad me comen an heighing,
And speke with her lord the king;
And Ich answered at wordes bold,
Y durst nought, no y nold:
Thai pinkd oghain as thai might driue,
Ther com her king also bliue,
With an hundred knightes and mo,
And damissels an hundred al so;
Al on snowe white stedes,
As white as milke were her wedes,
Y no seighe yete bifore
So fair creatours y core!
The king hadde a crown on hed,
It nas of silver, no of gold red,
Ac it was of a precious ston;
As bright as the sonne it schon:
And as son as he to me cam,
Wold Ich, nold Ich, he me nam,
And made me with him ride,
Opon a palfrey by his side,
And brought me to his pallays,
Wele attired in ich ways;
And schewd me castels and tours,
Rivers, forestes, frith with flours;
And his riche stedes ichon,
And sith then me brought oghain hom,
Into an owhen orchard,
And said to me afterward:
Loke dame! to morowe that av be
Right here under this ympe tree;
And than thou schalt with ous go,
And live with us ever mo,
And yif thou makest ous y let,
Where thou be, thou worst y set,
And to tore thine limes al,
That nothing help the no schal,
And thei thou best so torn,
Yete thou worst with ous y born.

The power of the Fairy King over the royal lady of earth appears to have been given him in virtue of her slumber beneath an elvish tree, which, though growing in her husband’s orchard, made the surrounding grass-plot the property of the elvish world. Orfeo repaired on the morrow to the “ympe-tree,” accompanied by a thousand knights, resolved one and all to die, if it were necessary, ere the queen should go from home; but on reaching the fay-bound place Heurodis, in the midst of the whole company, was spirited suddenly away. The king in his misery vowed never again to look upon the face of a woman, and retired into the wilderness with his harp, which subdued by its magical melody the fierce beasts that abounded on every side. This wilderness eventually proves to be a summer resort of the Fairy King, where Orfeo beholds distant visions of elfin hunters, elfin knights, and ladies at the dance, and then on a certain day of supreme election he falls into the hands of a joyous bevy of elfin damsels, among whom he recognises his own Heurodis. Their mutual emotion betrays him, and she is carried swiftly away by her companions. Orfeo pursues the bright band with lyre and lamentations; a rock opens before them; he follows them into it, and thus reaches Fairy Land.

He com into a fair countray,
As bright soonne somers day,
Smothe and plain and al grene,
Hill no dale was none ysene.
Amiddle the lond a castel he seighe,
Rich and reale and wonder heighe;
Al the utmust wal
Was cler and schine of cristal;
An hundred tours ther were about,
Degiselich and bataild stout;
The butrass come out of the diche
Of rede gold y arched riche;
The housour was anowed al,
Of ich maner divers animal;
Within there wer wide wones
Al of precious stones,
The worss piles on to biholde,
Was al of burnist gold:
Al that lond was ever light,
For when it schuld be therk and night,
The riche stonnes light gonne,
Bright as doth at none the sonne:
No man may tel no thenke in thought
The riche werk that ther was wrought.

This description corresponds on the whole with the general drift of legend, which represents the Land of Faërie to be situated beneath the ground, so that the true elfin court is a subterranean pageantry—a point which is commonly ignored by modern fanciful writers.

The castle which Orfeo entered appears to have been a general receptacle for things and persons who had been spirited away from earth, or had in any way suddenly disappeared.

Ther he seize his owhen wiif,
Dame Heurodis, his liif liif,
Slepe under an ympe-tree;
Bi her clothes he knewe that it was sche.

He did not, however, at once claim his bride, but repaired to the royal hall where the king and queen of fairyland were seated in a bright and blissful tabernacle, their crowns and vestures almost blinding him by their splendour. Orfeo performs in their presence on his harp, and wins such admiration from the king, that, with Herodian prodigality, he is promised whatever he may demand. The restitution of Heurodis is, of course, the favour in question, and the musician-monarch returns out of Fairyland with a wife beautified more than ever by the gramary of the elfin atmosphere, and, unlike the classical hero, successfully closes his quest by resuming his royal authority.

