The Airedale poet's walk through Knaresbrough :: :: University of Virginia Library

Nicholson, John (1790-1843)

FAIRY SONG.

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Let us trip in airy dances,
While the weary mortals sleep;
See the waning orb advances,
Lighting those that vigils keep.

In the nectar drown all trouble,
Sweetened by the honied Bee;
Make a punch bowl of a bubble,
Underneath our favourite tree.

We have not the cares of mortals,
Nature's self our tailor is;
Sorrow enters not our portals
All a Fairy's nights are bliss.

Wings of insects on the River,
We can borrow when we please;
Then we fly away for ever,
To the shades of joy and peace.

Stop the dance a beetle's coming,
We must take his sable wing;
Stop his flight and mournful humming,
He must arm the Fairy King.

Beetles hold an humble station,
Sounding Bass through all the night;
Let the King of our great nation,
Seize their armour as his right.

Do not Kings by men created,
O'er the seas do just the same;
Rob the weak till they are sated,
And their greatness conquers shame.

Some fine Peacock's lovely feather,
Brightest that was ever seen;
With its hedge adorn'd with heather,
Forms the carpet of our Queen.

Now a moment's mirth and dancing,
We of songs have got no more;
When the Moon's so high advancing,
Shows the Fairy dance is o'er.