University of Virginia Library

“Ho! ho! ha! ha!—what is it I view?”
John Wilde, the plowman, cried,
As he hit his foot on a little glass shoe
That lay on the mountain-side;
“Some fay has lost it, there 's never a doubt,
And ah! how lucky for me!
The owner will soon be roaming about
To find where his shoe may be.
And so,” said John, “I'll carry it home,
That 's just what I will do,
And he will pay me a pretty sum
Who buys this little glass shoe!”
And he spread the story far and near,
For many a mile around,
That the fairy folk might surely hear
Who the little glass shoe had found.
And soon to John a merchant came,
Who said he had heard the news;
And would the plowman sell the same
To a dealer in little glass shoes?
And he offered John a pretty price
For the shoe that he had found;
But John replied it was much too nice
To go for a hundred pound.
Then the merchant offered a hundred more,
But the plowman still said, “Nay;
The man who buys my shoe,” he swore,
“Will dearly have to pay.
There 's not so pretty a shoe on earth
To cover a lady's toes;
And then I happen to know its worth
Far better than you suppose.
The shoe is one of wondrous price
(That nobody can deny),
And yet, perchance, there 's some device
May serve the shoe to buy.
If you are able to show me, now,
When I am plowing my field,
That every furrow behind my plow
A shining ducat may yield,—
Why, then to you the shoe I'll give,
Else I will keep it myself,—
For an ornament, as long as I live,
To grace my mantel-shelf!”
And so it was the fairy bought
('T was he in a merchant's guise!)
His own glass shoe, and, quick as thought,
Away to his home he hies.
And off went John, with much delight,
As fast as he could go,
By trial to prove that very night
If the charm would work or no.
And he found the fairy's word was true,
As he promised in the trade;
For a shining ducat came to view
In every furrow he made!
And again next morning off he went—
Nor scarce to eat could stop—
To plow again,—he was so intent
To gather his golden crop.
And so he plowed, and plowed, and plowed,
And scarce for slumber ceased;
No wonder John was growing proud,
So fast his wealth increased!
And still he plowed by day and night,
When none were looking on,
Till he seemed, indeed, a sorry wight,
He grew so lean and wan!—
And still, when none his work might view,
He plowed by night and day;
And still the more his riches grew,
The more he pined away.
Until, at last, his work was stopped,
And the plowman, where was he?—
Down in the furrow, alas! he dropped,
As dead as dead could be!

MORAL.

Though good is gold, to have and hold,
My story makes it clear
Who sells himself for sordid pelf
Has bought it much too dear!