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The entrance of several elements all foreign to each other into the later conception of Fairyland has assisted in the creation of other confusions besides the conflicting accounts of the elfin lineage. “Most spirits,” says a writer in _Chambers’s Journal_, “could contract and diminish their bulk at will, but the fairy alone seems to have been regarded as essentially small in size. The majority of other spirits, such as dwarfs, genii, etc., are represented as deformed creatures, whereas the fairy has almost uniformly been described as a beautiful miniature of the human being, perfect in face and form.” This statement, however, is not even generally correct; it is contradicted continually in legends and poetry alike. It is evident, for instance, that the “Queene of Faire Elfland,” with whom the immortal Rhymer of “bonny Ercildoune” performed his “mirk night” journey into Fairyland, was a spirit, at any rate, approaching the common stature of humanity. Such also were the elfin emperors of Spenser, and such the fay ladies whom Dryden celebrates in his magnificent modernised version of Chaucer’s “Flower and the Leaf,” and who were simply departed human beings in a certain state of bondage. The inhabitants of the Elfin World, and generally all classes of nature-spirits, are poetically depicted in all forms and sizes at the will of the bard or romancer, and are sometimes identical with the original human fairy of the Arthurian and Charlemagne cycles, sometimes with the diminutive good people of Gothic lore. These formal discrepancies originated in time a harmonising tradition which well enters into the spirit of fairy mythology. In the fine ballad of “The Young Tamlane,” that elfin knight, who had passed from mortality into fairyhood, informs his mistress that he can quit his body when he pleases, and inhabit either earth or air.

Our shapes and size we can convert
To either large or small;
An old nut-shell’s the same to us
As is the lofty hall.

The religion professed in the elfin world is another debated point. According to Chaucer, the book, and bell, and holy water, the matins and other prayers of monks and limitours, had, even in his day, thoroughly exorcised the fairies, and improved them off the face of the earth, a statement which may be true enough in the case of the trolls and the brownies, and other survivals of heathen times.

In olde dayes of the King Artour,
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie;
The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie
Danced ful oft in many a grene mede.
This was the old opinion as I rede;
I speke of many hundred yeres ago;
But now can no man see non elves mo,
For now the grete charitee and prayeres
Of limitoures and other holy freres,
That serchen every land and every streme,
As thikke as motes in the sonne beme,
Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,
Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures,
Shropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,
This maketh that ther ben no faeries:
For ther as wont to walken was an elf,
Ther walketh now the limitour himself,
In undermeles and in morweninges,
And sayth his matines and his holy thinges,
As he goth in his limitatioun.
Women may now go safely up and doun,
In every bush, and under every tree,
Ther is non other incubus but he,
And he ne will don hern no dishonour.

But Bishop Corbet, writing in the days of the Restoration, testified that the fairies “were of the old religion,” and that since the advent of Protestantism and Elizabethan glories they had departed hence. Herrick, however, adopts a middle course.

Now, this the fairies would have known,
Theirs is a mixed religion:
And some have heard the elves it call
Part Pagan, part Papisticall.

Intimately associated with the reigning Potentate of Fairyland, the monarch Oberon, and a person of, in some respects, more considerable importance, was the moonlight queen of elves, who is more or less identified by Chaucer, Shakespeare, and the romance of “Orfeo and Heurodis” with the queen of the classical Avernus, Prosperine, but who is distinguished by Drayton from that goddess in his poetic romance of “Nymphidia,” and who, as a matter of actual fact, is a combination of several mythological elements.

In the most ancient traditions we have glimpses of a time when this fair and glorious lady alone occupied the faëry throne, and, as in the case of Sire Thopas, was occasionally sought by human lovers. Shakespeare gives her the classical name of Titania, who is commonly identified with Mab, but their characters are sufficiently distinct. The latter, according to Keightley, has completely dethroned Titania, a statement which is scarcely borne out by the facts, for Mab was a person of general celebrity long before the appearance of the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” which contains the first mention of the rival sovereign. The herald and messenger of the royal pair was the tricksy sprite indifferently known as Puck, Hobgoblin, and Robin Goodfellow, and who must also perhaps be identified with “the illusory candle-holder,” Jack o’ Lantern, or Will o’ the Wisp, whose fatal phosphorescent light is, in “Paradise Lost,” described as

A wandering fire,
Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night
Condenses, and the cold environs round,
Kindled through agitation to a flame,
Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends,
Hovering and blazing with delusive light,
Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way
To bogs, and mires, and oft through pond and pool,

