Chapter VI: Part THE THIRD: Modern (1)

_By Walter Scott._

When seven years more were come and gone,
Was war through Scotland spread,
And Ruberslaw show’d high Dunyon
His beacon blazing red.

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,
Pitch’d palliounes took their room,
And crested helms, and spears a-rowe,
Glanced gaily through the broom.

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,
Resounds the ensenzie;
They roused the deer from Caddenhead,
To distant Torwoodlee.

The feast was spread in Ercildoune,
In Learmont’s high and ancient hall:
And there were knights of great renown,
And ladies, laced in pall.

Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,
The music nor the tale,
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,
Nor mantling quaighs of ale.

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,
When as the feast was done:
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,
The elfin harp he won.)

Hush’d were the throng, both limb and tongue,
And harpers for envy pale;
And armed lords lean’d on their swords,
And hearken’d to the tale.

In numbers high, the witching tale
The prophet pour’d along;
No after bard might e’er avail
Those numbers to prolong.

Yet fragments of the lofty strain
Float down the tide of years,
As buoyant on the stormy main
A parted wreck appears.

He sung King Arthur’s Table Round;
The Warrior of the Lake:
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,
And bled for ladies’ sake.

But chief, in gentle Tristrem’s praise,
The notes melodious swell;
Was none excell’d in Arthur’s days,
The Knight of Lionelle.

For Marke, his cowardly uncle’s right,
A venom’d wound he bore;
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight,
Upon the Irish shore.

No art the poison might withstand;
No medicine could be found,
Till lovely Isolde’s lily hand
Had probed the rankling wound.

With gentle hand and soothing tongue
She bore the leech’s part;
And while she o’er his sick-bed hung,
He paid her with his heart.

O fatal was the gift, I ween!
For, doom’d in evil tide,
The maid must be rude Cornwall’s queen,
His cowardly uncle’s bride.

Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard
In fairy tissue wove;
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,
In gay confusion strove.

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,
High-rear’d its glittering head;
And Avalon’s enchanted vale
In all its wonders spread.

Brangwain was there, and Segramore,
And fiend-born Merlin’s gramarye;
Of that famed wizard’s mighty lore,
O who could sing but he?

Through many a maze the winning song
In changeful passion led,
Till bent at length the listening throng
O’er Tristrem’s dying bed.

His ancient wounds their scars expand,
With agony his heart is wrung:
O where is Isolde’s lily hand,
And where her soothing tongue?

She comes! she comes!—like flash of flame
Can lovers’ footsteps fly;
She comes! She comes!—she only came
To see her Tristrem die.

She saw him die; her latest sigh
Joined in a kiss his parting breath;
The gentlest pair, that Britain bare,
United are in death.

Then paused the harp: its lingering sound
Died slowly on the ear;
The silent guests still bent around,
For still they seem’d to hear.

Then wo broke forth in murmurs weak:
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh:
But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek
Did many a gauntlet dry.

On Leader’s stream, and Learmont’s tower,
The mists of evening close;
In camp, in castle, or in bower,
Each warrior sought repose.

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent,
Dream’d o’er the woful tale:
When footsteps light across the bent
The warrior’s ears assail.

He starts, he wakes;—“What, Richard, ho!
Arise, my page, arise!
What venturous wight, at dead of night,
Dare step where Douglas lies!”—

Then forth they rush’d; by Leader’s tide,
A selcouth sight they see—
A hart and hind pace side by side,
As white as snow on Fairnalie.

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,
They stately move and slow;
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd,
Who marvel as they go.

To Learmont’s tower a message sped,
As fast as page might run;
And Thomas started from his bed,
And soon his clothes did on.

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;
Never a word he spake but three;—
“My sand is run; my thread is spun;
This sign regardeth me.”

The elfin harp his neck around,
In minstrel guise, he hung:
And on the wind, in doleful sound,
Its dying accents rung.

Then forth he went; yet turn’d him oft
To view his ancient hall:
On the gray tower, in lustre soft,
The autumn moonbeams fall;

And Leader’s waves, like silver sheen,
Danced shimmering in the ray;
In deepening mass, at distance seen,
Broad Soltra’s mountains lay.

“Farewell, my father’s ancient tower!
A long farewell,” said he:
“The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power,
Thou never more shalt be.

“To Learmont’s name no foot of earth
Shall here again belong,
And on thy hospitable hearth
The hare shall leave her young.

“Adieu! adieu!” again he cried,
All as he turn’d him roun’—
“Farewell to Leader’s silver tide!
Farewell to Ercildoune!”

The hart and hind approach’d the place,
As lingering yet he stood;
And there, before Lord Douglas’ face,
With them he cross’d the flood.

Lord Douglas leap’d on his berry-brown steed,
And spurred him the Leader o’er;
But though he rode with lightning speed,
He never saw them more.

Some said to hill, and some to glen,
Their wond’rous course had been;
But ne’er in haunts of living men
Again was Thomas seen.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

KILMENY.

Bonnie Kilmeny gaed up the glen;
But it wasna to meet Duneira’s men,
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see,
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
It was only to hear the yorling sing,
And pu’ the cress-flower round the spring;
The scarlet hypp and the hind-berrye,
And the nest that hung frae the hazel-tree;
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
But lang may her minny look o’er the wa’;
And lang may she seek i’ the greenwood shaw;
Lang the Laird o’ Duneira blame,
And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame!

