 | Poems written for a child |  |
FAIRY FACTS
THE KING'S BEARD.
It is very tiresome when
Fairies take dislike to kings.
I have known it now and then
Lead to most unpleasant things.
I have even heard it said
Kings have wish'd that they were dead,
And I fancy it was so
With the King of Waggabo.
Fairies take dislike to kings.
I have known it now and then
Lead to most unpleasant things.
I have even heard it said
Kings have wish'd that they were dead,
And I fancy it was so
With the King of Waggabo.
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In the Waggabonian court
There is worry and dismay,
For the king is growing short—
Shorter—shorter—ev'ry day.
And it is a great distress
When a king grows less and less,
Lest the process should not stop
Till at last he goes off, pop.
There is worry and dismay,
For the king is growing short—
Shorter—shorter—ev'ry day.
And it is a great distress
When a king grows less and less,
Lest the process should not stop
Till at last he goes off, pop.
Such a stately king was he,
Very stout and very strong,
In his stockings six feet three,
With a beard twelve inches long.
And the strangest part of all
Is, as he becomes less tall,
That the beard beneath his nose
Longer and yet longer grows.
Very stout and very strong,
In his stockings six feet three,
With a beard twelve inches long.
And the strangest part of all
Is, as he becomes less tall,
That the beard beneath his nose
Longer and yet longer grows.
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Razors could not check or trim
This strange growth, as it appear'd
Ev'ry inch that went from him
Seem'd to settle in his beard.
Monday he was measured, when
His full height was five feet ten,
And on Friday, sad, but true,
He was barely three feet two.
This strange growth, as it appear'd
Ev'ry inch that went from him
Seem'd to settle in his beard.
Monday he was measured, when
His full height was five feet ten,
And on Friday, sad, but true,
He was barely three feet two.
And the courtiers soon begin
Grumbling that no more he can
Seem a man with bearded chin,
But a beard that has a man.
And they say they did not swear
Fealty to a tuft of hair.
Dreadful words are mutter'd low.
Treason broods in Waggabo.
Grumbling that no more he can
Seem a man with bearded chin,
But a beard that has a man.
And they say they did not swear
Fealty to a tuft of hair.
Dreadful words are mutter'd low.
Treason broods in Waggabo.
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The Archbishop cries, “I'm off!”
And the Premier disappear'd:
Neither cared to serve a dwarf,
Or to bow before a beard.
All the generals-in-chief
Ran away in gloomy grief,
And the admirals retreat
Fleetly with the frighten'd fleet.
And the Premier disappear'd:
Neither cared to serve a dwarf,
Or to bow before a beard.
All the generals-in-chief
Ran away in gloomy grief,
And the admirals retreat
Fleetly with the frighten'd fleet.
But the barber cried, “Forbear!
Ev'ry evil brings its good;
Such a king is very rare,
Let us prize him as we should.
Such a lovely beard doth not
Fall to ev'ry monarch's lot,
Nor can ev'ry barber's hand
Such delightful work command.”
Ev'ry evil brings its good;
Such a king is very rare,
Let us prize him as we should.
Such a lovely beard doth not
Fall to ev'ry monarch's lot,
Nor can ev'ry barber's hand
Such delightful work command.”
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Then the brave king knock'd him down
(Barbers cannot hold their own),
Seized his sceptre and his crown,
Wearily climb'd up his throne.
And with sounding gong did call
His good Commons, one and all,
And his noble house of peers
(Who can hardly speak for tears).
(Barbers cannot hold their own),
Seized his sceptre and his crown,
Wearily climb'd up his throne.
And with sounding gong did call
His good Commons, one and all,
And his noble house of peers
(Who can hardly speak for tears).
He addrest them with a chirp
(Of his manly voice bereft),
“No usurper shall usurp
While an inch of me is left.
While an inch of me remains
Still this hand shall hold the reins.
Still this head shall wear the crown,
Though this beard may drag me down.
(Of his manly voice bereft),
“No usurper shall usurp
While an inch of me is left.
While an inch of me remains
Still this hand shall hold the reins.
Still this head shall wear the crown,
Though this beard may drag me down.
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“I may dwindle—I may shrink—
Yes—I see—I feel I do;
But i' faith I do not think
That my courage dwindles too!
Giants may believe I fear,
Beardless boys may jest and jeer,
But methinks I'll let them know
Who is king in Waggabo.
Yes—I see—I feel I do;
But i' faith I do not think
That my courage dwindles too!
Giants may believe I fear,
Beardless boys may jest and jeer,
But methinks I'll let them know
Who is king in Waggabo.