_Book the Ninth._

The different hierarchies of fairy spirits who are supposed to be in relation with man may be grouped broadly into three general divisions:—1. Land Fairies. 2. Sea Fairies. 3. Elfin dwellers of the underworld. In the first class will be included such inhabitants of grove and forest as the lovely Korrigan of Brittany, the Moss Folk of Germany, and the Elves proper of English traditional poetry. It will include the fairies of field and meadow such as the Lutin of Normandy, the Little Monk of Neapolitan legends, the Good Neighbours of Scottish lore. It will comprise the domestic fairies who, under the name of Pixies, haunt our Cornish farms and homesteads, the Caledonian Brownie, the Germanic Kobold, and the Niss of Scandinavian legend. The Neckan and Merman are familiar instances of the nature-spirits included in the second division. The elves of the underworld—the trolls, dwarfs, wild-women, and still-folk of Germany, Scandinavia, and Switzerland—are unrepresented in English tradition and poetry, though in most of our early romances the Land of Faerie is supposed to be underground. Modern imagination has added many supernatural characters to those of ancient legend. Some of its most graceful conceptions—its flower fairies, and sprites of the twilight—are included in this volume.

* * * * *

Besides the story of Orfeo and Heurodis, there are several ancient English metrical romances which are concerned with adventurous quests and travels into Fairyland. Their archaic form and considerable length naturally exclude them from a popular anthology, but this introduction may fitly close with an abstract of one which is singularly beautiful in conception and in high repute among discerning students of our early poetical literature.

The “Romaunt of the Knight Launfal,” by Thomas Chestre, is an amplified version of an antique Lay by Marie de France, a Norman poetess, who flourished in the thirteenth century. It is concerned with a “bacheler” named Launfal, who for generosity and _largesse_ was made steward at the court of King Arthur, and was chosen by Merlin to bring home the king’s bride, Gwennere. The mission was undertaken by the knight—

But syr Launfal lyked her noght....
For the lady bar bos of swych word,
That sche hadde lemannys under her lord,
So fele there was noon ende.

After the marriage of Arthur, Launfal took leave of the court and repaired with two knights to Karlyoun, where he tarried, making good cheer for a year’s space, till he came to the end of his resources. His boon companions then forsook him, and he fell into great poverty. In this strait he borrowed a saddle and bridle from the mayor’s daughter, and rode away westward.

The weather was hot; he dismounted in a fair forest, and sat in the shadow of a tree, covering his worn garments with his mantle. After a space, two “gentyll maydenes,” wearing kirtles of Indian sandel and green mantles bordered with gold, appeared before him.

Har faces wer whyt as snow on downe,
Har rode was red, hern ey were browne,
I sawe never non swyche;
That oon bar of gold a basyn,
That other a towayle whyt and fyn,
Of selk that was good and ryche.

They came to him over the heath; he greeted them in all gentleness, while on the part of their lady, dame Tryamour, they returned his salutation, and invited him to follow them and speak with her. He courteously consented, and was conducted to an honourable pavilion, enriched with gold and crystal, as well as radiant carbuncles.

He fond yn the pavyloun
The Kynges doughter of Olyroun,
Dame Tryamour that hyghte,
Her fadyr was Kyng of fayrye,
Of occient fer and nyghe,
A man of mochell myghte.
In the pavyloun he fond a bed of prys
Theled with purpur bys,
That semylé was of syghte
Therinne lay that lady gent,
That after Syr Launfal hadde ysent,
That lessome lemede bryght.
For hete her clothes down sche dede,
Almest to her gerdyl stede,
Than lay sche uncovert,
She was as whyt as lylye yn May,
Or snow that sneweth yn wynterys day,
He seyght never non so pert.
The rede rose, whan sche ys newe,
Ayens her rode nes naught of hewe,
I dare well say yn fert.
Her here schon as gold wyre,
May no man rede her attyre,
Ne naught well thenke yn hert.

This fay lady informed Launfal that there was no man in all “Christenté,” be he king or emperor, whom she loved as much as himself, at which words the knight was inflamed with reciprocal passion,

And kiste that swete flour;
And sat adoun her bysyde,
And seyde, Swetyng, what so betyde,
I am to thyn honour.