When many lang day had come and fled,
When grief grew calm and hope was dead,
When mass for Kilmeny’s soul had been sung,
When the bedesman had prayed and the dead-bell rung,
Late, late in a gloaming, when all was still,
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,
The wood was sere, the moon i’ the wane,
The reek o’ the cot hung o’er the plain,
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;
When the ingle lowed wi’ an eiry leme—
Late, late in the gloaming, Kilmeny came hame!

“Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean;
By burn, by ford, by greenwood tree,
Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
Where gat ye that joup o’ the lily sheen?
That bonnie snood o’ the birk sae green?
And those roses, the fairest that ever were seen?
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?”

Kilmeny look’d up wi’ a lovely grace,
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny’s face;
As still was her look, and as still was her e’e,
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
For Kilmeny had been, she kenned not where,
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare;
Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew.

But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,
And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,
When she spoke of the lovely forms she had seen,
And a land where sin had never been;
A land of love and a land of light,
Withouten sun, or moon, or night,
Where the river swa’d a living stream,
And the light a pure and cloudless beam;
The land of vision it would seem,
A still, an everlasting dream.

In yon greenwood there is a waik,
And in that waik there is a wene,
And in that wene that is a maike;
That neither has flesh, nor blood, nor bane;
And down in yon greenwood he walks his lane.

In that green wene Kilmeny lay,
Her bosom hap’d wi’ flowerets gay;
But the air was soft, and the silence deep,
And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep.
She kenned na mair, nor open’d her e’e,
Till wak’d by the hymns of a far countrye.

She woke on a couch of silk sae slim,
All striped wi’ the bars of the rainbow’s rim;
And lovely beings round were rife,
Who erst had travelled mortal life;
And aye they smiled and ’gan to speer,
“What spirit hath brought this mortal here?”

“Lang have I rang’d the world wide,”
A meek and reverend fere replied;
“Baith night and day I have watched the fair,
Eident a thousand years and mair.
Yes, I have watched o’er ilk degree,
Wherever blooms feminitye;
And sinless virgin, free of stain
In mind and body, found I nane.
Never since the banquet of time
Found I a virgin in her prime,
Till late this bonnie maiden I saw,
As spotless as the morning snaw;
Full twenty years she has lived as free
As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye:
I have brought her away from the snares of men,
That sin or death she never may ken.”

They clasped her waist, and her hands sae fair,
They kissed her cheeks and they kemmed her hair;
And round came many a blooming fere,
Saying, “Bonnie Kilmeny, ye’re welcome here!
Women are freed of the littand scorn,
O blessed be the day Kilmeny was born!
Now shall the land of the spirits see,
Now shall it ken what a woman may be!
Many lang year, in sorrow and pain,
Many lang year through the world we’ve gane,
Commissioned to watch fair woman-kind,
For it’s they who nurse the immortal mind.
We have watched their steps as the dawning shone,
And deep in the greenwood walks alone;
By lily bower and silken bed,
The viewless tears have been o’er them shed;
Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep,
Or left the couch of love to weep.
We have seen, we have seen! but the time maun come,
And the angels will weep at the day of doom!

“O would the fairest of mortal kind
Aye keep these holy truths in mind,
That kindred spirits their motions see,
Who watch their ways with anxious e’e,
And grieve for the guilt of humanitye!
O, sweet to Heaven the maiden’s prayer,
And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair!
And dear to heaven the words of truth
And the praise of virtue from beauty’s mouth!
And dear to the viewless forms of air,
The mind that kythes as the body fair.

“O, bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain,
If ever you seek the world again,
That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear,
O tell of the joys that are waiting here;
And tell of the signs you shall shortly see;
Of the times that are now, and the times that shall be.”

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,
And she walked in the light of a sunless day;
The sky was a dome of crystal bright,
The fountain of vision and fountain of light;
The emerant fields were of dazzling glow,
And the flowers of everlasting blow.
Then deep in the stream her body they laid,
That her youth and her beauty never might fade;
And they smil’d on Heaven when they saw her lie
In the stream of life that wandered by.
And she heard a song, she heard it sung,
She ken’d not where, but sae sweetly it rung,
It fell on the ear like a dream of the morn,—
“O, blest be the day that Kilmeny was born!
Now shall the land of the spirits see,
Now shall it ken what a woman may be!
The sun that shines on the world sae bright,
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light;
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun,
Like a gouden bow or a beamless sun,
Shall wear away and be seen nae mair,
And the angels shall miss them travelling the air.
But lang, lang after, baith nicht and day,
When the sun and the world have fled away;
When the sinner has gone to his waesome doom,
Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!”

They bore her away, she wist not how,
For she felt not arm nor rest below;
But so swift they wained her through the light,
’Twas like the motion of sound or sight;
They seemed to split the gales of air,
And yet nor gale nor breeze was there.
Unnumbered groves below them grew,
They came, they passed, and backward flew,
Like floods of blossoms gliding on,
A moment seen, in a moment gone.
Ah! never vales to mortal view
Appeared like those o’er which they flew,
That land to human spirits given,
The lowermost vales of the storied heaven;
From thence they can view the world below,
And heaven’s blue gates with sapphires glow,
More glory yet unmeet to know.

