Chapter VII: Part THE THIRD: Modern (2)

And swift is the speed of his coal-black steed,
As the leaf before the gale,
But never yet have that courser’s feet
Been heard on hill or dale.

But woe to the wight who meets the Green Knight,
Except on his faulchion arm
Spell-proof he bear, like the brave St. Clair,
The holy Trefoil’s charm;

For then shall fly his gifted eye,
Delusions false and dim;
And each unblessed shade shall stand portrayed
In ghostly form and limb.

O swifter, and swifter far he speeds
Than earthly steed can run;
“He skims the blue air,” said the brave St. Clair,
“Instead of the heath so dun.

“His locks are as bright as the streamer’s light,
His cheeks like the rose’s hue;
The Elfin-King, like the merlin’s wing
Are his pinions of glossy blue.”

“No Elfin-King, with azure wing,
On the dark brown moor I see;
But a courser keen, and a Knight in Green,
And full fair I ween is he.

“Nor Elfin-King, nor azure wing,
Nor ringlets sparkling bright;”
Sir Geoffrey cried, and forward hied
To join the stranger Knight.

He knew not the path of the lonely strath,
Where the Elfin-King went his round;
Or he never had gone with the Green Knight on,
Nor trod the charmèd ground.

How swift they flew! no eye could view
Their track on heath or hill;
Yet swift across both moor and moss
St. Clair did follow still.

And soon was seen a circle green,
Where a shadowy wassel crew
Amid the ring did dance and sing,
In weeds of watchet blue.

And the windlestrae,[2] so limber and grey,
Did shiver beneath the tread
Of the coursers’ feet, as they rushed to meet
The morrice of the dead.

“Come here, come here, with thy green fere,
Before the bread be stale;
To roundel dance with speed advance,
And taste our wassel ale.”

Then up to the Knight came a grizly wight,
And sounded in his ear,
“Sir Knight, eschew this goblin crew,
Nor taste their ghostly cheer.”

The tabors rung, the lilts were sung,
And the Knight the dance did lead;
But the maidens fair seemed round him to stare,
With eyes like the glassy bead.

The glance of their eye, so cold and so dry,
Did almost his heart appal;
Their motion is swift, but their limbs they lift
Like stony statues all.

Again to the Knight came the grizly wight,
When the rounded dance was o’er;
“Sir Knight, eschew this goblin crew,
Or rue for evermore.”

But forward pressed the dauntless guest
To the tables of ezlar red,
And there was seen the Knight in Green,
To grace the fair board head.

And before that Knight was a goblet bright
Of emerald smooth and green,
The fretted brim was studded full trim
With mountain rubies’ sheen.

Sir Geoffrey the Bold of the cup laid hold
With health-ale mantling o’er;
And he saw as he drank that the ale never shrank
But mantled as before.

Then Sir Geoffrey grew pale as he quaffed the ale,
And cold as the corpse of clay;
And with horny beak the ravens did shriek,
And fluttered o’er their prey.

But soon throughout the revel rout
A strange commotion ran,
For beyond the round they heard the sound
Of the steps of an uncharmed man.

And soon to St. Clair the grim wight did repair,
From the midst of the wassel crew;
“Sir Knight, beware of the revellers there,
Nor do as they bid thee do.”

“What woeful wight art thou?” said the Knight,
“To haunt this wassel fray?”
“I was once,” quoth he, “a mortal, like thee,
Though now I’m an elfin grey.

“And the Knight so bold as the corpse lies cold,
Who trode the greensward ring;
He must wander along with that restless throng,
For aye, with the Elfin-King.

“With the restless crew, in weeds so blue,
The hapless Knight must wend;
Nor ever be seen on haunted green
Till the weary seven years’ end.

“Fair is the mien of the Knight in Green,
And bright his sparkling hair;
’Tis hard to believe how malice can live
In the breast of aught so fair.

“And light and fair are the fields of air,
Where he wanders to and fro;
Still doomed to fleet from the regions of heat
To the realms of endless snow.

“When high overhead fall the streamers[3] red,
He views the blessed afar;
And in stern despair darts through the air
To earth, like a falling star.

“With his shadowy crew, in weeds so blue,
That Knight for aye must run;
Except thou succeed in a perilous deed,
Unseen by the holy sun.

“Who ventures the deed, and fails to succeed,
Perforce must join the crew.”
“Then brief, declare,” said the brave St. Clair,
“A deed that a Knight may do.”

“’Mid the sleet and the rain thou must here remain
By the haunted greensward ring,
Till the dance wax slow, and the song faint and low,
Which the crew unearthly sing.

“Then right at the time of the matin chime,
Thou must tread the unhallowed ground,
And with mystic pace the circles trace
That inclose it nine times round.

“And next thou must pass the rank green grass
To the tables of ezlar red;
And the goblet clear away thou must bear,
Nor behind thee turn thy head.

“And ever anon as thou treadest upon
The sward of the green charmed ring,
Be no word expressed in that space unblessed
That ’longeth of holy thing.

“For the charmed ground is all unsound,
And the lake spreads wide below,
And the Water-Fiend there, with the Fiend of Air,
Is leagued for mortals’ woe.”

’Mid the sleet and the rain did St. Clair remain
Till the evening star did rise;
And the rout so gay did dwindle away
To the eldritch dwarfy size.

When the moonbeams pale fell through the white hail,
With a wan and a watery ray,
Sad notes of woe seemed round him to grow,
The dirge of the elfins grey.

