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62
FAIRY PHYSIC.
“Ho, ho!” cried the Fairies, “here's a cup
Of dew, that the Sun has clean forgot,
In his midsummer madness, to drink up;
Let us quaff to his worshipful health! why not?
To the Sun's bright health! and ... ahem! may he
Show ever the same short memory!”
Of dew, that the Sun has clean forgot,
In his midsummer madness, to drink up;
Let us quaff to his worshipful health! why not?
To the Sun's bright health! and ... ahem! may he
Show ever the same short memory!”
So they sipp'd, and they quaff'd, till the cup was dry;
That the nectar was strong, you may well rely;
For the wood soon rang with their elfin glee,
And quaint were the mirth and the melody
Of the songs they pour'd on the midnight breeze,
As they waltz'd round hillocks and old oak trees.
But lo! in the midst of their maddest dance,—
Poor merrymen all!—a sudden trance
O'ertook them; a torpor whose drowsy might
Weigh'd their eyelids down in their own despite.
Hush'd grew their voices, and heavy and slow
Moved the little feet, so brisk e'en now,
And heedless of nightcaps and toilet graces,
In all sorts of postures and all sorts of places,
They yielded, at last, each failing sense
To that torpor's tyrannical influence.
One fell asleep with his head in the cup
He had just been draining; one curl'd up
His leaden limbs in a cranny, where
A spider, a sort of Giant Despair,
Tied him fast with a web through his golden hair;
And one—worst luck of all—slipp'd over
A high bank into a furzy cover,
Terribly ragged and rough and lonely,
Where he tore, I fear .... not his jerkin only.
But neither thorns, nor spiders, nor aught
That is most abhorrent to fairy thought,
Had power, at that moment, to loose the yoke
Of the spell that bound those luckless folk.
So they slept and slept, and the morning crept
Up the eastern hills,—and still they slept.
That the nectar was strong, you may well rely;
For the wood soon rang with their elfin glee,
And quaint were the mirth and the melody
Of the songs they pour'd on the midnight breeze,
As they waltz'd round hillocks and old oak trees.
But lo! in the midst of their maddest dance,—
Poor merrymen all!—a sudden trance
63
Weigh'd their eyelids down in their own despite.
Hush'd grew their voices, and heavy and slow
Moved the little feet, so brisk e'en now,
And heedless of nightcaps and toilet graces,
In all sorts of postures and all sorts of places,
They yielded, at last, each failing sense
To that torpor's tyrannical influence.
One fell asleep with his head in the cup
He had just been draining; one curl'd up
His leaden limbs in a cranny, where
A spider, a sort of Giant Despair,
Tied him fast with a web through his golden hair;
And one—worst luck of all—slipp'd over
A high bank into a furzy cover,
Terribly ragged and rough and lonely,
Where he tore, I fear .... not his jerkin only.
But neither thorns, nor spiders, nor aught
That is most abhorrent to fairy thought,
Had power, at that moment, to loose the yoke
Of the spell that bound those luckless folk.
64
Up the eastern hills,—and still they slept.
“Aha!” said the Sun, when, call'd to rise,
He got out of bed with winking eyes,
And, while his curtain of mist he furl'd,
Look'd down from his window on the world—
“Aha! they are caught in my trap, I see,
These moon-loving sprites. Henceforth they'll be
Somewhat less ready to touch, I'm thinking,
The dew that is meant for my private drinking
'Twas a wise thought, that of mine, to pray
My gossip, the wind, that yesterday
Set out on a journey round that way,
To drop from his pinion, as he flew,
In that acorn-cup, brimfull of dew,
Two great white poppy-seeds, ripe and rare,
And of wond'rous virtue to ensnare
Poachers and pilferers such as they;
Aha! there'll be dew enough to-day!”
“And there was dew,” light laugh'd the Sun,
As he drain'd the flower-cups, one by one—
Meadow-sweet, fox-glove, and mountain-bell,
Primrose, and cowslip, and pimpernel,
All of them beaded and brimming o'er;—
Dew there was, truly, an ample store,
And the next day, too, and for many more.
But whether, from that time forth, made wise
By the cramps, and stitches, and maladies
That seized them in waking, the cunning elves
Forswore dew-drinking, and bound themselves
With a “temperance pledge,” in the usual way—
I can't inform you—perhaps they may.
He got out of bed with winking eyes,
And, while his curtain of mist he furl'd,
Look'd down from his window on the world—
“Aha! they are caught in my trap, I see,
These moon-loving sprites. Henceforth they'll be
Somewhat less ready to touch, I'm thinking,
The dew that is meant for my private drinking
'Twas a wise thought, that of mine, to pray
My gossip, the wind, that yesterday
Set out on a journey round that way,
To drop from his pinion, as he flew,
In that acorn-cup, brimfull of dew,
Two great white poppy-seeds, ripe and rare,
And of wond'rous virtue to ensnare
Poachers and pilferers such as they;
Aha! there'll be dew enough to-day!”
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As he drain'd the flower-cups, one by one—
Meadow-sweet, fox-glove, and mountain-bell,
Primrose, and cowslip, and pimpernel,
All of them beaded and brimming o'er;—
Dew there was, truly, an ample store,
And the next day, too, and for many more.
But whether, from that time forth, made wise
By the cramps, and stitches, and maladies
That seized them in waking, the cunning elves
Forswore dew-drinking, and bound themselves
With a “temperance pledge,” in the usual way—
I can't inform you—perhaps they may.
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