They bore her far to a mountain green,
To see what mortal never had seen,
And they seated her high on a purple sward,
And bade her heed what she saw and heard,
And note the changes the spirits wrought,
For now she lives in the land of thought.
She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies,
But a crystal dome of a thousand dyes:
She looked, and she saw nae land aright,
But an endless whirl of glory and light,
And radiant beings went and came,
Far swifter than wind, or the linkèd flame.
She hid her e’en frae the dazzling view;
She looked again, and the scene was new.
She saw a sun in a summer sky,
And clouds of amber sailing by;
A lovely land beneath her lay,
And that land had lakes and mountains grey;
And that land had valleys and hoary piles,
And marled seas and a thousand isles.
Its fields were speckled, its forests green,
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen,
Like magic mirrors, where shining lay,
The sun, and the sky, and the cloudlet grey;
Which heaved and trembled and gently swung,
On every shore they seemed to be hung:
For there they were seen on their downward plain
A thousand times and a thousand again;
In winding lake and placid firth,
Like peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth.

Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve,
For she found her heart to that land did cleave;
She saw the corn wave in the vale;
She saw the deer run down the dale;
She saw the plaid and the broad claymore,
And the brows that the badge of freedom bore,—
And she thought she had seen the land before.

She saw a lady sit on a throne,
The fairest that ever the sun shone on:
A lion licked her hand of milk,
And she held him in a leish of silk;
And a leifu’ maiden stood at her knee,
With a silver wand and melting e’e;
Her sovereign shield till love stole in,
And poisoned all the fount within.
Then a gruff, untoward bedesman came,
And hundit the lion on his dame;
And the guardian maid wi’ the dauntless e’e,
She dropped a tear, and left her knee;
And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled,
Till the bonniest flower o’ the world lay dead;
A coffin was set on a distant plain,
And she saw the red blood fall like rain;
Then bonny Kilmeny’s heart grew sair,
And she turned away, and could look nae mair.

Then the gruff, grim carle girned amain,
And they trampled him down, but he rose again;
And he bated the lion to deeds of weir,
Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear;
And, weening his head was danger preef,
When crowned with the rose and clover leaf,
He gowled at the carle, and chased him away,
To feed wi’ the deer on the mountain grey.
He gowled at the carl, and he gecked at heaven,
But his mark was set and his arles given,
Kilmeny a while her e’en withdrew;
She looked again, and the scene was new.

She saw before her fair unfurled
One-half of all the glowing world,
Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran,
To bound the aims of sinful man.
She saw a people, fierce and fell,
Burst frae their bonds like fiends of hell;
There lilies grew, and the eagle flew:
And she herkèd on her ravening crew,
Till the cities and towers were wrapped in a blaze,
And the thunder it roared o’er the lands and the seas.
The widows wailed, and the red blood ran,
And she threatened an end to the race of man;
She never loved, nor stood in awe,
Till caught by the lion’s deadly paw.
Oh! then the eagle swinked for life,
And brainzelled up a mortal strife;
But flew she north, or flew she south,
She met wi’ the gowl o’ the lion’s mouth.

With a mooted wing and waefu’ maen,
The eagle sought her eiry again:
But lang may she cower in her bloody nest,
And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast,
Before she sey another flight,
To play wi’ the norland lion’s might.

But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw,
So far surpassing nature’s law,
The singer’s voice wad sink away,
And the string of his harp wad cease to play.
But she saw till the sorrows of man were by,
And all was love and harmony;—
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away,
Like flakes of snaw on a winter day.

Then Kilmeny begged again to see
The friends she had left in her ain countrie,
To tell of the place where she had been,
And the glories that lay in the land unseen;
To warn the living maidens fair,
The loved of heaven, the spirits’ care,
That all whose minds unmeled remain
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane.
With distant music, soft and deep,
They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep;
And when she awakened, she lay her lane,
All happed with flowers, in the greenwood wene.
When seven long years had come and fled,
When grief was calm, and hope was dead,
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny’s name,
Late, late in a gloamin’ Kilmeny came hame.
And O, her beauty was fair to see,
But still and steadfast was her e’e!
Such beauty bard may never declare,
For there was no pride nor passion there;
And the soft desire of maiden’s e’en
In that mild face could never be seen.
Her seymar was the lily flower,
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
And her voice like the distant melodye
That floats along the twilight sea.
But she loved to raike the lanely glen,
And keep afar frae the haunts of men,
Her holy hymns unheard to sing,
To suck the flowers, and drink the spring;
But wherever her peaceful form appeared
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;
The wolf played blithely round the field,
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled;
The dun deer wooed with manner bland,
And cowered beneath her lily hand.
And when at eve the woodlands rung,
When hymns of other worlds she sung
In ecstacy of sweet devotion,
O, then the glen was all in motion!
The wild beasts of the forest came,
Broke from their boughs and faulds the tame,
And goved around, charmed and amazed;
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,
And murmured, and looked with anxious pain
For something the mystery to explain.
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;
The corby left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird alang wi’ the eagle flew;
The hind came tripping over the dew;
The wolf and the kid their raike began,
And the kid and the lamb and the leveret ran;
The hawk and the hern attour them hung,
And the merle and the mavis forhooyed their young;
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled—
It was like an eve in a sinless world!

When a month and a day had come and gane,
Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene;
There laid her down on the leaves sae green,
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.
But O, the words that fell frae her mouth
Were words of wonder, and words of truth!
But all the land were in fear and dread,
For they kendna whether she was living or dead.
It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain;
She left this world of sorrow and pain,
And returned to the land of thought again.

JAMES HOGG.