And right at the time of the matin chime
His mystic pace began,
And murmurs deep around him did creep
Like the moans of a murdered man.

The matin bell was tolling farewell
When he reached the central ring,
And there he beheld, to ice congealed,
That crew, with the Elfin-King.

For aye, at the knell of the matin bell,
When the black monks wend to pray,
The spirits unblessed have a glimpse of rest
Before the dawn of day.

The sigh of the trees, and the rush of the breeze,
Then pause on the lonely hill;
And the frost of the dead clings round their head,
And they slumber cold and still.

The Knight took up the emerald cup,
And the ravens hoarse did scream,
And the shuddering elfins half rose up,
And murmured in their dream:

They inwardly mourned, and the thin blood returned
To every icy limb;
And each frozen eye, so cold and so dry,
’Gan roll with lustre dim.

Then brave St. Clair did turn him there
To retrace the mystic track,
He heard the sigh of his lady fair,
Who sobbed behind his back.

He started quick and his heart beat thick,
And he listened in wild amaze;
But the parting bell on his ear it fell,
And he did not turn to gaze.

With panting breast as he forward pressed,
He trod on a mangled head;
And the skull did scream, and the voice did seem
The voice of his mother dead.

He shuddering trode: on the great name of God
He thought—but he nought did say;
And the greensward did shrink, as about to sink,
And loud laughed the Elfins grey.

And loud did resound, o’er the unblessed ground,
The wings of the blue Elf-King;
And the ghostly crew to reach him flew,
But he crossed the charméd ring;

The morning was grey, and dying away
Was the sound of the matin bell;
And far to the west the fays that ne’er rest,
Fled where the moonbeams fell.

And Sir Geoffrey the Bold, on the unhallowed mould,
Arose from the green witch-grass;
And he felt his limbs, like a dead man’s, cold,
And he wist not where he was.

And that cup so rare, which the brave St. Clair
Did bear from the ghostly crew,
Was suddenly changed, from the emerald fair,
To the ragged whinstone blue;
And instead of the ale that mantled there
Was the murky midnight dew.

JOHN LEYDEN.

[2] Rye-grass.

[3] Northern Lights.

THE YOUNG TAMLANE.

“O I forbid ye, maidens a’
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tamlane is there.

“There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh,
But maun leave him a wad,
Either gowd rings or green mantles,
Or else their maidenheid.

“Now gowd rings ye may buy, maidens,
Green mantles ye may spin;
But, gin ye lose your maidenheid,
Ye’ll ne’er get that agen.”—

But up then spake her, fair Janet,
The fairest o’ a’ her kin;
“I’ll cum and gang to Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave o’ him.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle,
A little abune her knee;
And she has braided her yellow hair,
A little abune her bree.

And when she came to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsell.

She hadna pu’d a red red rose,
A rose but barely three;
Till up and starts a wee wee man,
At lady Janet’s knee.

Says—“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet?
What gars ye break the tree?
Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,
Withouten leave o’ me?”—

Says—“Carterhaugh it is mine ain;
My daddie gave it me;
I’ll come and gang to Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave o’ thee.”

He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
Among the leaves sae green;
And what they did, I cannot tell—
The green leaves were between.

He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
Among the roses red;
And what they did, I cannot say—
She ne’er return’d a maid.

When she came to her father’s ha’,
She looked pale and wan;
They thought she’d dreed some sair sickness,
Or been with some leman.

She didna comb her yellow hair,
Nor make meikle o’ her head;
And ilka thing that lady took,
Was like to be her deid.

It’s four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba’;
Janet, the brightest of them anes,
Was faintest o’ them a’.

Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess;
And out there came the fair Janet,
As green as any grass.

Out and spak an old grey-headed knight
Lay o’er the castle wa’—
“And ever, alas! for thee, Janet,
But we’ll be blamed a’!”

“Now hand your tongue, ye auld grey knight!
And an ill deid may ye die,
Father my bairn on whom I will
I’ll father nane on thee.”

Out then spake her father dear,
And he spake meek and mild—
“And ever, alas! my sweet Janet,
I fear ye gae with child.”

“And if I be with child, father,
Mysell maun bear the blame;
There’s ne’er a knight about your ha’
Shall hae the bairnie’s name.

“And if I be with child, father,
’Twill prove a wondrous birth,
For weel I swear I’m not wi’ bairn
To any man on earth.

“If my love were an earthly knight,
As he’s an elfin grey,
I wadna gie my ain true love
For nae lord that ye hae.”

She prink’d hersell and prinn’d hersell,
By the ae light o’ the moon,
And she’s away to Carterhaugh,
To speak wi’ young Tamlane.

And when she came to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
But there she saw the steed standing,
But away was himsell.

She hadna pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twae,
When up and started young Tamlane,
Says—“Lady, thou pu’s nae mae!

“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet,
Within this garden grene,
And a’ to kill the bonny babe,
That we got us between?”

“The truth ye’ll tell to me, Tamlane,
A word ye mauna lie;
Gin e’er ye was in haly chapel,
Or sained in Christentie?”—

“The truth I’ll tell to thee, Janet,
A word I winna lie;
A knight me got, and a lady me bore,
As well as they did thee.

“Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,
Dunbar, Earl March, is thine;
We loved when we were children small,
Which yet you well may mind.

“When I was a boy just turn’d of nine,
My uncle sent for me,
To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,
And keep him companie.