She tells him that she is acquainted with his present distress, and that if he will truly forsake all women for love of her, she will enrich him inexhaustibly—

I wyll the yeve an alner,
Imad of sylk and of gold cler,
Wyth fayre ymages thre;
As oft thou puttest the hond therinne,
A mark of gold thou schalt wynne,
In wat place that thou be.

She also promises him her steed Blaunchard and her squire Gyfre, with the additional advantage of her protection by magic art from dangers of war or tournament.

Sir Launfal entered into the agreement; they supped and slept together, and in the morning she dismissed him, warning him not to boast of his conquest if he wished to retain her love. He returned to Karlyoun, and was presently waited on by ten men, riding upon sumpters, and bearing gold, silver, rich garments, and bright armour. Once more he kept great cheer, but this time it was the poor and unfortunate whom he entertained. His reputation became so great that a tournament was cried in the town to do him honour. The knight closed it with a rich and royal feast which lasted a fortnight. During all this time he was visited nightly by his elfin mistress, but was destined now to be divided from her by the challenge of a chevalier in Lombardy, who sent messengers praying him to cross the sea and take jousts with him for the honour of his lady. The challenge was accepted by Launfal, who repaired with his steed and his squire to Lombardy, and achieved so brilliant a victory that he was envied by “all the lords of Atalye,” who vowed revenge for the defeat of their comrade, but were themselves slain in great numbers, and the hero returned into Britain. The reputation of Launfal reached the ears of King Arthur, who sent for him. A feast of forty days took place, during which the queen took occasion to avow the passion that had long consumed her for the handsome cavalier who had conducted her to her bridal home; but the knight Launfal, faithful to his fairy mistress, repelled her advances, and the unexpected indignity, changing love into hatred, impelled the false wife to denounce Launfal to her husband as her attempted seducer. The infuriated monarch vowed his immediate death, and the unfounded accusation prompted the knight to boast for the first time of that mysterious mistress whose supernatural beauties he declared did utterly transcend and eclipse those of the royal lady. On the intervention of certain illustrious knights—Gawain and Percivall—a respite of a twelvemonth and a fortnight was granted Launfal in order that he might produce his mistress, when, if his assertions were seen to be obviously true with regard to her wonderful charms, he should receive his pardon. But the unfortunate lover had broken his compact, he had boasted of his elfin lady, his horse and squire had vanished, the time mentioned drew rapidly to its close; in truth, the day came when Launfal must pay with his life the forfeit of his supposed crime, and Triamour apparently had left him to his fate.

The knights of the round table, who knew well the character of their queen, began plotting his rescue, and arranging for his flight across the sea, when “ten maydens bright of ble” came to the royal castle, the _avant coureures_ of a lady against whose arrival King Arthur courteously appointed his fairest chamber, and then summoned his barons

For to yeve judgment
Upon that traytour full of pryde.

Other ten maidens at this juncture rode up and, speaking apart with the monarch, announced the approach of the Lady Triamour. The queen, coming forward, urged her spouse to avenge her on Launfal; but

As the quene spak to the kyng,
The baronns seygh come rydynge
A damesele alone,
Upon a whyt comely palfrey,
They saw never non so gay
Upon the grounde gone.
As rose on rip her rode was red,
The her schon upon her hed,
As gold wyre that schyneth bryght;
Sche hadde a cronne upon her molde,
Of ryche stones and of golde,
That lossom lemede lyght.
The lady was clad yn purpere palle,
With gentyll body and myddyll small,
That semely was of syght,
Her mantyll was furryth with whyt ermyn,
Ireversyd jolyf and fyn,
No rychere be ne myght.
And when Launfal sawe that lady,
To alle the folk he gon crye an hy,
Both to yonge and olde,
Her, he seyd, comyth my lemman swete,
Sche myghte me of my balys bete,
Yf that lady wold.

The lady rode into the hall, into the presence of the King, his queen, and her damsels. The maidens who had heralded her approach crowded round, assisting her to dismount. Arthur greeted her, and she returned his salutation with sweet words. She informed the monarch of her mission,

To shere Launfal the knyght,
That he never, yn no folye,
Besofte the quene of no drurye,
By dayes ne by nyght....
He bad naght her, but sche bad hym,
Here lemman for to be.