A FAIRY TALE.

Once in days of yore a little Princess, who had summers seen
Scarcely seven, and was christened by the holy name Christine,
Found herself, at eve, disporting in a fairy ring of green.
She had left the kingly castle; left her sire’s and mother’s side,
Left the banquet, where her brother feasted with his royal bride;
And had rambled to the forest valley, ’neath the summer moon,
Where she crossed the charmèd circle, aught thereof unknowing. Soon
Overwearied there she rested, wishing what might come to pass,
When by chance her hand alighted on a tuft of clover-grass.
This she grasped, a tiny handful:—Ah! Saint Mary! what she saw!—
Mounted on their milk-white palfreys, issuing from the shady shawe,
Came the fairies, caracolling gaily as they passed along;
Then, dismounting, closed around her in a bright and joyous throng;
Ladylings and lordlings dancing, piping, harping, full of song.
Clad in robes of silken silver, golden gossamer a few,
Decked with jewels bright as starlets, bright as berries, bright as dew;
Some in kirtle, scarf, and doublet, all of verdant forest hue.

Lovers there she saw, arm-twining, in the wild wood’s shadowy slade;
There some woful knight was kneeling at the feet of haughty maid;
Here was feasting, there was music; many a cunning prank was played.
Suddenly, the stateliest of them, he that most a monarch seemed,
(Cap of crimson his, and mantle like an emerald that beamed)
When he spied the gentle maiden, smiling on the merry scene;
“Ho! my lords and ladies!” cried he, “wist ye who with us hath been?
Lo! a mortal stands among us; fairer than a fairy she;
Let us speak with her a moment; questioning belongs to me.”

Straight the jocund throng desisted from their pastime and their play,
While the king of all the fairies to the childling thus ’gan say:—

“Lovely mortal! wilt thou, wilt thou quit with us thy childhood’s
bowers,
And in our enchanted Eden wander through a world of flowers?
All delights that thou hast dreamed of, gathered there shall be, and
thine;
Flowers that fade not, games that end not, skies that always mildliest
shine;
Kneaded cates of amber honey, and the rosebud’s dewy wine;
Wreaths of jewels, combs of silver, beads and bracelets all of gold,
And a diamond girdle round thee; mine I give thee now, behold!
Bowls of rubies thou shalt sip from, and from crystal tables dine,
And, at eve, on lily leaves, and mingled violets recline;
Wilt thou with me, sweet one, tell me!” “King,” she answered, “I am
thine.”
All the fairy court with rapture danced when thus they heard her say;
“Noble chieftain, child of beauty, let us haste,” they cried, “away!”

“Seal the covenant first,” quoth Oberon; and a magic cup of wine
Straight was brought him, when the king bethought him of the charm
divine,
Which the eyes of life had opened, to perceive their secret line.
Deep within the rosy goblet he the four-fold leaflet dipped,
Drank thereof, and to the damsel gave it; daintily she sipped.

Then to horse; the gallant knighthood lift their ladies to the sells;
Every steed was shod with silver, every bridle hung with bells,
Like the lilies of the valley, only all of silver. Swells
Soft the moonlight air with strains aforetime never heard;
More sweet than tone of nymph, or muse, or god, to both preferred.

So they ambled on until they reached a green and grove-crowned hill,
Which, without a gate, they entered, opening at the monarch’s will:
Then the portals closed upon her; woe is me for that dear child,
’Mid the insubstantial regions of the fairies thus beguiled.

Streams of bubbling gold flowed round her; fountains flung their diamond
spray,
O’er the fields a pearl-dew glistened; polished loadstone paved the way;
Trees were leafed with golden florins; daisies chimed like silver
crowns,
Musical and odorous breezes breathed across the velvet downs.
Soon they neared the regal palace twinkling in the aëry dyes,
Lilac, pearl, and beryl blended, of that country’s sunless skies;
While the fay-queen and her ladies, with their flower-robed damsels
fair,
Came forthright to greet her crowned spouse, and royal guestling there.

From the centre of the high dome swung a topaz solar bright,
Which through all the palace darted gleams of glad and glorious light,
Emerald lamplets ranked around it, tempered this with cooler ray;
While, without, the welkin poured one pale and ever-dawning day.
There the feast was flowing ever; stream-like music ceaseless played;
There the dance was always weaving; minstrels chanting in the shade;
There for aye the chase was bounding over dale and hill and plain,
And fair Christine, on hound-high steed, the foremost of the elfin
train.
Still she saddened when she minded of the simple garlands she
Wove of wild rose and of woodbine, with her playmates on the lea;
And the hazel and brown beech nut which they gathered from the tree.
What though clad in jewelled raiment, trilling, tripping, day and night,
What though ply’d with queenly dainties, what though culling gold-blooms
bright,
Never in the feast delicious, nor the dance’s ’wildering whirl,
Nor the wine-cups merry orbit, could forget that lonely girl
The ancient hall where dwelled her sire, and, where, too, from her
mother’s side,
She, one summer’s eve, had stolen forth into the forest wide.

“Drink the dew,” the Fairy Fate said, “that the poppy lends repose,
Mingled with the fragrant nectar chaliced in the golden rose.”
Then she drank the draught Lethean from the bowl with flowerets crowned,
Flaming flowers, that all remembrance of her past existence drowned;
Thus, with lustres vainly lapsing, to perpetual childhood bound.
Never moon there marked the season; sun ne’er shadowed forth the time;
Years themselves were undistinguished in that soft and listless clime.