“There came a wind out of the north,
A sharp wind and a snell;
And a deep sleep came over me,
And frae my horse I fell.

“The Queen of Fairies keepit me,
In yon green hill to dwell;
And I’m a fairy, lyth and limb;
Fair lady, view me well.

“But we, that live in Fairyland,
No sickness know, nor pain;
I quit my body when I will,
And take to it again.

“I quit my body when I please,
Or unto it repair;
We can inhabit, at our ease,
In either earth or air.

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

“We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,
We revel in the stream;
We wanton lightly on the wind,
Or glide on a sunbeam.

“And all our wants are well supplied
From every rich man’s store,
Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,
And vainly grasps for more.

“Then would I never tire, Janet,
In elfish land to dwell;
But aye, at every seven years,
They pay the teind to hell;
And I’m sae fat and fair of flesh,
I fear ’twill be mysell.

“This night is Hallowe’en, Janet,
The morn is Hallowday;
And, gin ye dare your true love win,
Ye hae nae time to stay.

“The night it is good Hallowe’en,
When fairy folk will ride;
And they that wad their true love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide.”—

“But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane?
Or how shall I thee knaw,
Amang so many unearthly knights,
The like I never saw?”—

“The first company that passes by.
Say na, and let them gae;
The next company that passes by,
Say na, and do right sae;
The third company that passes by,
Then I’ll be ane o’ thae.

“First, let pass the black, Janet,
And syne let pass the brown;
But grip ye to the milk-white steed,
And pu’ the rider down.

“For I ride on the milk-white steed,
And aye nearest the town;
Because I was a christen’d knight,
They gave me that renown.

“My right hand will be gloved, Janet,
My left hand will be bare;
And these the tokens I gie thee,
Nae doubt I will be there.

“They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
An adder and a snake,
But haud me fast, let me not pass,
Gin ye would buy me maik.

“They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
An adder and an ask;
They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
A bale that burns fast.

“They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet,
A red-hot gad o’ airn;
But haud me fast, let me not pass,
For I’ll do you no harm.

“First dip me in a stand o’ milk,
And then in a stand o’ water;
But haud me fast, let me not pass—
I’ll be your bairn’s father.

“And, next, they’ll shape me in your arms
A tod, but and an eel;
But haud me fast, nor let me gang,
As you do love me weel.

“They’ll shape me in your arms, Janet,
A dove, but and a swan;
And last they’ll shape me in your arms
A mother-naked man:
Cast your green mantle over me—
I’ll be myself again.”—

Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eiry was the way,
As fair Janet, in her green mantle,
To Miles Cross she did gae.

The heavens were black, the night was dark,
And dreary was the place;
But Janet stood, with eager wish,
Her lover to embrace.

Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,
A north wind tore the bent;
And she heard strange elritch sounds
Upon that wind which went.

About the dead hour o’ the night
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad o’ that
As any earthly thing.

Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,
The hemlock small blew clear;
And louder notes from hemlock large,
And bog-reed, struck the ear;
But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,
The Fairies cannot bear.

They sing, inspired with love and joy,
Like skylarks in the air;
Of solid sense, or thought that’s grave,
You’ll find no traces there.

Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,
The dreary heath upon;
And louder, louder wax’d the sound,
As they came riding on.

Will o’-Wisp before them went,
Sent forth a twinkling light;
And soon she saw the Fairy bands
All riding in her sight.

And first gaed by the black, black steed,
And then gaed by the brown;
And fast she gript the milk-white steed,
And pu’d the rider down.

She pu’d him frae the milk-white steed,
And loot the bridle fa’;
And up there raise an erlish cry—
“He’s wan among us a’!”—

They shaped him in fair Janet’s arms
An esk, but and an adder;
She held him fast in every shape—
To be her bairn’s father.

They shaped him in her arms at last
A mother-naked man:
She wrapp’d him in her green mantle,
And sae her lover wan!

Up then spake the Queen o’ Fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ broom—
“She that has borrow’d young Tamlane,
Has gotten a stately groom.”—

Up then spake the Queen o’ Fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ rye—
“She’s ta’en away the bonniest knight
In a’ my companie.

“But had I kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“A lady wad borrow’d thee—
I wad ta’en out thy twa grey e’en,
Put in twa e’en o’ tree.

“Had I but kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“Before ye came frae hame—
I wad ta’en out your heart o’ flesh,
Put in a heart o’ stane.

“Had I but had the wit yestreen
That I hae coft the day—
I’d paid my kanes seven times to hell
Ere you’d been won away!”

OLD BALLAD.

THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH.

There came a strange wight to our town-en’,
An’ the fient a body did him ken;
He tirled na lang, but he glided ben
Wi’ a dreary, dreary hum.

His face did glow like the glow o’ the west,
When the drumly cloud has it half o’ercast;
Or the struggling moon when she’s sair distrest,
O sirs, ’twas Aiken-drum.

I trow the bauldest stood aback,
Wi’ a gape an’ a glower till their lugs did crack,
As the shapeless phantom mum’ling spak—
“Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum!”

Oh, had ye seen the bairns’s fright,
As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wight;
As they skulkit in ’tween the dark and the light,
And graned out, “Aiken-drum!”

The black dog, growling, cowered his tail,
The lassie swarfed, loot fa’ the pail;
Rob’s lingle brak as he mendit the flail,
At the sight o’ Aiken-drum.

His matted head on his breast did rest,
A lang blue beard wan’ered down like a vest;
But the glare o’ his ee hath nae bard exprest,
Nor the skimes o’ Aiken-drum.