“And if barbers dare to speak”
(Here he glanced behind the throne,
Where the barber pale and meek
Held his head with painful moan),
“And if barbers dare to say
But one word by night or day,
Why I think this arm has still
Strength to work its master's will.”
(Here he glanced behind the throne,
Where the barber pale and meek
Held his head with painful moan),
“And if barbers dare to say
But one word by night or day,
Why I think this arm has still
Strength to work its master's will.”
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Then the weeping barber crept
Very sadly to the door.
But an aged marquis stept
Foremost on the marble floor,
With sublimest dignity
Cried, “The trembling traitor, see
Shall the crouching caitiff go?
Is that law in Waggabo?”
Very sadly to the door.
But an aged marquis stept
Foremost on the marble floor,
With sublimest dignity
Cried, “The trembling traitor, see
Shall the crouching caitiff go?
Is that law in Waggabo?”
All the nobles of the land
With a noble ardour flush'd,
Foot to foot and hand to hand
Down upon the barber rush'd,
Frighten'd him to mortal fits,
Crying, “Tear him into bits,
Fling the pieces, base and foul,
To the dogs that howl and prowl.”
With a noble ardour flush'd,
Foot to foot and hand to hand
Down upon the barber rush'd,
Frighten'd him to mortal fits,
Crying, “Tear him into bits,
Fling the pieces, base and foul,
To the dogs that howl and prowl.”
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The king tried to nod his head,
But could only wag his beard,
For above its flaming red
Scarce a bit of face appear'd.
And he shrivell'd more and more
Than he ever had before,
Till there's nothing left of him
But a beard within a rim.
But could only wag his beard,
For above its flaming red
Scarce a bit of face appear'd.
And he shrivell'd more and more
Than he ever had before,
Till there's nothing left of him
But a beard within a rim.
And the nobles stand at bay,
Ready at a word to leap
Where the wretched barber lay
Coil'd in a repugnant heap.
Gallant are their souls and true;
Bright the eyes those souls shine through.
Types of a majestic race,—
Emblem he of all that's base.
Ready at a word to leap
Where the wretched barber lay
Coil'd in a repugnant heap.
Gallant are their souls and true;
Bright the eyes those souls shine through.
Types of a majestic race,—
Emblem he of all that's base.
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Out spake little Septimus
(One of seven earls was he):
“Shall our king be bearded thus,
Unavenged by you and me?
I will smash the barber's bones,
You shall crush him between stones;
They shall tear him limb from limb,
And we all will bury him!”
(One of seven earls was he):
“Shall our king be bearded thus,
Unavenged by you and me?
I will smash the barber's bones,
You shall crush him between stones;
They shall tear him limb from limb,
And we all will bury him!”
Then the barber stood upright,
(Worms can turn and barbers too,)
Telling them it was not right
Things like that to plan to do!
They might smash him if they could,
They might crush him if they would,
They might tear him limb from limb,
But they should not bury him!
(Worms can turn and barbers too,)
Telling them it was not right
Things like that to plan to do!
They might smash him if they could,
They might crush him if they would,
They might tear him limb from limb,
But they should not bury him!
204
Here the barber took his stand,
(At some point all creatures do,)
And his gesture of command
Show'd them that he meant it too.
Then the nobles asked apart,
“Who will eat this barber's heart
Some one must, to save defeat:
Who the barber's heart will eat?”
(At some point all creatures do,)
And his gesture of command
Show'd them that he meant it too.
Then the nobles asked apart,
“Who will eat this barber's heart
Some one must, to save defeat:
Who the barber's heart will eat?”
The old marquis show'd his tongue;
“Indigestion is my bane;
Little Septimus is young,
He might cut and come again.”
When they turn'd to urge him on,
Little Septimus was gone;
He had vanish'd through the door,
And was never heard of more.
“Indigestion is my bane;
Little Septimus is young,
He might cut and come again.”
When they turn'd to urge him on,
Little Septimus was gone;
He had vanish'd through the door,
And was never heard of more.
205
Dire confusion's everywhere!
Terrible are sight and sound!
Eyes are fix'd in ghastly stare,
And wild words ring wildly round!
Sentences are heard in part,
“Who will eat the barber's heart?”
Or in accents firm and free,
“They shall never bury me!”
Terrible are sight and sound!
Eyes are fix'd in ghastly stare,
And wild words ring wildly round!
Sentences are heard in part,
“Who will eat the barber's heart?”
Or in accents firm and free,
“They shall never bury me!”
From the hapless monarch's throne
Came a sort of twittering:—
“Take this beard, it is your own,—
All that's left you of your king!
Take me as a sacrifice
To appease the angry skies.