Now where mines of gold and silver branch, in many a gleaming vein,
Through the bosom of the mountain, ’neath the many leaguéd plain;
Where jasper and cornelian clear and alabaster pure,
And purple spars and glass-bright rocks the glittering caves immure,
She roamed; and all the virtues learned of every potent gem
Or mystic or medicinal; all gifts that unto them
Pertained of causing love, or hate, or infinite delight,
Imperial wealth, tyrannic state, long life, and beauty bright;
These into an armlet stringing, ruby, sapphire, emerald, pearl,
Threaded on the sunny tendril of one desultory curl,
As an amulet Titania gave to her, the spell-bound girl.

Through the dwarf-king’s wondrous regions she with him delighted
strayed;
Rings and charms and magic weapons he for her, love-smitten, made.
Blythely oft beneath the seas she roved with mermaids from their caves,
Arched, with amber, pearl and ivory roofs, whose floor bright coral
paves;
And oft, too, when the fairy court, for pleasure, or for pride,
Would seek the cooling streams that lave earth’s plains and meadows
wide,
The water spirits, in their arms, the darling maid would fold,
And hidden things of years to come mysteriously they told:
There she viewed in crystal vases souls of hapless wretches drowned,
Which from their pellucid prisons she with holy zeal unbound;
Upward sprang the sprites with joyful some, and some with mournful
sound.
With the sylphs in air she sported; with the golden-palaced gnome,
Earth embosomed, or the light elves in their rainbow-clouded home.
Ofttimes with the Elle-King rode she, in his chariot, o’er the main,
While his martial band, with sea-conchs, blew the war-inspiring strain;
Then upon the headlands landing, counted o’er the frosty meads,
Royal droves of great blue kine, lipping the ice-dew of weeds.

’Gainst the fairies of the fire she with tidal spirits waged
War; and earth, and air, and ocean felt how fierce the battle raged.
High she shook her shining falchion, pliant as the rushen plant,
Falchion her dwarf-lover forged her, hard and bright as adamant;
Fighting by the Elle-King’s side, there she the lord of fireland slew;
All the hosts of fire were routed; crowned her queen the conquering
crew;
Back to fairyland she hasted; home her train in triumph drew.

King and spouse majestic welcome gave her, on her glad return;
And a thousand tongues besought that her adventures they might learn.
This she grants; and lo! a banquet, by unheard command is seen,
Instantaneously furnished on the flower-embroidered green.
On the east hand of her liege lord sat the bright, the brave Christine;
On the west divine Titania, night’s incomparable queen;
Then the Victress told Sir Oberon all she had done, and where had been;

How from end to end of faerie she had passed, below, above,
Scathless by the spells the dwarf-king gave her in his days of love;
How had dealt with Nisses, Noks, and Kobolds, Kelpies, Norns, and
Trolls;
How with Peris fared, and Shadim, Afrits, Ogres, Deevs and Ghouls;
She had travelled in the whirlwind; for no harm to her might fall,
Who had talismans and virtues could enchant or vanquish all;—
How the Elle-chief’s broad dominions scarred by war, she sad, beheld;
How with hosts of fire they fought, and how the first of foes she
quelled;
How, she said, in God she trusted;—at that word the banquet ceased;
Shrieked and vanished all the faërie, save the king who bade the feast.

Silent sate the maid and monarch many a moment, till, quoth he,
“Knowest thou not, unhappy child, the woe thou hast wrought in faërie?
Know’st thou not that by the name which elfin tongue hath never passed,
When so uttered, we are scattered, dust-like by the tempest’s blast;
Know’st thou not that we be spirits, doomed to linger here, unchanged,
In the sunless land of Faërie, from the light of heaven estranged,
Till with promise of salvation, we be blessed by holy priest,
Or some sinless mortal give us hope to be at last released?
Till the universal judgment we, the viewless sons of Eve,
Wander in the hollow underworld, unable to believe,
Till we hold the great assurance, for the lack whereof we grieve.

Still as we of sin were guiltless, save the sin inherited
From our mother’s first transgression, ere the floods abroad were
spread,
He, the great Creator, hid us in the bosom-shades of earth,
And forbade that in the sunlight ever we should journey forth.”
“Bounteous is He,” said the maiden, “of illimitable grace;
Nor would He have hid ye here, if good He meant not to your race.”
“Ah, alas! then, why delayeth He his merciful command?”
Sighed the fairy; “sooner blossom shall the sceptre in my hand;”
Saying,—in the mold he wildly struck his white and star-tipped wand.

Scarce had he the sad word uttered when the peeled and polished rod
Bourgeoned forth in buds and blossoms, rooted in the mossy sod;
“Lo! a miracle,” said Christine; “trust ye henceforth, too, in God.
Rest ye sure His mercy broodeth over all the souls He made.”
“We are spirits,” groaned the fairy, “greatly of our end afraid;
Though a flickering hope inspires us with belief that we shall be
Joined, at last, with Him and Heaven, in His boundless clemencie.”
“Be it,” said she; “knew not I, nathless, so saintly your desire;
And if mine your royal sanction to reseek my loving sire,
He within his walls sustains, for mercy’s sake, a godly frere,
Who to pious aspirations ever lends a pitying ear;
And will grant His sacred blessing to your nation; doubt it ne’er;
He will bless whate’er loves me; for I to him was alway dear.”