Roun’ his hairy form there was naething seen
But a philabeg o’ the rashes green,
An’ his knotted knees played aye knoit between—
What a sight was Aiken-drum!

On his wauchie arms three claws did meet,
As they trailed on the grun’ by his taeless feet;
E’en the old gudeman himsel’ did sweat
To look at Aiken-drum.

But he drew a score, himsel’ did sain;
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young one closer clasped her wean,
And turned frae Aiken-drum.

But the canty auld wife cam till her breath,
And she thocht the Bible might ward aff scaith,
Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith—
But it feared na Aiken-drum.

“His presence protect us!” quoth the old gudeman;
“What wad ye, whare won ye, by sea or by lan’?
I conjure ye, speak, by the beuk in my han’!”
What a grane gae Aiken-drum!

“I lived in a lan’ where we saw nae sky,
I dwelt in a spot where a burn rins na by;
But I’se dwall now wi’ you if ye like to try—
Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?

“I’ll shiel a’ your sheep i’ the mornin’ sune,
I’ll berry your crap by the light o’ the moon,
An’ ba the bairns wi’ an unkenned tune,
If ye’ll keep puir Aiken-drum.

“I’ll loup the linn where ye canna wade,
I’ll kirn the kirn, an’ I’ll turn the bread;
An’ the wildest filly that ever ran rede,
I’se tame’t,” quoth Aiken-drum.

“To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell,
To gather the dew frae the heather-bell,
An’ to look at my face i’ your clear crystal well,
Might gie pleasure to Aiken-drum.

“I’se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark;
I use nae beddin’, shoon, nor sark;
But a cogfu’ o’ brose ’tween the light an’ the dark,
Is the wage o’ Aiken-drum.”

Quoth the wylie auld wife: “The thing speaks weel;
Our workers are scant—we hae routh o’ meal;
Gif he’ll do as he says—be he man, be he deil—
Now! we’ll try this Aiken-drum.”

But the wenches skirled: “He’s no be here!
His eldritch look gars us swarf wi’ fear;
An’ the feint a ane will the house come near,
If they think but o’ Aiken-drum.”

“Puir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit;
Is’t na Hallowmas now, an’ the crap out yet?”
Sae she silenced them a’ wi’ a stamp o’ her fit—
“Sit yer wa’s down, Aiken-drum.”

Roun’ a’ that side what wark was dune
By the streamer’s gleam, or the glance o’ the moon;
A word, or a wish, an’ the brownie cam sune,
Sae helpfu’ was Aiken-drum....

On Blednoch banks, an’ on crystal Cree,
For mony a day a toiled wight was he;
While the bairns played harmless roun’ his knee,
Sae social was Aiken-drum.

But a new-made wife, fu’ o’ frippish freaks,
Fond o’ a’ things feat for the first five weeks,
Laid a mouldy pair o’ her ain man’s breeks
By the brose o’ Aiken-drum.

Let the learned decide when they convene
What spell was him an’ the breeks between;
For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen,
An’ sair missed was Aiken-drum.

He was heard by a herd gaun by Thrieve,
Crying: “Lang, lang now may I greet an’ grieve:
For, alas! I hae gotten baith fee an’ leave—
Oh, luckless Aiken-drum.”

Awa’, ye wrangling sceptic tribe,
Wi’ your pros an’ your cons wad ye decide
’Gain the ’sponsible voice o’ a hail country-side,
On the facts ’bout Aiken-drum!

Though the “Brownie o’ Blednoch” lang be gane,
The mark o’ his feet’s left on mony a stane;
An’ mony a wife an’ mony a wean
Tell the feats o’ Aiken-drum.

E’en now, light loons that jibe an’ sneer
At spiritual guests an’ a’ sic gear,
At the Glashnoch mill hae swat wi’ fear,
An’ looked roun’ for Aiken-drum.

An’ guidly folks hae gotten a fright,
When the moon was set, an’ the stars gied nae light,
At the roaring linn, in the howe o’ the night,
Wi’ sighs like Aiken-drum.

WILLIAM NICHOLSON.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.

I.

Ah, what can ail thee wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight.
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full
And the harvest’s done.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery’s song.

VI.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz’d and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
So kiss’d to sleep.

IX.

And there we slumber’d on the moss,
And there I dream’d, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill-side.

X.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry’d—“La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

XI.

I saw their starv’d lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill-side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

JOHN KEATS.

THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE.

In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,
Till spells came o’er him, and, day and night,
He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite!

As once, by moonlight, he wandered o’er
The golden sands of that island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight—
’Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!

Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As bending over the stream he lay,
There peep’d down o’er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.

He turn’d, but lo, like a startled bird,
That spirit fled!—and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.

One night, still haunted by that bright look,
The boy, bewilder’d, his pencil took,
And, guided only by memory’s light,
Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.

“Oh thou, who lovest the shadow,” cried
A voice, low whisp’ring by his side,
“Now turn and see,”—here the youth’s delight
Seal’d the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.

“Of all the Spirits of land and sea,”
Then rapt he murmur’d, “there’s none like thee,
And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light
In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!”

THOMAS MOORE.

THE FAIRY BOY.

A mother came when stars were paling,
Wailing round a lonely spring;
Thus she cried while tears were falling,
Calling on the Fairy King:

“Why with spells my child caressing,
Courting him with fairy joy;
Why destroy a mother’s blessing,
Wherefore steal my baby boy?

