University of Virginia Library

When I was a little child,
I had a friend, a fairy,
A playmate, merry and wild—
Good lack! when I saw him first, the droll
Was skimming the cream from the brordest bowl
On the topmost shelf of the dairy.

“Little man,”—quoth he—“be wary and wise!”—
And finger on lip, right cunningly
He peered all round him, with winking eyes—
Then . . went on skimming the cream, as free
As if good maid Margery, I declare,
For his sole provision had placed it there.

He was not a pretty fairy—no;
Rather wizened and wrinkled, but so
Full of frolic and waggery!
And in his will-o'-the-wispish eye
There was something you might descry—
Something gentle and kind and true—
“If you will but love me, I'll love you!”—
It seemed to whisper, and while my gaze
Dwelt on his antics and winning ways,
I felt, were he thrice an elf, that clearly
It were no hard task to love him dearly.

So I let him drink, for he seemed to grow
Fairer and plumper at every draught
Of the thick rich cream, that careful and slow,
He skimmed to the edge of the bowl—then quaffed
With a smack of the lips for indication
Of his inward comfort and consolation.
When his meal was over, (ah me, ah me!
What a sight that bowl for maid Margery!)
He leaped, in a trice, to the dairy floor,
And with quirks and gambols, many and sore,
Sidled up to where I stood, and smiled—
And “Child—let me see your face, good child!”

Said the elf—and while his fingers cleared
The curls from my forehead, his keen eyes peered
Deep into mine, and wandered over
Each feature as though he would fain discover
All my child-nature and disposition:—
No fear had I, not a whit of fear,
As he drew me nearer and yet more near;
I let him finish his inquisition;
At last, while a smile of confident pleasure
Made his queer face comely beyond measure,—
“Little friend—aha! little friend!” he said,
Then away, through the open lattice, sped
Swift as a sunbeam, . . that was all
Our talk that day, but I well recall
I felt as if somehow, I had made
A kind of promise, and Madge the maid
From that time forth vowed vehemently
That the dairy lattice bewitched must be,
For with all her bolting at eventide,
She was sure to find it swinging wide
Next morn, and the cream-bowl empty and dry—
“Little friend—aha! little friend!”—thought I.

And that was how our friendship began;—
Oh! but the after frolic and fun!
In the midsummer time, at set of sun
When the floating vapours and clouds grew dun,
And the stars shone through them, one by one,
In the orchard crofts, I was sure to hear
A little piping, musical sound,
Now dying away, now drawing near,
Now whirling and eddying, round and round;
And to me that sound seemed ever to say—
“Come out and follow me far away!”
So stealthily, through the orchard trees,
I was wont to creep, and there, at his ease,
Deep in the grass, with a puffed-out cheek,
Blowing his magical trumpet call,
From a blue convolvolus flower, or eke
Pear-leaf, or spear-grass, best of all,—
I was sure to find my skimmer of cream
Ready to flit with the first moonbeam,
And take me with him, o'er mead and stream,
Into the deepest of deep wood places,
Out of the way of all human traces,
Where he would seat me safe in the fern,
Whispering ever, in waggish guise,
As at first,—“Good child, be wary and wise!”
And when he had kissed me on the eyes,
I could see through the darkness, and discern
In the open glades and under the trees,
All the fairy folk and their revelries.

Oh! the merry songs I've heard them sing!
And the merry tales I've heard them tell!
If I could but tune my jaded string
To the proper pitch, I know full well
Their very echo would straight enthrall,
With a spell, my listeners, one and all.

And the festival nights too! nights of state!
Once, from my covert, I saw the Queen,
A sweet little lady of royal mien,
Hold her levee, in the midst of her great
Lieges and vassals. Her Verderer,
Gold Stick, Head Warden and Almoner,
Her Lords and Ladies in waiting, and troops
Of Maids of Honour, all lined the slopes
Of the little hillock, where her throne,
An oak-apple fresh, with rose leaves strewn,
Stood in the fullest light of the moon.