The king having confessed that she was fairer and brighter than his wife—

Wyth that dame Tryamour to the quene geth,
And blew on her swych a breth,
That never eft myght sche se.
The lady lep on hyr palfrey
And bade hem alle have good day,
Sche nolde no longere abyde;
Wyth that came Gyfre al so prest,
Wyth Launfal’s stede out of the forest,
And stod Launfal besyde.
The knyght to horse began to sprynge,
Anoon without any lettynge,
Wyth hys lemman away to ryde;
The lady took her maydenys achon,
And went the way that sche hadde er gon,
Wyth solas and wyth pryde.

She carried her lover to a “jolyf ile,” called Olyroun; and on a certain day in every year you may still see the horse of the knight Launfal, and hear his loud neighing, as he goes wearily seeking his master, who, in all truth, was taken into fairy-land, and

Seththe saw hym yn thys loud no man,
Ne no more of hym tells y ne can,
For sothe, wythout lye,

as Thomas Chestre avers in his valedictory lines.

This little volume is devoted to a sweet and delightful section of poetic fancy, and not to the lofty flights of inspired imagination. It is full of felicity and beauty, and though not a tabernacle enshrining the rarest gems, it is a storehouse of dainty devices. If individual poems are occasionally found to fall below the general level of their writers, as perhaps in the case of Herrick, an explanation will possibly be seen in the unserious spirit with which the subject has been too frequently approached by our English poets, who have generally represented a class superior to the superstitions and sometimes to the faiths of the time. In such cases as that of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, for whom the doctrine of spiritual essences was still true, for whom those elemental intelligences

Which have their haunts in dale and piny mountain,
Or forests, by slow stream or tingling brook,

still survived in the “faith of reason,” we find the concentrated strength of a vivid and mature imagination devoted to the production of a true fairy poem which is “not for an age but for all time.”

* * * * *

A word, in conclusion, must be said on the arrangement of this anthology. The absence of a sufficiently harmonious development of fairy fancy as it is found in our English poetry does not warrant a simple chronological plan; I have adopted another, which I trust will contribute towards the attractiveness and literary value of the book. It opens with a foreview, or bird’s-eye prospect of the fairy country, as it might be beheld by the traveller from without. A prelude follows, which implores the return of its inhabitants into the world of humanity. Then, in the first division there is a particular account of the court, country, and people of Fairyland, of its temples, palaces, and festivals. The second division contains the Chronicles of Fairyland, a series of pleasing poetic romances, where the scene is laid in the Fairy country and the actors are exclusively elfin folk. A third division is devoted to those wonderful and mystical travels or spiritual pilgrimages into Fairyland, which have been occasionally undertaken by favoured and adventurous mortals. The section entitled Men and Fairies comprises those poems and romances in which the different orders of elfin spirits enter into communication with man and mingle in the life of earth, dispensing supernatural benevolence, or working unheard-of woe, according to their various dispositions. Some poems which cannot be included in the foregoing divisions, but deserve by their merits a place in this elfin anthology, are comprised in a miscellaneous section. The work closes with an epilogue, which shows why the fairies have departed, and what are the conditions of their return.

My best thanks are due to Mr. William Allingham for his permission to insert several graceful poems; to Mr. Philip James Bailey for the use of his mystical “Fairy Tale;” to Dr. Charles Mackay for similar kindness in respect of his “Kelpie of Corrievreckan,” and to a number of recent writers who have generously contributed to the adornment of this collection. The omission of several poems by illustrious contemporary poets, whose copyrights are vigilantly reserved by their publishers, will be viewed by indulgent readers as a matter of necessity, however much it may be regretted.

ARTHUR EDWARD WAITE.

The Foreview.

FAIRYLAND.

Dim vales, and shadowy floods,
And cloudy-looking woods;
Whose forms we can’t discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Huge moons there wax and wane—
Again, again, again—
Every moment of the night,
For ever changing places;
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial,
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down—still down—and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain’s eminence;
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be—
O’er the strange woods, o’er the sea,
Over spirits on the wing,
Over every drowsy thing—
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light;
And then, how deep!—O, deep,
Is the passion of their sleep!
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like—almost anything,
Or a yellow albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before—
Videlicet a tent—
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies
Of earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again,
(Never contented things!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

Prelude.

FAIRIES’ RECALL.