“O’er the mountain, through the wild wood,
Where his childhood loved to play;
Where the flowers are freshly springing,
There I wander, day by day.

“There I wander, growing fonder
Of the child that made my joy;
On the echoes wildly calling
To restore my fairy boy.

“But in vain my plaintive calling
Tears are falling all in vain!
He now sports with fairy pleasure,
He’s the treasure of their train!

“Fare thee well, my child, for ever,
In this world I’ve lost my joy,
But in the _next_ we ne’er shall sever,
_There_ I’ll find my angel boy!”

SAMUEL LOVER.

THE FAIRY TEMPTER.

A fair girl was sitting in the greenwood shade,
List’ning to the music the spring birds made;
When sweeter by far than the birds on the tree,
A voice murmur’d near her, “Oh come, love, with me—
In earth or air,
A thing so fair
I have not seen as thee!
Then come, love, with me.”

“With a star for thy home, in a palace of light,
Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night;
Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold,
I will show thee the birthplace of jewels and gold—
And pearly caves
Beneath the waves,
All these, all these are thine,
If thou wilt be mine.”

Thus whisper’d a fairy to tempt the fair girl,
But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl;
For she said, “Tho’ thy gifts to a poor girl were dear,
My father, my mother, my sisters are here:
Oh! what would be
Thy gifts to me
Of earth, and sea, and air,
If my heart were not there?”

SAMUEL LOVER.

THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW. A MIDSUMMER LEGEND.

“And where have you been, my Mary,
And where have you been from me?”
“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low,
The midsummer night to see!”

“And what did you see, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon-Low?”
“I saw the blithe sunshine come down,
And I saw the merry winds blow.”

“And what did you hear, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon-Hill?”
“I heard the drops of the water made,
And the green corn ears to fill.”

“Oh, tell me all, my Mary—
All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies,
Last night on the Caldon-Low.”

“Then take me on your knee, mother,
And listen, mother of mine:
A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine.

“And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,
And their dancing feet so small;
But, oh, the sound of their talking
Was merrier far than all!”

“And what were the words, my Mary,
That you did hear them say?”
“I’ll tell you all, my mother—
But let me have my way!

“And some they played with the water,
And rolled it down the hill;
‘And this,’ they said, ‘shall speedily turn
The poor old miller’s mill;

“‘For there has been no water,
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man shall the miller be
By the dawning of the day!

“‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,
When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,
Till the tears fill both his eyes!’

“And some they seized the little winds,
That sounded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,
And blew so sharp and shrill:—

“‘And there,’ said they, ‘the merry winds go,
Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank
From the blind old widow’s corn.

“‘Oh, the poor blind old widow—
Though she has been blind so long,
She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone,
And the corn stands stiff and strong.’

“And some they brought the brown lintseed,
And flung it down from the Low—
‘And this,’ said they, ‘by the sunrise,
In the weaver’s croft shall grow!

“‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver,
How will he laugh outright,
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!’

“And then upspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin—
‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,
‘And I want some more to spin.

“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,
And I want to spin another—
A little sheet for Mary’s bed,
And an apron for her mother!’

“And with that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free:
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,
There was no one left but me.

“And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,
The mists were cold and grey,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.

“But, as I came down from the hill-top,
I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,
And how merry the wheel did go.

“And I peeped into the widow’s field;
And, sure enough, was seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
All standing stiff and green.

“And down by the weaver’s cot I stole,
To see if the flax were high;
But I saw the weaver at his gate,
With the good news in his eye!

“Now, this is all I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;
So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
For I’m tired as I can be.”

MARY HOWITT.

THE FAIRIES’ PASSAGE.

I.

Tapp, tapp! Rapp, rapp! “Get up, Gaffer Ferryman.”
“Eh? who is there?” The clock strikes Three.
“Get up, do, Gaffer! You are the very man
We have been long—long—longing to see.”
The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling,
And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling,
Over the wares in his way to the door.
But he sees no more
Than he saw before,
Till a voice is heard—“O Ferryman, dear!
Here we are waiting, all of us here!
We are a wee, wee colony, we;
Some two hundred in all, or three.
Ferry us over the river Lee
Ere dawn of day,
And we will pay
The most we may,
In our own wee way!”

II.

“Who are you? Whence came you? What place are you going to?”
“O, we have dwelt over-long in this land.
The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too;
Nothing at all but they now understand;
We are daily vanishing under the thunder
Of some huge engine or iron wonder;
That iron—O, it has entered our souls!”
“——Your souls? O, Goles!
You queer little drolls!
Do you mean——?” “Good Gaffer, do aid us with speed,
For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!
And a very long way we have to go,
Eight or ten thousand miles or so,
Hither and thither, and to and fro;
With our pots and pans,
And little gold cans;
But our light caravans
Run swifter than man’s!”

III.

“Well, well, you may come!” said the Ferryman, affably;
“Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge!”
Then again to the little folk—“Though you seem laughably
Small, I don’t mind, if your coppers be large.”
O, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing
(The waterman making vain efforts at hushing
The hubbub the while) there followed these words!
What clapping of boards!
What strapping of cords!
What stowing away of children and wives,
And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives!
Till all had safely got into the boat,
And the Ferryman clad in his tip-top coat,
And his wee little fairies were fairly afloat!
Then ding! ding! ding!
And kling! kling! kling!
How the coppers did ring
In the tin pitcherling!

