[Poems by Dodge in] St. Nicholas book of verse | ||
129
THE ELF AND THE SPIDER
Perched on a stool of the fairy style,
An elf-boy worked with a mischievous smile.
“That careless spider!” said he, “to leave
To leave his web unfinished! But I can sew:
I'll spin, or sew, or darn, or weave—
Whatever they call it—so none will know
That his spidership did n't complete it himself,
Or I'm a very mistaken young elf!”
An elf-boy worked with a mischievous smile.
“That careless spider!” said he, “to leave
To leave his web unfinished! But I can sew:
I'll spin, or sew, or darn, or weave—
Whatever they call it—so none will know
That his spidership did n't complete it himself,
Or I'm a very mistaken young elf!”
Well, the wee sprite sewed, or wove, or spun,
Plying his brier and gossamer thread;
And, quick as a ripple, the web, all done,
Was softly swaying against his head
As he laughed and nodded in joyful pride.
Ho! ho! it's done!
Ha! ha! what fun!
And then he felt himself slowly slide—
Slide and tumble—stool and all—
In the prettiest sort of a fairy fall!
Up he jumped, as light as air;
But oh, what a sight,
What a sorry plight—
The web was caught in his sunny hair!
When, presto! on sudden invisible track,
That horrible spider came lumbering back:
“Who's been at my web? What ho! Come on!”
And he knotted for a fight,
The horrid fright!
But the elf was gone—
Poor, frightened fay!
Nothing was seen but a tattered sheen,
Trailing and shining upon the green.
But all that night with dainty care,
An elf sat tugging away at his hair.
And 't is whispered in Elf-land to this day
That any spider under the sun
May go and leave his web undone,
With its filmy thread-end swinging free
Or tied to the tip of a distant tree
With never a fear that elfin-men
Will meddle with spider-work again.
Plying his brier and gossamer thread;
And, quick as a ripple, the web, all done,
Was softly swaying against his head
As he laughed and nodded in joyful pride.
Ho! ho! it's done!
Ha! ha! what fun!
And then he felt himself slowly slide—
Slide and tumble—stool and all—
In the prettiest sort of a fairy fall!
Up he jumped, as light as air;
But oh, what a sight,
What a sorry plight—
130
When, presto! on sudden invisible track,
That horrible spider came lumbering back:
“Who's been at my web? What ho! Come on!”
And he knotted for a fight,
The horrid fright!
But the elf was gone—
Poor, frightened fay!
Nothing was seen but a tattered sheen,
Trailing and shining upon the green.
But all that night with dainty care,
An elf sat tugging away at his hair.
And 't is whispered in Elf-land to this day
That any spider under the sun
May go and leave his web undone,
With its filmy thread-end swinging free
Or tied to the tip of a distant tree
With never a fear that elfin-men
Will meddle with spider-work again.
[Poems by Dodge in] St. Nicholas book of verse | ||