“Speed thee earthwards,” said the sovran, “speed thee, dearest child of
light;”
On the instant, hosts of fairies warbling, darted into sight.
Airs delicious, such as mortal never heard from human hands,
Whispered loud from golden clarions, harped on strings of silver
strands,
Strains triumphant, thrilled and echoed through those dim enchanted
lands.
“Speed thee, heart of love,” they faltered, “speed thee on thy
star-taught way;
Bring to Oberon and his people hope of heaven and peace for aye.”
“Ah! farewell, ye good and loyal,” said the princess, stepping forth,
“Ne’er shall I forget your bounties, never see surpassed your worth;
If not pure enough for heaven, ye are far too pure for earth.”

Towards the limits far of Faërie quick their anxious course they took,
And the hill she entered first self-opened like a magic book;
Forth she peeped, and backward turning to bestow one farewell look,
Nothing saw she, nothing heard she, save a low and eërie wail
With the rustle of the greenwood blending and the sunset gale.

All was changed; and she, deep sighing, tottered on her lonesome way,
Till she neared a stunted hamlet; children at their twilight play,
As she stooped to raise a withering rosebud, by the path that lay,
Shyly tittering; thus she spake them; “Laugh ye at my fresh-pulled
roses?”
“We laughed to see an old, old beldame picking up our cast off posies,”
Said they; but she understood no word of what the bantlings uttered;
And again they mouthed and mocked at that they said the old crone
muttered.

Soon she came where, blind with dotage, propped on staff, an old man
stood;
All his tresses white with age as with its snows a wintry wood.
“Gaffer,” said she, “where’s the castle, that on yonder mountain piled
Held the prince unpeered in honour? Late I left it, foolish child!”
Mused a moment, recollecting; presently, the old man smiled:
“Second childhood then I fancy must at least, good dame, be thine;
I alone in all the region mind me of that lordly line;
I alone some words remember of the tongue that then was spoke,
By the noble race that here dwelt, ere they felt war’s iron yoke.
King, peer, peasant, all were conquered, all uprooted at a blow;
One disastrous battle gave the country to a foreign foe;
Slain or banished all; but that’s well-nigh a hundred years ago.

“Yonder castle’s crumbling ruin saw its lord, though dauntless, fall;
Dame and daughter he beheld both slain; in vain his vassals all,
In vain his son for crown and bride fought; he was left an idiot thrall.
On the evening of his bridal, souls of war, those sea-kings came,
And, ere midnight, tower and town were all engulphed in gory flame.
Save the holy chaplain, none of all that princely house remained,
And myself, the humblest menial, on the lands where once they reigned.
He, in rock-hewn hermit’s cavern, life, with passion undefiled,
Wore away, in trances murmuring blessings on some wandered child,
Daughter of his Lord, ’twas counted, by the cursed invading host
Killed; or wiled away by fairies; howsoe’er, the child was lost.
Twenty winters since his clay from mine to earth’s cold arms was given;
And so long his blessed spirit has been with the saints in heaven.”

“Hold,” she cried, “I hear a weeping; I no longer love the light;”
Back she started, and departed straightways through the deepening night.
In the hill she heard a wailing and a sobbing sad and deep;
And the crash of thousand harpstrings hands of desperation sweep;
Then she laid her down, and, praying, slept the long unmorrowing sleep.

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

THE CONQUEST OF FAIRYLAND.

There reigned a king in the land of Persia, mighty and great was he
grown,
On the necks of the kings of the conquered earth he builded up his
throne.

There sate a king on the throne of Persia; and he was grown so proud
That all the life of the world was less, to him, than a passing cloud.

He reigned in glory: joy and sorrow lying between his hands.
If he sighed a nation shook, his smile ripened the harvest of lands.

He was the saddest man beneath the everlasting sky,
For all his glories had left him old, and the proudest king must die.

He who was even as God to all the nations of men,
Must die as the merest peasant dies, and turn into earth again.

And his life with the fear of death was bitter and sick and accursed,
As brackish water to drink of which is to be for ever athirst.

The hateful years rolled on and on, but once it chanced at noon
The drowsy court was thrilled to gladness, it echoed so sweet a tune.

Low as the lapping of the sea, as the song of the lark is clear,
Wild as the moaning of pine branches; the king was fain to hear.

“What is the song, and who is the singer?” he said; “before the throne
Let him come, for the songs of the world are mine, and all but this are
known.”

Seven mighty kings went out the Minstrel man to find:
And all they found was a dead cypress soughing in the wind.

And slower still, and sadder still the heavy winters rolled,
And the burning summers waned away, and the king grew very old;

Dull, worn, feeble, bent; and once he thought, “To die
Were rest, at least.” And, as he thought, the music wandered by.

Into the presence of the king, singing, the singer came,
And his face was like the spring in flower, his eyes were clear as
flame.

“What is the song you play, and what the theme your praises sing?
It is sweet; I knew not I owned a thing so sweet,” said the weary king.

“I sing my country,” said the singer, “a land that is sweeter than
song.”
“Which of my kingdoms is your country? Thither would I along.”

“Great, O king, is thy power, and the earth a footstool for thy feet;
But my country is free, and my own country, and oh, my country is
sweet!”

The eyes of the king, as he heard, grew young and alive with fire:
“So, is there left on the earth a thing to strive for, a thing to
desire?