IV.

Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,
Smoothly, and so forth, but after a while
It swayed and it swagged this way and that way, and presently
Chest after chest, and pile after pile,
Of the little folks’ goods began tossing and rolling,
And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling!
O, Mab! if the hubbub was great before,
It was now some two or three million times more;
Crash went the wee crocks, and the clocks, and the locks,
Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;
And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries—
“Take care!”—“See there!”—“Oh, dear! my eyes!”
“I am killed!”—“I am drowned!”—with groans and sighs;
Till to land they drew;
“Yeo hoe! Pull to!
Tiller-rope, thro’ and thro’!”
And all’s right anew.

V.

“Now, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities,
... Eh! what is this? Where are they at all?
Where are they and where are their tiny commodities?
Well! as I live!” He looks blank as a wall,
The poor Ferryman! Round him, and round him he gazes,
But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes
Of utter bewilderment! All, all are gone—
And he stands alone,
Like a statue of stone,
In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,
And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear
With other odd sounds—“Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Tol, lol; zid, ziddle—quee, quee—bah! bah!
Fizzigigiggidy! phse! sha! sha!”
“O, ye thieves, ye thieves! ye rascally thieves!”
The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,
And there, alas! to his horror perceives,
That the little folks’ mode of making him richer
Had been to pay with him—withered leaves!

CLARENCE MANGAN.

THUBBER-NA-SHIE; OR, THE FAIRY WELL.

[Amongst the many old and fanciful superstitions embodied in the traditions of our peasantry, some of the most poetical are those connected with spring wells, which in Ireland have been invested with something of a sacred character ever since the days of Druidical worship. It is in some parts of the country an article of popular belief, that the desecration of a spring by any unworthy use is followed invariably by some misfortune to the offender; and that the well itself, which is regarded as the source of fruitfulness and prosperity, moves altogether out of the fields in which the violation has been committed.—_Dublin University Magazine_, vol. viii., p. 449.]

Oh! Peggy Bawn was innocent,
And wild as any roe;
Her cheek was like the summer rose,
Her neck was like the snow:

And every eye was in her head
So beautiful and bright,
You’d almost think they’d light her through
Glencarrigy by night.

Among the hills and mountains,
Above her mother’s home,
The long and weary summer day
Young Peggy Blake would roam;

And not a girl in all the town,
From Dhua to Glenlur,
Could wander through the mountain’s heath
Or climb the rocks with her.

The Lammas sun was shinin’ on
The meadows all so brown;
The neighbours gathered far and near
To cut the ripe crops down;

And pleasant was the mornin’,
And dewy was the dawn,
And gay and lightsome-hearted
To the sunny fields they’re gone.

The joke was passing lightly,
And the laugh was loud and free;
There was neither care nor trouble
To disturb their hearty glee;

When, says Peggy, resting in among
The sweet and scented hay,
“I wonder is there one would brave
The Fairy well to-day!”

She looked up with her laughin’ eyes,
So soft at Willy Rhu;
Och murdher! that she didn’t need
His warnin’ kind and true!

But all the boys and girls laughed,
And Willy Rhu looked shy;
God help you, Willy! sure they saw
The throuble in your eye.

“Now, by my faith!” young Connell says—
“I like your notion well—
There’s a power more than gospel
In what crazy gossips tell.”

Oh, my heavy hatred fall upon
Young Connell of Sliabh-Mast!
He took the cruel vengeance
For his scorned love at last.

The jokin’ and the jibin’
And the banterin’ went on,
One girl dared another,
And they all dared Peggy Bawn.

Till, leaping up, away she flew
Down to the hollow green—
Her bright locks, floating in the wind,
Like golden lights were seen.

They saw her at the Fairy-well—
Their laughin’ died away,
They saw her stoop above its brink
With heart as cold as clay.

Oh! mother, mother, never stand
Upon your cabin floor!
You heard the cry that through your heart
Will ring for evermore;

For when she came up from the well,
No one could stand her look:
Her eye was wild—her cheek was pale—
They saw her mind was shook:

And the gaze she cast around her
Was so ghastly and so sad—
“O Christ preserve us!” shouted all,
“Poor Peggy Blake’s gone mad!”

The moon was up—the stars were out,
And shining through the sky,
When young and old stood mourning round
To see their darling die.

Poor Peggy from her death-bed rose—
Her face was pale and cold,
And down about her shoulders hung
The lovely locks of gold.

“All you that’s here this night,” she said,
“Take warnin’ by my fate,
Whoever braves the Fairies’ wrath,
Their sorrow comes too late.”

The tear was startin’ in her eye,
She clasp’d her throbbin’ head,
And when the sun next mornin’ rose
Poor Peggy Bawn was dead.

JAMES TEELING.

THE HAUNTED SPRING.

[It is said, Fays have the power to assume various shapes for the purpose of luring mortals into Fairyland; hunters seem to have been particularly the objects of the lady fairies’ fancies.]

Gaily through the mountain glen
The hunter’s horn did ring,
As the milk-white doe
Escaped his bow,
Down by the haunted spring.
In vain his silver horn he wound,—
’Twas echo answered back;
For neither groom nor baying hound
Were on the hunter’s track
In vain he sought the milk-white doe
That made him stray, and ’scaped his bow;
For, save himself, no living thing
Was by the silent haunted spring.