While the blue is richest
In the starry sky,
While the softest shadows
On the greensward lie,
While the moonlight slumbers
In the lily’s urn,
Bright elves of the wild-wood!
Oh! return, return!

Round the forest fountain,
On the river shore,
Let your silvery laughter
Echo yet once more;
While the joyous bounding
Of your dewy feet
Rings to that old chorus:
“The daisy is so sweet!”

Oberon, Titania,
Did your starlight mirth
With the song of Avon
Quit this work-day earth?
Yet while green leaves glisten,
And while bright stars burn,
By that magic memory,
Oh, return, return!

FELICIA HEMANS.

The Fairy Family.

THE ROLLS OF ELFIN EMPEROURS.

Prometheus did create
A man of many parts from beasts deryv’d,
And then stole fire from heven to animate
His worke, for which he was by Jove depryv’d
Of life himselfe, and hart-strings of an ægle ryv’d.

That man so made, he called Elfe, to weet
Quick, the first author of all Elfyn kynd;
Who, wand’rin through the world with wearie feet,
Did in the Gardins of Adonis find
A goodly Creature, whom he deemd in mynd
To be no earthly wight, but either spright
Or angell, th’ author of all woman kynd;
Therefore a Fay he her according hight,
Of whom all Fayres spring, and fetch their lignage right.

Of these a mighty people shortly grew,
And puissant kinges, which all the world war-rayd,
And to themselves all nations did subdew.
The first and eldest, which that scepter swayd,
Was Elfin; him all India obayd,
And all that now America men call:
Next him was noble Elfinan, who laid
Cleopolis’ foundation first of all,
But Elfiline enclosed it with a golden wall.

His sonne was Elfinelle, who overcame
The wicked Gobbelines in bloody field;
But Elfant was of most renowned fame,
Who all of crystal did Panthea build:
Then Elfar, who two brethren gyaunts kild,
The one of which had two heads, th’ other three;
Then Elfinor, who was in magick skild;
He built by art upon the glassy see
A bridge of bras, whose sound heven’s thunder seemed to be.

He left three sonnes, the which in order raynd,
And all their offspring in their dew descents;
Even seven hundred princes, which maintaynd
With mightie deeds their sondry governments,
That were too long their infinite contents
Here to record, ne much materiall;
Yet should they be most famous moniments,
And have ensample, both of martiall
And civil rule to kings and states imperiall.

After all these Elficleos did rayne,
The wise Elficleos! in great maiestie,
Who mightily that scepter did sustayne,
And with rich spoyles and famous victorie
Did high advaunce the Crown of Faëry.
He left two sonnes, of which fayre Elferon,
The eldest brother, did untimely dy,
Whose empty place the mighty Oberon
Doubly supplide in spousall and dominion.

Great was his power and glory over all,
Which him before that sacred seate did fill,
That yet remains his wide memoriall.
He dying, left the fairest Tanaquill
Him to succeede therein by his last will:
Fairer and nobler liveth none this houre,
Ne like in grace, ne like in learned skill;
Therefore they Glorian call that glorious floure:
Long mayst thou, Glorian! live in glory and great power.

EDMUND SPENSER.

THE FAERY KING.