Burn me, and, for aught we know,
Peace will reign in Waggabo!”
Came a sort of twittering:—
“Take this beard, it is your own,—
All that's left you of your king!
Take me as a sacrifice
To appease the angry skies.
Burn me, and, for aught we know,
Peace will reign in Waggabo!”
206
He has spoken! words of awe!
But the barber is inspired,
And pronounces it a law
To do all the king desired.
Lest the lovely thing should spoil,
He anointeth it with oil,
And in tender solemn hush
Dresseth it with comb and brush.
But the barber is inspired,
And pronounces it a law
To do all the king desired.
Lest the lovely thing should spoil,
He anointeth it with oil,
And in tender solemn hush
Dresseth it with comb and brush.
Lays it out upon the ground,—
What a laying out is that!
While the nobles kneel around,
Every one without his hat.
From a box that's called Dispatch,
The old marquis takes a match;
To the barber, on the sly,
Hands it with averted eye.
What a laying out is that!
While the nobles kneel around,
Every one without his hat.
From a box that's called Dispatch,
The old marquis takes a match;
To the barber, on the sly,
Hands it with averted eye.
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And the match went phizzy phiz,
As it makes its lurid glare,
And the beard goes phizzy phiz,
With a smell of burning hair.
Playfully the bright flame whirls
Round those royal auburn curls—
Curls that deck'd a monarch's chin
Burning for a barber's sin.
[OMITTED]
As it makes its lurid glare,
And the beard goes phizzy phiz,
With a smell of burning hair.
Playfully the bright flame whirls
Round those royal auburn curls—
Curls that deck'd a monarch's chin
Burning for a barber's sin.
Fairies softly whisp'ring are
Close together in a rose:—
“If we carry this too far,
What will happen no one knows!
Shall we end this foolish strife?
Shall we save this monarch's life?
Shall we change—of course we can,
Burning beard to living man?”
Close together in a rose:—
“If we carry this too far,
What will happen no one knows!
Shall we end this foolish strife?
Shall we save this monarch's life?
Shall we change—of course we can,
Burning beard to living man?”
208
'Tis no sooner said than done,
(Words are many, acts are few),
Fairies like a bit of fun,
But they are good-natured too!
From the ashes of the beard
That good king his form uprear'd;
Stately fellow, stout and strong,
With a beard twelve inches long!
(Words are many, acts are few),
Fairies like a bit of fun,
But they are good-natured too!
From the ashes of the beard
That good king his form uprear'd;
Stately fellow, stout and strong,
With a beard twelve inches long!
Cheers ascended to the roof,
Echoed back from ev'ry nook,
But the barber stood aloof,
With a sort of hangdog look;
When the king said, with a start,
“Have they ate the barber's heart?”
Off he sneak'd (as cowards can),
Let us hope a better man!
Echoed back from ev'ry nook,
But the barber stood aloof,
With a sort of hangdog look;
When the king said, with a start,
“Have they ate the barber's heart?”
Off he sneak'd (as cowards can),
Let us hope a better man!
209
MORAL.
At the moral of this song
Let no foolish fellow scoff;
If your beard is thought too long,
You had better cut it off.
What the barber typifies
Is so plain to honest eyes,
That its meaning to define
Never shall be act of mine.
Let no foolish fellow scoff;
If your beard is thought too long,
You had better cut it off.
What the barber typifies
Is so plain to honest eyes,
That its meaning to define
Never shall be act of mine.
LORD RUBADUB.
'Neath the shade of a daisy, just two inches high,
A poor little fairy sits weeping alone;
She says, “What a desolate creature am I,
My Lord Rubadub has the heart of a stone!
A poor little fairy sits weeping alone;
She says, “What a desolate creature am I,
My Lord Rubadub has the heart of a stone!
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“He will not allow me to dance on a cherry,
To swing in a cobweb, or ride on a bee;
He tells me to hush when I want to be merry,
Which is hard on a gay little fairy like me.
To swing in a cobweb, or ride on a bee;
He tells me to hush when I want to be merry,
Which is hard on a gay little fairy like me.
“Our queen is so delicate, dainty, and dear,
But I fear she will marry my Lord Rubadub.
He struts at her side with a lounge and a leer,—
I wonder she'll look at the dandified cub!
But I fear she will marry my Lord Rubadub.
He struts at her side with a lounge and a leer,—
I wonder she'll look at the dandified cub!
212
“To fly from the court I announced my intention,
But Rubadub says (and I fancy 'tis true),
I must serve seven years, or I'll not get my pension;
So what is a poor little fairy to do?