The purple heath-bells, blooming fair,
Their fragrance round did fling,
As the hunter lay
At close of day,
Down by the haunted spring.
A lady fair, in robe of white,
To greet the hunter came;
She kissed a cup with jewels bright,
And pledged him by his name;
“Oh, lady fair,” the hunter cried,
“Be thou my love, my blooming bride,
A bride that well may grace a king!
Fair lady of the haunted spring.”

In the fountain clear she stoop’d,
And forth she drew a ring;
And that loved Knight
His faith did plight
Down by the haunted spring.
But since that day his chase did stray,
The hunter ne’er was seen,
And legends tell, he now doth dwell
Within the hills so green;[4]
But still the milk-white doe appears,
And wakes the peasants’ evening fears,
While distant bugles faintly ring
Around the lonely haunted spring.

SAMUEL LOVER.

[4] Fays and fairies are supposed to have their dwelling-places within old green hills.

THE ROMANCE OF THE FAIRY CURE.

I.

Nelly Phelan’s child is ailing;
Hour by hour, the babe is failing;
Squeeling, kicking, biting, whining,
To an atomy he’s pining.

II.

Once he was a fine, wee fellow;
Now he’s wrinkled, thin, and yellow.
Playful then he was, and civil;
Now he’s cross-grained, as the devil.

III.

To a wise woman Nell’s walking;
Long time they’re in secret talking;
First she heard all Nell’s description;
Then she wrote out a prescription.

IV.

“Take this cure, although a strange one;
It is needed when they change one;
By it you’ll the fairies bother,
Get your child, and choke the other.

V.

“You must make the fairy speak out,
Ere your child, from them, you take out.
If you follow what’s here written,
You shall find the biter bitten.”

VI.

Cried Nell, “Be sure that I’ll observe it;
If I fail I’ll not deserve it:
I would walk the wide world over,
If my child I could recover.”

VII.

Five hundred egg-shells Nelly chooses
In a pot, the shells she bruises;
In spring water now they’re boiling,
Stirring round the pot she’s toiling.

VIII.

Red-hot now the poker’s ready;
While Nell stirs the pot, so steady:
From the child, in cradle lying,
Nell now hears a strange voice crying—

IX.

“Mammy! Mammy! what’s that boiling?
Why with potstick are you toiling?”
Nell, with fright, to drop was ready,
Yet she answered, cool, and steady—

X.

“Egg-shells, deary! I am brewing,
Cock’s broth for my babe I’m stewing.
When I skim off all the dripping,
Then it will be fit for sipping.”

XI.

“Though five hundred years I’m chewing,
Egg-shells never saw I brewing;
Though five centuries I’m cheating,
Ne’er have I seen cock’s broth eating.”

XII.

Quick the poker Nelly seizes;
To the cradle now she races;
Red-hot down its throat she crams it;
With her might and main she rams it.

XIII.

Gone like lightning is the fairy;
In its stead, there lies her deary—
Her brave boy—her darling Terry,
With his lip and cheek of cherry.

JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.

THE FAIRY NURSE.

Sweet babe! a golden cradle holds thee,
And soft the snow-white fleece enfolds thee;
In airy bower I’ll watch thy sleeping.
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!

When mothers languish broken-hearted,
When young wives are from husbands parted,
Ah! little think the keeners lonely,
They weep some time-worn fairy only.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!

Within our magic halls of brightness,
Trips many a foot of snowy whiteness;
Stolen maidens, queens of fairy—
And kings and chiefs a sluagh shee airy.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!

Rest thee, babe! I love thee dearly,
And as thy mortal mother nearly;
Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest,
That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!

Rest, thee, babe! for soon thy slumbers
Shall flee at the magic Koelshie’s numbers;
In airy bower I’ll watch thy sleeping,
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!

EDWARD WALSH.

THE FAIRY THORN. AN ULSTER BALLAD.

“Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel;
For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep:
Come up above the crags, and we’ll dance a highland reel
Around the fairy thorn on the steep.”

At Anna Grace’s door ’twas thus the maidens cried,
Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;
And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,
The fairest of the four, I ween.

They’re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve,
Away in milky wavings of the neck and ankle bare;
The merry-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,
And the crags in the ghostly air:

And linking hand and hand, and singing as they go,
The maids along the hill-side have ta’en their fearless way
Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow
Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.

The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim,
Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;
The rowan berries cluster o’er her low head grey and dim,
In ruddy kisses sweet to see.

The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,
Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem,
And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go,
Oh, never carolled bird like them!

But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze
That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,
And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes,
And dreamier the gloaming grows.

And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky
When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw,
Are hushed the maidens’ voices, as cowering down they lie
In the flutter of their sudden awe.

For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath,
And from the mountain-ashes and the old whitethorn between,
A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe
And they sink down together on the green.

They sink together silent, and stealing side by side,
They fling their lovely arms o’er their drooping necks so fair,
Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,
For their shrinking necks again are bare.

Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed,
Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound—
They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd,
Like a river in the air, gliding round.

Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say,
But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three—
For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,
By whom they dare not look to see.

They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold,
And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws;
They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold,
But they dare not look to see the cause:

For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies
Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze;
And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes
Or their limbs from the cold ground raise.

Till out of Night the earth has rolled her dewy side,
With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;
When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide,
The maidens’ trance dissolveth so.

Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,
And told their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain—
They pined away and died within the year and day,
And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again.

SAMUEL FERGUSON, M.R.I.A.

THE FAIRY WELL OF LAGNANAY.

I.