And pleasant it was to see them bring,
Each and all of the fairy host—
Tax and tribute and offering:
One brought a glow-worm that had lost
His way in the woods, despite his candle;
Another, a riband of Indian grass,
Lissome and smooth, that for lady's sandal,
Doth all other ribands surpass.
One came laden with purple heather,
Scented and sweet, for the royal floor;
Another offered a King-fisher's feather,
Bluer than bluest of summer weather,
And gifted with virtues twain—the one,
That it served for a plume, while the dance went on,
The other—a fan, when the dance was o'er.
Some brought provender, nut and pear,
Strawberry, wood-apple, rosy and fair,
Chesnuts and dew-berries, store of all,
To honour the royal festival.
Others catered for fun alone;—
One, 'mid a general titter and stir,
Came, arm in arm, with an overgrown,
Gawky sprig of a grasshopper,
Whom he cozened and coaxed at last into dancing,
With a great deal of comical jerking and prancing,
On a tight-rope,—in his feelers holding
A reed, for balance—feat worth beholding.
One, on a frog's back, reached the station,
Strumming, with infinite animation,
On a drum the frog's own corporation.
And one, my notable friend, came in,
All grimace and giggle and grin,
Dragging a spider, lean and long,
Tied by the leg, with a triple thong
Of his own thick web—this filled the measure
Of the fairy mirth—with turbulent pleasure,
Gentle and simple, they crowded round,
And with jeers and laughter, strove to confound
Their luckless victim; they made him pass
Through showers of dew, and with bearded grass,
Towzled and tickled him, till he grew—
Not black in the face, he was that already—
But swollen with rage, while he wriggled through
The menacing blades, all sharp and steady.
At last, with a scuffle, he overthrew
A score of his foes, and setting out
At the top of his speed, from the rabble rout,
Got free, and with sundry bruises and tumours,
Crawled home to his den in the worst of humours.
When the sport was over, the feast was spread,
And the fairy Court, the Queen at their head,
Sat down in the moss, with each a broad
Sycamore leaf for a plate, and a cup
Dropped from the oak, and at once filled up
With hyppocrass, by trim pages poured
From vases of infinite shapes and hues;
From lupine-leaves, whence the liquor fell
In great round beads, and from many a bell
And wood-bine tube, that to rains and dews
Give their odour and sweetness—the elfin Queen
Drank from a goblet of glittering sheen,
A campanula flower, wrought curiously
With a shining gossamer fillagree.

Then the royal Taster plied his vocation
With laudable zeal and self-negation,
And soon all mouths were busy—the platters
Cleared, and the dainties and other matters
Duly discussed—in bumpers fine
They drank to the Queen, with nine times nine—
Whereupon the Chancellor, rather mellow,
Trolled out something about a “very good fellow”—
Which made the Queen blush,—but ah! just then
When the mirth was waxing wild again,
And Gold Stick, after a deep potation,
Had stuck quite fast, in his grand oration,
Mid the winks and nudges of all around—
Just then, I say, a terrible sound,
Faint in the distance, my heart dismayed—
'Twas so like the hollo of Madge the maid!
Again and again it rose, and . . . yes—
There was no mistaking its emphasis,
So out of the fern I sprang, and away!
(For till then, my rambles had 'scaped detection)
Through glen and thicket, my friend the fay
Holding me still in his safe protection—
Homeward I scudded, and well a day!
What an outbreak of indignation
Greeted me there!—what stormy reprovings!
When they bade me give an account of my rovings,
And I stuck as fast, in my explanation
As Gold Stick did in his grand oration.

When my childhood waned, I lost my friend—
One autumn morning, he said good bye,
With a mournful look, that seemed to portend
Trouble of some kind, hovering nigh.
Sadly pale and pensive and altered
He had grown of late, and his voice quite faltered
As he talked of change and of innovation,
And threw out hints about emigration—
For he said the world was growing too wise
For fairy frolics and fantasies,
Too wise and cold—then his little eyes
Filled fast with tears—which he strove in vain
To hide:—he should ne'er return again,
He told me, no—he was going to share,
With his folk, a land, serene and fair,
Far off but I could not make out where.
Then he kissed me thrice on the mouth, poor fay—
Stroked my curls down, just in his old kind way,
Looked wistfully into my face, and anon,
With a little sob, broke off and was gone.
Gone! how my eyes streamed down with tears,
When I felt I had lost him! years upon years
Have passed since then, and trouble and sorrow
Have come as thickly as night and morrow,
But that was the greatest trouble of all,
I really believe—for there seemed to fall
As it were a veil on the earth—the green,
Deep woods were widowed of half their sheen;
And the flowers—how common and real they grew!
Mere flowers no more;—in the beds, the blue
Convolvolus bloomed and faded, but ne'er
Poured forth on the quiet evening air
That little piping, musical sound,
So sweet in my ears, when it seemed to say—
“Come out, and follow me far away!”
And the spear-grass rotted into the ground,
Just as unheeding;—the silver dews
The charm of their freshness seemed to lose,
And the moonlight, the moonlight!—even now,
I could almost weep to remember how
Leaden and ghastly, and dim it shone,
To my fancy, when the fays were gone.
Gone!—were they gone? or was I alone
Changing, receding, leaving the strand
For ever, of that calm, lovely land,
Where they dwelt? Had I grown over-wise,
Like the world, for their pretty fantasies—
Over-wise, and cold? I know not, although
Sometimes I have feared it might be so—
Child, that dost read these pages, go,
With a pure child-heart, beneath the trees,
When the night is working its witcheries,
When the wind sits singing amongst the boughs,
When the midsummer moonlight overflows,
And bring me answer, yes, or no.