But Rubadub says (and I fancy 'tis true),
I must serve seven years, or I'll not get my pension;
So what is a poor little fairy to do?
“Lord Rubadub's head is as large as my house;
His legs stride as far as the north from the south;
He can hold in his hand that big monster, the mouse;
And he puts a whole dinner at once in his mouth!
His legs stride as far as the north from the south;
He can hold in his hand that big monster, the mouse;
And he puts a whole dinner at once in his mouth!
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“I do not deny he has wit and acumen,
But he's dreadfully fat and disgracefully tall;
I think he's a changeling, a thing they call human;
I do not believe he's a fairy at all!
But he's dreadfully fat and disgracefully tall;
I think he's a changeling, a thing they call human;
I do not believe he's a fairy at all!
“But, hush! here he comes.” So she hid in the moss,
While vulgarly saunter'd, in insolent pride,
A fat little boy, who appear'd rather cross,
Though the beautiful fairy queen flew at his side.
While vulgarly saunter'd, in insolent pride,
A fat little boy, who appear'd rather cross,
Though the beautiful fairy queen flew at his side.
214
He flung himself down with a flop on the daisy,
And sticking a meerschaum his thick lips between,
Bawl'd out, “Look alive there—Flare up—Don't be lazy,
But fan me to sleep with your wings, fairy queen!”
And sticking a meerschaum his thick lips between,
Bawl'd out, “Look alive there—Flare up—Don't be lazy,
But fan me to sleep with your wings, fairy queen!”
The delicate fairy queen perch'd on his nose,
And flapping her gossamer wings up and down,
The cross little fellow is wrapt in repose—
A sneer on his lips, on his forehead a frown.
And flapping her gossamer wings up and down,
The cross little fellow is wrapt in repose—
A sneer on his lips, on his forehead a frown.
215
The delicate fairy queen falters and flutters,
Afraid to desist. Ah, what slavery this!
But the fairy that's hid in the moss slily mutters,
“Now, now is the moment to test what he is!”
Afraid to desist. Ah, what slavery this!
But the fairy that's hid in the moss slily mutters,
“Now, now is the moment to test what he is!”
She creepeth along, (we can all guess what for,
For who is so stupid as not to have heard
That test of a fairy, that signal of awe,
That almost unspeakable, horrible word!)
For who is so stupid as not to have heard
That test of a fairy, that signal of awe,
That almost unspeakable, horrible word!)
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She creepeth along, coming nearer and nearer;
She reacheth one ear (for the creature has two!)
Then shouts, and no bell than her voice sounded clearer,
That almost unspeakable word, “Bugaboo!”
She reacheth one ear (for the creature has two!)
Then shouts, and no bell than her voice sounded clearer,
That almost unspeakable word, “Bugaboo!”
Hey presto, he's gone! Down, down on the grass
Drops the queen from the wonderful height of his nose.
Was he here? has he vanish'd? did none see him pass?
Hey presto, he's gone! but how, nobody knows!
Drops the queen from the wonderful height of his nose.
Was he here? has he vanish'd? did none see him pass?
Hey presto, he's gone! but how, nobody knows!
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The sly little creature laughs out in derision;
The queen's tears would soon float a fine fairy fish.
Then clapping their hands, they exert fairy vision;
And flapping their wings, they see all that they wish.
The queen's tears would soon float a fine fairy fish.
Then clapping their hands, they exert fairy vision;
And flapping their wings, they see all that they wish.
They see a big chamber, in whose boundless space
Sit fifty big boys, with big books in their hands,
And, lo! in the centre, in dreadful disgrace,
On a high stool of penance, Lord Rubadub stands.
Sit fifty big boys, with big books in their hands,
And, lo! in the centre, in dreadful disgrace,
On a high stool of penance, Lord Rubadub stands.
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Oh, fairy queen, faint not! that brow which thy kisses
So often have touch'd, like the wing of a fly,
Is crown'd with a fool's cap of paper, where this is
Engraved in black letters a hundred feet high:—
So often have touch'd, like the wing of a fly,
Is crown'd with a fool's cap of paper, where this is
Engraved in black letters a hundred feet high:—
Tom the Truant, that's all; Tom the Truant—alas!
Oh, fairy queen, weep, for thy darling they snub!
Oh, weep that such glory so lightly should pass,
To find a cow'd schoolboy in Lord Rubadub!
Oh, fairy queen, weep, for thy darling they snub!
Oh, weep that such glory so lightly should pass,
To find a cow'd schoolboy in Lord Rubadub!
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The fairies are sorry,—they surely have reason;
To see him stand there makes their tender hearts ache;
And their queen wore half-mourning for many a season,
And rode a blackbeetle for Rubadub's sake.