“Where is thy country? tell me, O singer! speak thine innermost heart!
Leave thy music! speak plainly! Speak—forget thine art!”

The eyes of the singer shone as he sang, and his voice rang wild and
free
As the elemental wind or the uncontrollable sobs of the sea.

“O for my distant home!” he sighed; “Oh, alas! away and afar
I watch thee now as a lost sailor watches a shining star.

“Oh that a wind would take me there! that a bird would set me down
Where the golden streets shine red at sunset in my father’s town!

“For only in dreams I see the faces of the women there,
And fain would I hear them singing once, braiding their ropes of hair.

“Oh I am thirsty and long to drink of the river of life, and I
Am fain to find my own country, where no man shall die.”

Out of the light of the throne, the king looked down: as in the spring
The green leaves burst from their dusky buds, so was hope in the eyes
of the king.

“Lo,” he said, “I will make thee great; I will make thee mighty in sway
Even as I; but the name of thy country speak, and the place and the
way.”

“Oh, the way to my country is ever north till you pass the mouth of
hell,
Past the limbo of dreams and the desolate land where shadows dwell.

“And when you have reached the fount of wonder, you ford the waters wan
To the land of elves and the land of fairies, enchanted Masinderan.”

The singer ceased; and the lyre in his hand snapped, as a cord, in
twain;
And neither lyre nor singer was seen in the kingdom of Persia again.

And all the nobles gazed astounded; no man spoke a word
Till the old King said: “Call out my armies; bring me hither a sword!”

As a little torrent swollen by snows is turned to a terrible stream,
So the gathering voices of all his countries cried to the king in his
dream.

Crying, “For thee, O our king, for thee, we had freely and willingly
died,
Warriors, martyrs, what thou wilt; not that our lives betide

“The worth of a thought to the king, but rather, O ruler, because thy
rod
Is over our heads, as over thine is the changeless will of God.

“Rather for this we beseech thee, O master, for thine own sake refrain
From the blasphemous madness of pride, from the fever of impious gain.”

“You seek my death” the king thundered; “you cry, Forbear to save
The life of a king too old to frolic; let him drowse in the grave.

“But I will live for all your treason; and, by my own right hand!
I will set out this day with you to conquer Fairyland!”

Then all the nations paled aghast, for the battle to begin
Was a war with God, and a war with death, and they knew the thing was
sin.

Sick at heart they gathered together, but none denounced the wrong,
For the will of God was unseen, unsaid, and the will of the king was
strong.

So the air grew bright with spears, and the earth shook under the tread
Of the mighty horses harnessed for battle; the standards flaunted red.

And the wind was loud with the blare of trumpets, and every house was
void
Of the strength and stay of the house, and the peace of the land
destroyed.

And the growing corn was trodden under the weight of armèd feet,
And every woman in Persia cursed the sound of a song too sweet,

Cursed the insensate longing for life in the heart of a sick old man;
But the King of Persia with all his armies marched on Masinderan.

Many a day they marched in the sun till their silver armour was lead
To sink their bodies into the grave, and many a man fell dead.

And they passed the mouth of hell, and the shadowy country gray,
Where the air is mist and the people mist and the rain more real than
they.

And they came to the fount of wonder, and forded the waters wan,
And the King of Persia and all his armies marched on Masinderan.

And they turned the rivers to blood, and the fields to a ravaged camp,
Till they neared the golden faery town, that burned in the dusk as a
lamp.

And they shouted and shouted for joy, to see it stand so nigh,
Given into their hands for spoil; and their hearts beat proud and high.

The armies longed for the morrow, to conquer the shining town,
For there was no death in the land, neither any to strike them down.

And the hosts were many in numbers, mighty, and skilled in the strife,
And they lusted for gold and conquest as the old king lusted for life.

Till, gazing on the golden place, night took them unaware,
And black and windy grew the skies, and black the eddying air—

So long the night and black the night that fell upon their eyes,
They quaked with fear, those mighty hosts; the sun would never rise.

Darkness and deafening sounds confused the black, tempestuous air,
And no man saw his neighbour’s face, nor heard his neighbour’s prayer.

And wild with terror the mad battalions fell on each other in fight,
The ground was strewn with wounded men, mad in the horrible night—

Mad with eternal pain, with darkness and stabbing blows
Rained on all sides from invisible hands till the ground was red as a
rose.

And, though he were longing for rest, none ventured to pause from the
strife,
Lest haply another wound be his to poison his hateful life.

And the king entreated death; and for peace the armies prayed;
But the gifts of God are everlasting, His word is not gainsayed.

Gold and battle are given the hosts, their boon is turned to a ban,
And the curse of the king is to live forever in conquered Masinderan.

A. MARY F. ROBINSON.

Men and Fairies.

THE APPROACH OF TITANIA.

PUCK.

Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon!
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the churchyard paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate’s team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic: not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house:
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.

_Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train._

OBERON.

Through this house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from briar;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.

TITANIA.

First rehearse this song by rote:
To each word a warbling note,
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

_Song and Dance._

OBERON.

Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray;
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate;
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be:
And the blots of nature’s hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,
Shall upon their children be.—
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait;
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace with sweet peace:
E’er shall it in safety rest,
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away;
Make no stay:
Meet me all by break of day.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

A FAIRY TALE IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE.

In Britain’s Isle, in Arthur’s days,
When midnight fairies daunc’d the maze,
Liv’d Edwin of the Green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow’d with courage, sense, and truth,
Though badly shap’d he’d been.