When the monthly horned queene
Grew jealous that the starrs had seene
Her rising from Endymion’s arms,
In rage she threw her misty charmes
Into the bosome of the night,
To dimme theire curious pryeing sight;
Then did the dwarfish Faery elves,
Having first attyr’d themselves,
Prepare to dresse their Oberon King
In light robes fitt for revelling:
With a cobweb shirt more thinne,
Than ever spider since could spin,
Bleacht to the whiteness of the snow,
By the stormie windes that blow
In the vast and frozen ayre
No shirt half so fine, so fayre.
A rich wastcoat they did bring,
Made of the trout-flies gilded wing:
At which his elveship gan to fret,
Swearing it would make him sweat
Even with its weight: he needs would weare
A wastcoat wrought of downy haire,
New shaven from an eunuck’s chin,
That pleas’d him well, ’twas wondrous thin;
The outside of his doublet was
Made of the foure-leav’d, true lov’d, grasse
Chang’d into so fine a glosse,
With the oyle of crispie mosse,
It made a rainbow in the night,
Which gave a lustre passing light:
On every seame there was a lace
Drawne by the unctious snail’s slow pace
To which the fin’st, pur’st silver thread
Compar’d, did looke like dull pale lead.
Each button was a sparkling eye
Tane from the speckled adder’s frye;
And for coollness next the skin,
’Twas wᵗʰ white poppey linde wᵗʰin.
His breeches of the fleece was wrought,
Which from Cholchos Jason brought;
Spun into so fine a yarne,
“No mortal wight might it discerne,”
Weaved by Arachne on her loome,
Just before she had her doome.
A rich mantle he did weare,
Made of tinsell gosameare;
Beflowered over with a few
Diamond stars of morning dew;
Dyed crimson in a mayden’s blush;
Lin’d with humble-bee’s soft plush.
His cap was all of ladies’ love,
So wondrous light that it would move,
If any humming gnat or flie
Buzz’d the air in passing by.
About his necke a wreath of pearle
Dropt from the eyes of some poore girle,
Pinched, because she had forgot
To leave clean water in the pot.
And for’s feather he did weare,
Old Nisus’ fatall purple haire,
The sword ygirded to his thigh
Was smallest blade of finest rye;
A payre of buskins they did bringe
Of yᵉ cowladye’s corrall winge,
Powdred o’er with spots of jett,
And lin’d wᵗʰ purple violett.
His belt was made of myrtle leaues,
Pleyted in small curious threavs,
Besett wᵗʰ amber cowslip’s studs,
And fringed about with daysey buds,
In wᶜʰ his bugle home was hunge,
Made of the babling Ecchoe’s tongue,
Wᶜʰ Sett vnto his moone-burnt lip
He winds, and then his Faeryes skipp;
At that the lazy drone ’gan sound,
And each did trip a fayrey round.

SIR SIMEON STEWARD.

QUEEN MAB.

This is Mab, the mistress Fairy,
That doth nightly rob the dairy,
And can help or hurt the cherning,
As she please without discerning.

She that pinches country wenches,
If they rub not clean their benches,
And with sharper nails remembers
When they rake not up their embers:
But if so they chance to feast her,
In a shoe she drops a tester.

This is she that empties cradles,
Takes out children, puts in ladles:
Trains forth midwives in their slumber,
With a sieve the holes to number;
And then leads them from her burrows,
Home through ponds and water-furrows.

She can start our Franklin’s daughters,
In their sleep, with shrieks and laughters;
And on sweet St. Anna’s night,
Feed them with a promised sight,
Some of husbands, some of lovers,
Which an empty dream discovers.

BEN JONSON.

THE FAIRY QUEEN.

Come, follow, follow me,
You, fairy elves that be;
Which circle on the greene,
Come follow Mab, your queene.
Hand in hand let’s dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest
And snoring in their nest,
Unheard and unespy’d,
Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

And, if the house be foul
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Upstairs we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep;
Then we pinch their arms and thighs;
None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the household maid,
And duely she is paid:
For we use before we goe
To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroomes head
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye, or wheat,
Is manchet, which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups fill’d to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew’d,
Is meat that’s easily chew’d;
Tails of wormes and marrow of mice,
Do make a dish that’s wonderous nice.

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly
Serve for our minstrelsie;
Grace said, we dance awhile,
And so the time beguile;
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewie grasse
So nimbly do we passe
The young and tender stalk
Ne’er bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.

OLD POEM.

QUEEN MAB.

O then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman;
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep:
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners’ legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider’s web;
The collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket’s bone, the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm,
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night,
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers’ knees that dream on court’sies straight;
O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

LULLABY FOR TITANIA.

FIRST FAIRY.

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts, 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 not here;
Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence;
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm, nor snail, do no offence.

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.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

THE FAIRY QUEEN SLEEPING.

She lay upon a bank, the favourite haunt
Of the spring wind in its first sunshine hour,
For the luxuriant strawberry blossoms spread
Like a snow-shower there, and violets
Bow’d down their purple vases of perfume
About her pillow,—link’d in a gay band
Floated fantastic shapes, these were her guards,
Her lithe and rainbow elves.

...