To see him stand there makes their tender hearts ache;
And their queen wore half-mourning for many a season,
And rode a blackbeetle for Rubadub's sake.
THE WOUNDED DAISY.
At twilight in beautiful summers,
When all the dew is shed,
And all the singers and hummers
Are safe at home in bed,
In many a nook of the meadows
Fairies may linger and lurk;
Look under the low grass-shadows,
Perhaps you'll see them at work.
When all the dew is shed,
And all the singers and hummers
Are safe at home in bed,
In many a nook of the meadows
Fairies may linger and lurk;
Look under the low grass-shadows,
Perhaps you'll see them at work.
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Perhaps you'll see them swinging
On see-saw reeds in the dells;
Perhaps you'll hear them ringing
The sweet little heather-bells;
Or setting the lilies steady,
Before they begin to grow;
Or getting the rosebuds ready
Before it is time to blow.
On see-saw reeds in the dells;
Perhaps you'll hear them ringing
The sweet little heather-bells;
Or setting the lilies steady,
Before they begin to grow;
Or getting the rosebuds ready
Before it is time to blow.
A fairy was mending a daisy
Which some one had torn in half;
Her sisters all thought her crazy,
And only looked on to laugh.
They showed her scores in the hedges,
And scores that grew by the tarn,
And scores on the green field-edges,
But she went on with her darn.
Which some one had torn in half;
Her sisters all thought her crazy,
And only looked on to laugh.
They showed her scores in the hedges,
And scores that grew by the tarn,
And scores on the green field-edges,
But she went on with her darn.
222
Then round they cluster, and chatter—
How each had a flower more fine;
One shook buttercups at her,
And one brought briony-twine,
Strong red poppies to vex her,
Tiny bright-eyes to beguile,
Tall green flags to perplex her;
But she worked on all the while.
How each had a flower more fine;
One shook buttercups at her,
And one brought briony-twine,
Strong red poppies to vex her,
Tiny bright-eyes to beguile,
Tall green flags to perplex her;
But she worked on all the while.
She work'd and she sang this ditty,
While insects wonder'd and heard
(They knew by the tone of pity
The song was not from a bird),
“Daisy, somebody hurt you!
Are you frighten'd at me?
Patient hope is a virtue,
Wait and you shall see!
While insects wonder'd and heard
(They knew by the tone of pity
The song was not from a bird),
“Daisy, somebody hurt you!
Are you frighten'd at me?
Patient hope is a virtue,
Wait and you shall see!
223
“Was it a careless mower
Cut your blossom in twain?
I hope his hand will be slower
When he sees you again.
Was it a step unheeding?
Or was it a stormy gale?
Or was it—(how you are bleeding!)
A dark malicious snail?
Cut your blossom in twain?
I hope his hand will be slower
When he sees you again.
Was it a step unheeding?
Or was it a stormy gale?
Or was it—(how you are bleeding!)
A dark malicious snail?
“They did not know you would suffer,
I think they had never seen;
Slugs and snails may be rougher,
Perhaps, than they always mean.
Do I not hear one sobbing,
Down just there at my foot?
Or is it only the throbbing
Down in your poor little root?
I think they had never seen;
Slugs and snails may be rougher,
Perhaps, than they always mean.
Do I not hear one sobbing,
Down just there at my foot?
Or is it only the throbbing
Down in your poor little root?
224
“Daisy, you were so merry
Where you modestly grew;
Earth was generous, very,
Heaven was pleasant for you;
Never teasing your neighbour,
Neither forward nor slack,—
Do you feel as I labour
Some of your joy come back
Where you modestly grew;
Earth was generous, very,
Heaven was pleasant for you;
Never teasing your neighbour,
Neither forward nor slack,—
Do you feel as I labour
Some of your joy come back
“Ah, you tremble a little!
Have I hurt you at last?
If you were not so brittle,
I could mend you so fast.
No, there's nothing distressful,
Only a quiver of bliss,—
Daisy, I've been successful!
Grow, and give me a kiss!
Have I hurt you at last?
If you were not so brittle,
I could mend you so fast.
No, there's nothing distressful,
Only a quiver of bliss,—
Daisy, I've been successful!
Grow, and give me a kiss!
225
“Now I've mended you neatly,
All the fairies can see;
Now you look at me sweetly,
Are you grateful to me?
I'll go hiding behind you,
Then in a day or two,
Perhaps a baby will find you,
And I shall hear it coo.
All the fairies can see;
Now you look at me sweetly,
Are you grateful to me?
I'll go hiding behind you,
Then in a day or two,
Perhaps a baby will find you,
And I shall hear it coo.