His mountain back mote well be said,
To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above;
Yet, spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,
This creature dar’d to love.

He felt the charms of Edith’s eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,
Could ladies look within;
But one Sir Topaz dress’d with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win.

Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted passion pac’d along
All in the moony light;
’Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross’d,
’Twas late, ’twas far, the path was lost
That reach’d the neighbour town;
With weary steps he quits the shades,
Resolv’d, the darkling dome he treads,
And drops his limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the floor
When hollow winds remove the door,
And trembling rocks the ground:
And, well I ween to count aright,
At once a hundred tapers light
On all the walls around.

Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
Now sounding feet approachen near,
And now the sounds increase;
And from the corner where he lay
He sees a train profusely gay
Come prankling o’er the place.

But (trust me, Gentles!) never yet
Was dight a masquing half so neat,
Or half so rich before;
The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,
The town its silken store.

Now, whilst he gaz’d, a gallant drest
In flaunting robes above the rest,
With awful accent cry’d;
“What mortal of a wretched mind,
Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,
Has here presum’d to hide?”

At this the swain, whose venturous soul
No fears of magic art controul,
Advanc’d in open sight;
“Nor have I cause of dread,” he said,
“Who view, by no presumption led,
Your revels of the night.

“’Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,
Which made my steps unweeting rove
Amid the nightly dew.”
“’Tis well,” the gallant cries again,
“We fairies never injure men
Who dare to tell us true.

“Exalt thy love-dejected heart,
Be mine the task, or ere we part,
To make thee grief resign;
Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce;
Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce,
Be little Mable thine.”

He spoke, and all a sudden there
Light music floats in wanton air;
The monarch leads the queen:
The rest their fairy partners found;
And Mable trimly tript the ground
With Edwin of the Green.

The dauncing past, the board was laid,
And siker such a feast was made,
As heart and lip desire,
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glasses with a wish come nigh,
And with a wish retire.

But, now to please the fairy king,
Full every deal they daunce and sing,
And antic feats devise;
Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other some transmute their shape
In Edwin’s wondering eyes.

Till one at last, that Robin hight,
Renown’d for pinching maids by night,
Has bent him up aloof;
And full against the beam he flung,
Where by the back the youth he hung
To sprawl uneath the roof.

From thence, “Reverse my charm,” he cries,
“And let it fairly now suffice
The gambol has been shewn.”
But Oberon answers with a smile,
“Content thee, Edwin, for awhile,
The vantage is thine own.”

Here ended all the phantom-play;
They smelt the fresh approach of day,
And heard a cock to crow;
The whirling wind that bore the crowd
Has clapp’d the door, and whistled loud,
To warn them all to go.

Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the tapers die;
Poor Edwin falls to floor;
Forlorn his state, and dark the place,
Was never wight in such a case
Through all the land before.

But soon as Dan Apollo rose,
Full jolly creature home he goes,
He feels his back the less;
His honest tongue and steady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind,
Which made him want success.

With lusty livelyhed he talks,
He seems advancing as he walks,
His story soon took wind;
And beauteous Edith sees the youth
Endowed with courage, sense, and truth,
Without a bunch behind.

The story told, Sir Topaz mov’d,
The youth of Edith erst approv’d,
To see the revel scene:
At close of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin’d dome
All on the gloomy plain.

And there he bides, it so befel,
The wind came rustling down a dell,
A shaking seized the wall;
Up spring the tapers as before,
The fairies bragly foot the floor,
And music fills the hall.

But certes sorely sunk with woe
Sir Topaz sees the Elphin show,
His spirits in him die;
When Oberon crys, “A man is near,
A mortal passion, cleeped fear,
Hangs flagging in the sky.”

With that, Sir Topaz, hapless youth!
In accents faultering, aye for ruth,
Intreats them pity grant;
For als he been a mister wight
Betray’d by wandering in the night
To tread the circled haunt;

“A Losell vile,” at once they roar,
“And little skill’d of fairy lore,
Thy cause to come we know;
Now has thy kestrel courage fell,
And fairies, since a lie you tell,
Are free to work thee woe.”

Then Will, who bears the wispy fire
To trail the swains among the mire,
The caitiff upward flung;
There, like a tortoise in a shop,
He dangled from the chamber top,
Where whilome Edwin hung.

The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they strut it o’er the place,
They sit, they drink, and eat;
The time with frolic mirth beguile,
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while
Till all the rout retreat.

By this the stars began to wink,
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,
And down y-drops the knight:
For never spell by fairy laid
With strong enchantment bound a glade,
Beyond the length of night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
Till up the welkin rose the day,
Then deem’d the dole was o’er:
But wot ye well his harder lot?
His seely back the bunch had got
Which Edwin lost afore.

This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;
She softly stroak’d my youngling head,
And when the tale was done,
“Thus some are born, my son,” she cries,
“With base impediments to rise,
And some are born with none.

“But virtue can itself advance
To what the favourite fools of chance
By fortune seem’d design’d;
Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
And from itself shake off the weight
Upon th’ unworthy mind.”

THOMAS PARNELL.

THE ELFIN KING.

“O swift and swifter far he speeds
Than earthly steed can run;
But I hear not the feet of his courser fleet,
As he glides o’er the moorland dun.”

Lone was the strath where he crossed their path,
And wide did the heath extend,
The Knight in Green on that moor is seen
At every seven years’ end.