We have been o’er land and sea,
Seeking lovely dreams for thee,—
Where is there we have not been
Gathering gifts for our sweet queen?
We are come with sound and sight
Fit for fairy’s sleep to-night;—
First around thy couch shall sweep
Odours, such as roses weep
When the earliest spring rain
Calls them into life again;
Next upon thine ear shall float
Many a low and silver note,
Stolen from a dark-eyed maid,
When her lover’s serenade,
Rising as the stars grew dim,
Waken’d her from thoughts of him;—
There shall steal o’er lip and cheek
Gales, but all too light to break
Thy soft rest,—such gales as hide
All day orange-flowers inside,
Or that, while hot noontide, dwell
In the purple hyacinth bell;
And before thy sleeping eyes
Shall come glorious pageantries,—
Palaces of gems and gold,
Such as dazzle to behold,—
Gardens, in which every tree
Seems a world of bloom to be,—
Fountains, whose clear waters show
The white pearls that lie below.—
During slumber’s magic reign
Other times shall live again;
First thou shalt be young and free
In thy days of liberty,—
Then again be woo’d and won
By thy stately OBERON.
Or thou shalt descend to earth,
And see all of mortal birth.—
No, that world’s too full of care
For e’en dreams to linger there.
But, behold, the sun is set,
And the diamond coronet
Of the young moon is on high
Waiting for our revelry;
And the dew is on the flower,
And the stars proclaim our hour;
Long enough thy rest has been,
Wake, TITANIA, wake, our queen!

L. E. L.

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.

From Oberon, in fairye land,
The King of ghosts and shadows there,
Mad Robin I, at his command,
Am sent to view the night-sports here.
What revell rout
Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,
I will o’ersee,
And merry bee,
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightning can I flye
About this aery welkin soone,
And, in a minute’s apace, descrye
Each thing that’s done below the moone.
There’s not a hag
Or ghost shall wag
Or cry, “’Ware Goblins!” where I go,
But Robin I
Their feates will spy,
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!

Whene’er such wanderers I meete,
As from their night-sports they trudge home,
With counterfeiting voice I greete
And call them on with me to roame
Thro’ woods, thro’ lakes,
Thro’ bogs, thro’ brakes;
Or else, unseene, with them I go,
All in the nicke
To play some tricke
And frolicke it, with ho! ho! ho!

Sometimes I meete them like a man;
Sometimes, an ox; sometimes, a hound!
And to a horse I turn me can,
To trip and trot about them round.
But if, to ride,
My backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I go,
O’er hedge and lands,
Thro’ pools and ponds
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be,
With possets and with juncates fine,
Unseene of all the company,
I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And, to make sport
I fart and snort,
And out the candles I do blow;
The maids I kiss;
They shrieke,—“Who’s this?”
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho!

Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll;
And while they sleepe and take their ease,
With whee to threads their wax I pull.
I grind at mill
Their malt up still;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.
If any ’wake
And would me take,
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

When house or harth doth sluttish lye,
I pinch the maidens black and blue;
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I,
And lay them naked all to view.
’Twixt sleepe and wake
I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw.
If out they cry,
Then forth I fly,
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho!

When any need to borrowe ought,
We lend them what they do require,
And for the use demand we nought,
Our owne is all we do desire.
If to repay
They do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go,
And night by night
I them affright
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho!

When lazie queans have nought to do
But study how to cog and lye,
To make debate and mischief too,
’Twixt one another secretlye,
I marke their gloze,
And it disclose
To them whom they have wronged so;
When I have done
I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!

When men do traps and engins set
In loop holes, where the vermine creep,
Who from their foldes and houses get
Their ducks and geese, and lambes and sheepe,
I spy the gin,
And enter in,
And seeme a vermine taken so;
But when they there
Approach me neare,
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!

By wells and rills, in meadowes greene,
We nightly dance our hey-day guise,
And to our fairye king and queene
We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.
When larks ’gin sing,
Away we fling;
And babes new borne steal as we go,
And elfe in bed
We leave instead,
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!

From hag-bred Merlin’s time have I
Thus nightly revell’d to and fro,
And for my pranks men call me by
The name of Robin Good-fellow.
Fiends, ghosts, and sprites
Who haunt the nightes,
The hags and goblins do me know,
And beldames old
My feats have told,
So _vale, vale_; ho, ho, ho!

OLD POEM.

PUCK’S SONG.

Over hill, over dale,
Through bush, through brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moone’s sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew the 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.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

THE FAIR TEMPLE; OR, OBERON’S CHAPEL.