“Yes, your cheeks may be whiter
Than the rest of your race;
Other eyes may be brighter,
Others fairer in face;
But no flower that uncloses
Can be precious as you,
Not an army of roses
Fighting all the year through!”
Than the rest of your race;
Other eyes may be brighter,
Others fairer in face;
But no flower that uncloses
Can be precious as you,
Not an army of roses
Fighting all the year through!”
226
Then the fairies confess it,
As that daisy revives;
All come round and caress it,
All so glad that it lives.
No one ventures to doubt it,
Hosts of penitent fays
Make their dance-rings about it,
Sing their songs in its praise.
As that daisy revives;
All come round and caress it,
All so glad that it lives.
No one ventures to doubt it,
Hosts of penitent fays
Make their dance-rings about it,
Sing their songs in its praise.
Years of fading and growing
Pass,—the daisy is not!
Sweeter grass-blooms are growing
Still by that little spot.
There each fairy that hover'd
Sang while pausing above,
“Here the daisy recover'd,—
Here's a footprint of Love!”
Pass,—the daisy is not!
Sweeter grass-blooms are growing
Still by that little spot.
There each fairy that hover'd
Sang while pausing above,
“Here the daisy recover'd,—
Here's a footprint of Love!”
TRIAL BY JURY.
The fairies have lost a fairy,
They don't know what to do;
The rumours about her vary,
And all of them can't be true.
They say she stood on a lily,
And fell in its depths immense;
But I don't think she'd be so silly,
For she was a fairy of sense!
They don't know what to do;
The rumours about her vary,
And all of them can't be true.
They say she stood on a lily,
And fell in its depths immense;
But I don't think she'd be so silly,
For she was a fairy of sense!
228
They say that a butterfly riding,
She dropp'd from a fearful height;
But her flymanship she took pride in,
So I don't believe it quite.
They say they actually saw her
Drown'd in a drop of rain;
They say an emmet came for her,
Who won't bring her back again!
She dropp'd from a fearful height;
But her flymanship she took pride in,
So I don't believe it quite.
They say they actually saw her
Drown'd in a drop of rain;
They say an emmet came for her,
Who won't bring her back again!
They cry, “Let us have a trial,
A judge and a jury both,
And we will not accept a denial,
And we'll all of us take an oath.
Of course, we're not wanting to hurt her,
The troublesome little thing;
But when she is proved a deserter,
We'll brand a big D on her wing.”
A judge and a jury both,
And we will not accept a denial,
And we'll all of us take an oath.
Of course, we're not wanting to hurt her,
The troublesome little thing;
But when she is proved a deserter,
We'll brand a big D on her wing.”
229
So off they fly to a laurel
That spread out its branches far,
And straightway begin to quarrel;
How foolish fairies are!
They all refuse to be jury,
They all desire to be judge;
They all strut about in a fury,
Each owing the others a grudge.
That spread out its branches far,
And straightway begin to quarrel;
How foolish fairies are!
They all refuse to be jury,
They all desire to be judge;
They all strut about in a fury,
Each owing the others a grudge.
Then little Snowbud, who ever
Had something refined to say,
Remarks that the Major is clever,
And some of his hair is grey.
But Wicksy exclaims, “I'll wager
(Wicksy was never polite)
“The Captain's as 'cute as the Major,
And most of his hair is white!”
Had something refined to say,
Remarks that the Major is clever,
And some of his hair is grey.
But Wicksy exclaims, “I'll wager
(Wicksy was never polite)
“The Captain's as 'cute as the Major,
And most of his hair is white!”
230
The Major runs forward bowing,
And pushing his bright hair back;
They all clap their hands, avowing
That grey grows under the black.
The Captain sits down despairing,
“Fool that I was!” he cries;
“This morning I dyed my hair in
Solution of Bluebottle flies!”
And pushing his bright hair back;
They all clap their hands, avowing
That grey grows under the black.
The Captain sits down despairing,
“Fool that I was!” he cries;
“This morning I dyed my hair in
Solution of Bluebottle flies!”
They take the respectable Major,
Pluck some of the black hairs out,
Cut off the rest with a razor,
And frizz the grey locks about.
They wrap a thick cobweb o'er him,
His eyebrows they fiercely smudge,
They kneel in the dust before him,
And call him a lovely judge.
Pluck some of the black hairs out,
Cut off the rest with a razor,
And frizz the grey locks about.
They wrap a thick cobweb o'er him,
His eyebrows they fiercely smudge,
They kneel in the dust before him,
And call him a lovely judge.
