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THE FAIRY ISLAND.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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THE FAIRY ISLAND.

Young Gitto Bach, Llewellyn's son,
Sat by the calm Llyn Glas,
Watching the shadows of the clouds
Across its surface pass.
His goats and kids amid the rocks
Roved frolicsome and free;
The summer sun looked smiling down;
Then why so sad was he?
Upon a little ten-year boy
What weighty trouble bore?
Object of parents' care and love,
What could he wish for more?

123

There in the placid llyn afar
A purple isle he saw,
With glittering towers that rose on high
Above the greenwood shaw.
There rainbow tints stole in and out,
Through a veil of purple mist,
That lilac was where touched by light,
In shadow, amethyst.
“And oh,” said Gitto, wistfully,
“That wondrous island fair,
A fairy-land of all delights,
If I were only there!”
He turned him to the cliff-side tall,
Where he had often been,
And saw what ne'er before he saw,
A door the rock within.
Down leading from the open door
He saw some steps of stone,
And curiously, and fearlessly,
He entered there alone.
The dimly lighted passage through
He made his tedious way,
Till, at the end, by steps again,
He found the light of day.
It opened in a bosky grove,
None fairer in the isle;
And there he found a hundred elves
Who met him with a smile.

124

They prisoned him with friendly hands
Within their fairy ring,
And then they bore him joyously
Before the elfin king.
The monarch sat upon his throne,
Within the royal hall,
Around him grouped in proud array,
His guards and courtiers all.
“And so we have a mortal child,
As guest,” exclaimed the king;
“We welcome him to every joy
The fairy isle can bring.
“All rare delights the Gwraigedd know,
Partaking day by day,
All precious things around to use,
But none to bear away.
“I give thee to my eldest son,
Companion good to be,
And near to him shall be thy state,
As his is near to me.”
What happy life had Gitto then,
With servitors at hand,
To serve him as they served the Prince,
The heir to all the land.
They clad him in the satin red,
And cloak of velvet blue,
With diamonds bright and rubies rare
To shine on cap and shoe.

125

His food was of the dead-ripe fruit
That hung at left and right;
His drink was of the honey-dew
From golden goblets bright.
And there it seemed for hour on hour
He played amid the flowers,
With tricksy elves at pleasant sports,
Through groves and rosy bowers.
They tossed a hollow golden ball
From hand to hand in play;
And when he caught it, mockingly,
From them he ran away.
He hid from them within the grove,
'Twas portion of the game;
And there he saw the downward steps
By which that morn he came.
The memory of his home came back,
In spite of present bliss;
He longed to hear his father's voice,
To taste his mother's kiss.
So on with golden ball in hand,
Ere those who sought him knew,
Adown the steps he made his way,
And thrid the passage through.
He stood upon the spot whereat
He left his goats before;
The goats had gone; he turned around,
But entrance found no more.

126

The door had vanished. Came a voice,
In accents stern and low:
“You took the golden ball away,
The theft shall bring you woe.”
Alarmed, he ran with tottering steps
To seek his father's cot,
But found it gone, a field of corn
Grew rankly on the spot.
He wandered till he met a man,
Old, worn and weak of limb,
Who stopped, and leaned upon his staff,
And wondering gazed at him.
“Now who be you,” the old man said,
“Who to the sight appears
No taller than a little boy,
Yet marked with sixty years?
“Deep seams and wrinkles on your face,
White locks upon your head,
A tottering gait; 'twould seem your life
Has very near been sped.”
Quoth Gitto: “I am but a boy,
Last birthday only ten;
I'm Gitto Bach; my father is
Llewellyn, of the Glen.”
“Heaven guard us well!” the old man cried,
“With fairies you have been;
'Tis fifty years since Gitto Bach
Was drowned within the llyn.

127

“At least his people lost him there;
He never more came back;
They sought him east, they sought him west,
But found no trace nor track.
“Llewellyn was a worthy man,
Well liked by people here;
But he, and Betti Rhys, his wife,
Are dead for many a year.”
“I've only been short time away,”
Cried Gitto, “'twas no sin;
And stayed to play awhile with gwraigs,
Out yonder in the llyn.
“In proof, behold the golden ball,
And they have many such”—
He showed it, 'twas a puff-ball now,
And crumbled at the touch.
“Your face has old Llewellyn's look,”
Trembling, the old man said;
“The gwraigs have held you in their thrall,
While all believed you dead.”
Soon were the neighbors gathered round
The withered dwarf to scan,
And kindly hands to roof and board
Led off the little man.
It was not long; the following day,
“It was my fault,” he cried;
“Woe's me! I stole the golden ball!”
And with these words he died.