Mournfully, sing mournfully—
“O listen, Ellen, sister dear;
Is there no help at all for me,
But only ceaseless sigh and tear?
Why did not he who left me here,
With stolen hope steal memory?
O listen, Ellen, sister dear,
(Mournfully, sing mournfully)—
I’ll go away to Sleamish hill,
I’ll pluck the fairy hawthorne tree,
And let the spirits work their will;
I care not if for good or ill,
So they but lay the memory
Which all my heart is haunting still!
(Mournfully, sing mournfully)—
The Fairies are a silent race,
And pale as lily flowers to see;
I care not for a blanched face,
Nor wandering in a dreaming place,
So I but banish memory:—
I wish I were with Anna Grace!”
Mournfully, sing mournfully!—

II.

Hearken to my tale of woe—
’Twas thus to weeping Ellen Con,
Her sister said in accents low,
Her only sister, Una bawn:
’Twas in their bed before the dawn,
And Ellen answered sad and slow,—
“Oh Una, Una, be not drawn
(Hearken to my tale of woe)—
To this unholy grief I pray,
Which makes me sick at heart to know,
And I will help you if I may:
—The Fairy Well of Lagnanay—
Lie nearer me, I tremble so,—
Una, I’ve heard wise women say
(Hearken to my tale of woe)—
That if before the dews arise,
True maiden in its icy flow
With pure hand bathe her bosom thrice,
Three lady-brackens pluck likewise,
And three times round the fountain go,
She straight forgets her tears and sighs.”
Hearken to my tale of woe!

III.

All, alas! and well-away!
“Oh, sister Ellen, sister sweet,
Come with me to the hill I pray,
And I will prove that blessed freet!”
They rose with soft and silent feet,
They left their mother where she lay,
Their mother and her care discreet,
(All, alas! and well-away!)
And soon they reached the Fairy Well,
The mountain’s eye, clear, cold, and grey,
Wide open in the dreary fell:
How long they stood ’twere vain to tell,
At last upon the point of day,
Bawn Una bares her bosom’s swell,
(All, alas! and well-away!)
Thrice o’er her shrinking breasts she laves
The gliding glance that will not stay
Of subtly-streaming fairy waves:—
And now the charm three brackens craves,
She plucks them in their fringed array:—
Now round the well her fate she braves,
(All, alas! and well-away!)

IV.

Save us all from Fairy thrall!
Ellen sees her face the rim
Twice and thrice, and that is all—
Fount and hill and maiden swim,
All together melting dim!
“Una! Una!” thou may’st call,
Sister sad! but lith or limb
(Save us all from Fairy thrall!)
Never again of Una bawn
Where now she walks in dreamy hall
Shall eye of mortal look upon!
Oh! can it be the guard was gone,
That better guard than shield or wall?
Who knows on earth save Turlagh Daune?
(Save us all from Fairy thrall!)
Behold the banks are green and bare,
No pit is here wherein to fall:
Aye—at the fount you well may stare,
But nought save pebbles smooth is there,
And small streams twirling one and all.
Hie thee home, and be thy pray’r,
Save us all from Fairy thrall!

SAMUEL FERGUSON, LL.D., M.R.I.A.

THE KELPIE OF CORRIEVRECKAN.

I.

He mounted his steed of the water clear,
And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere;
He held his bridle of strings of pearl,
Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl.

II.

He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth,
Soft and dainty as velvet cloth,
And donn’d his mantle of sand so white,
And grasp’d his sword of the coral bright.

III.

And away he gallop’d, a horseman free,
Spurring his steed through the stormy sea,
Clearing the billows with bound and leap—
Away, away, o’er the foaming deep!

IV.

By Scarba’s rock, by Lunga’s shore,
By Garveloch isles where the breakers roar,
With his horse’s hoofs he dash’d the spray,
And on to Loch Buy, away, away!

V.

On to Loch Buy all day he rode,
And reach’d the shore as sunset glow’d,
And stopp’d to hear the sounds of joy
That rose from the hills and glens of Moy.

VI.

The morrow was May, and on the green
They’d lit the fire of Beltan E’en,
And danced around, and piled it high
With peat and heather and pine-tops dry.

VII.

A piper play’d a lightsome reel,
And timed the dance with toe and heel;
While wives look’d on, as lad and lass
Trod it merrily o’er the grass.

VIII.

And Jessie (fickle and fair was she)
Sat with Evan beneath a tree,
And smiled with mingled love and pride,
And half agreed to be his bride.

IX.

The Kelpie gallop’d o’er the green—
He seemed a knight of noble mien,
And old and young stood up to see,
And wonder’d who the knight could be.

X.

His flowing locks were auburn bright,
His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flash’d light;
And as he sprang from his good gray steed,
He look’d a gallant youth indeed.

XI.

And Jessie’s fickle heart beat high,
As she caught the stranger’s glancing eye:
And when he smiled, “Ah well,” thought she,
“I wish this knight came courting me!”

XII.

He took two steps towards her seat—
“Wilt thou be mine, O maiden sweet?”
He took her lily-white hand, and sigh’d,
“Maiden, maiden, be my bride!”

XIII.

And Jessie blush’d, and whisper’d soft—
“Meet me to-night when the moon’s aloft;
I’ve dream’d, fair knight, long time of thee—
I thought thou earnest courting me.”

XIV.

When the moon her yellow horn display’d,
Alone to the trysting went the maid;
When all the stars were shining bright,
Alone to the trysting went the knight.

XV.