231
They seize upon twelve old fairies,
So old they can hardly fly;
They say, “Never mind what your hair is,
Our jury you'll be or—die!”
The old fairies crouch and shiver,
And cry it is most unfair;
But the Judge just points to the river,
And says, “We have sacks—beware!”
So old they can hardly fly;
They say, “Never mind what your hair is,
Our jury you'll be or—die!”
The old fairies crouch and shiver,
And cry it is most unfair;
But the Judge just points to the river,
And says, “We have sacks—beware!”
So every one is pleasant,
As if no cloud had been:
The jury is quite quiescent,
The judge is all serene.
The only drawback I heard of
(And that was but by the bye)
Was just that there was not a word of
Any pris'ner to try.
As if no cloud had been:
The jury is quite quiescent,
The judge is all serene.
The only drawback I heard of
(And that was but by the bye)
Was just that there was not a word of
Any pris'ner to try.
232
So the judge put on his black cap
In a death-condemning speech,
Which the jury declared was clap-trap,
And begg'd him not to preach.
The jury said, “Guilty, 'pon honour,”
While loudly cheer'd the crowd;
The judge pronounced sentence on her,
And the Captain swore aloud.
In a death-condemning speech,
Which the jury declared was clap-trap,
And begg'd him not to preach.
The jury said, “Guilty, 'pon honour,”
While loudly cheer'd the crowd;
The judge pronounced sentence on her,
And the Captain swore aloud.
Thus, the trial being ended,
They all began to dance,
And Wicksy his steps defended
As just come over from France.
Then some of them took to kissing,
And loudly for supper did call,
Where the fairy they thought was missing
Gobbled up more than them all.
They all began to dance,
And Wicksy his steps defended
As just come over from France.
Then some of them took to kissing,
And loudly for supper did call,
Where the fairy they thought was missing
Gobbled up more than them all.
THE FOX.
Two children are lost in a wood,
What can they do? what can they do?
They have not a morsel of food,
And nothing to drink but dew!
Looking to earth and to skies,
All that they saw, all that they saw,
Only increased their surprise,
And only heighten'd their awe.
What can they do? what can they do?
They have not a morsel of food,
And nothing to drink but dew!
Looking to earth and to skies,
All that they saw, all that they saw,
Only increased their surprise,
And only heighten'd their awe.
234
A squirrel peep'd out of his bed,
Up in a tree, up in a tree.
“Poor little beggars,” he said,
“How you must wish you were me!
Look at my warm little tail,
Fur tippet too, fur tippet too;
Squirrels can never turn pale,
Poor little shavers, like you!”
Up in a tree, up in a tree.
“Poor little beggars,” he said,
“How you must wish you were me!
Look at my warm little tail,
Fur tippet too, fur tippet too;
Squirrels can never turn pale,
Poor little shavers, like you!”
Birds, tuck'd up snug in their nests,
Nodded their heads, nodded their heads;
Muffled their wings and their breasts,
Order'd them off to their beds.
Rabbits ran out of their holes,
Crying “For shame,” crying “For shame,
To wake up respectable souls!
What is your business or claim?”
Nodded their heads, nodded their heads;
Muffled their wings and their breasts,
Order'd them off to their beds.
Rabbits ran out of their holes,
Crying “For shame,” crying “For shame,
235
What is your business or claim?”
A fox looking sly (as it sat,—
Who says it can't? who says it can't?)
Wink'd like a wide-awake man
Trying to do a rich aunt;
Wink'd like a wide-awake “cove”
Hiding his jokes, hiding his jokes;
Whispering, “Trust to my love,
I'll help you, sweet little folks.”
Who says it can't? who says it can't?)
Wink'd like a wide-awake man
Trying to do a rich aunt;
Wink'd like a wide-awake “cove”
Hiding his jokes, hiding his jokes;
Whispering, “Trust to my love,
I'll help you, sweet little folks.”
The children went up to him straight:
“Dear Mr. Fox, dear Mr. Fox,
Please take us home to the gate
That opens if any one knocks.
Nurse will run out in a trice;
Towser won't bite, Towser won't bite;
Cook will prepare something nice;
Mammy will laugh with delight.”
“Dear Mr. Fox, dear Mr. Fox,
Please take us home to the gate
That opens if any one knocks.
236
Towser won't bite, Towser won't bite;
Cook will prepare something nice;
Mammy will laugh with delight.”
“Done,” cried the Fox; “and why not?
Each take an arm, each take an arm;
Let us proceed at a trot,
Mental emotions to charm.
I know the way, if you please,—
No one so well, no one so well;
Here by the sycamore-trees,
There, through the buttercup dell.”
Each take an arm, each take an arm;
Let us proceed at a trot,
Mental emotions to charm.
I know the way, if you please,—
No one so well, no one so well;
Here by the sycamore-trees,
There, through the buttercup dell.”
Children, his flatteries shun!
He is no friend, he is no friend.
They who with foxes do run
Always look small in the end!
Honey'd his phrases and looks;
Sweetly he mocks, sweetly he mocks;
Have you not read in your books
Words saying “Sly as a fox”?
He is no friend, he is no friend.
237
Always look small in the end!
Honey'd his phrases and looks;
Sweetly he mocks, sweetly he mocks;
Have you not read in your books
Words saying “Sly as a fox”?
Who ever heeded advice?
No one I know, no one I know.
The children declare he is nice,
And doubting a fellow is low.
Easy it is to abuse;
Ill-nature shocks, ill-nature shocks;
We can confide where we choose;
They'll put their faith in the fox!
No one I know, no one I know.
The children declare he is nice,
And doubting a fellow is low.
Easy it is to abuse;
Ill-nature shocks, ill-nature shocks;
We can confide where we choose;
They'll put their faith in the fox!
Blind, inconsiderate, rash!
Rush on your fate, rush on your fate.
He who trusts foxes goes smash,
As you'll discover too late!
Gaily the trio proceed,
Still arm-in-arm, still arm-in-arm.
Foxes not trusty, indeed!
Innocent foxes do harm!
Rush on your fate, rush on your fate.
238
As you'll discover too late!
Gaily the trio proceed,
Still arm-in-arm, still arm-in-arm.
Foxes not trusty, indeed!
Innocent foxes do harm!
“Here is your own pretty park;
Come through the grass, come through the grass.
Hark to the supper-bell, hark!
Now through this thicket we'll pass,—
Pass through this beautiful glade;
Dancing with joy, dancing with joy.
Put your foot here, little maid;
Put yours down there, darling boy.”
Come through the grass, come through the grass.
Hark to the supper-bell, hark!
Now through this thicket we'll pass,—
Pass through this beautiful glade;
Dancing with joy, dancing with joy.
Put your foot here, little maid;
Put yours down there, darling boy.”
239
Oh, what two horrible screams!
(Poor little toes, poor little toes).
Nightmares that neigh in their dreams
Utter such sounds, I suppose.
Two traps are set on two slides,
Foxes to snare, foxes to snare;
Reynard is holding his sides
At the two children caught there.
(Poor little toes, poor little toes).
Nightmares that neigh in their dreams
Utter such sounds, I suppose.
Two traps are set on two slides,
Foxes to snare, foxes to snare;
Reynard is holding his sides
At the two children caught there.
Taking his hat off, he bows
Very polite, very polite:—
“'Tis your papa that allows
These little gimcracks to bite;
By your most worshipful pa'
Set for the brute, set for the brute;
You've put your foot in it—ha!
I've got the length of your foot!”
Very polite, very polite:—
“'Tis your papa that allows
These little gimcracks to bite;
By your most worshipful pa'
Set for the brute, set for the brute;
You've put your foot in it—ha!
I've got the length of your foot!”
240
Fairies were dancing about,
Close to the gin, close to the gin;
Saw that sly Reynard was out,
Saw that the children were in.
“Stop him, we won't let him run.”
Eager they spoke, eager they spoke:
“Foxes don't understand fun,—
Ill-nature spoils the best joke!”
Close to the gin, close to the gin;
Saw that sly Reynard was out,
Saw that the children were in.
“Stop him, we won't let him run.”
Eager they spoke, eager they spoke:
“Foxes don't understand fun,—
Ill-nature spoils the best joke!”
Ten fairies seize on each leg,—
Call him their own, call him their own;
Reynard doth abjectly beg
That they will let him alone!
Children jump out at their touch,
Happy and free, happy and free;
Reynard remarks 'tis too much,
For they're no better than he.
Call him their own, call him their own;
Reynard doth abjectly beg
That they will let him alone!
Children jump out at their touch,
Happy and free, happy and free;
Reynard remarks 'tis too much,
For they're no better than he.
241
But the immovable fays
Tumble him in, tumble him in;
Bid him repent of his ways,
In the delectable gin.
Slyboots, your boots pinch you now?
Rather too tight? rather too tight?
Very good lodgings, I vow;
Purchased by very poor spite!
Tumble him in, tumble him in;
Bid him repent of his ways,
In the delectable gin.
Slyboots, your boots pinch you now?
Rather too tight? rather too tight?
Very good lodgings, I vow;
Purchased by very poor spite!
MORAL.
To Children.
Shame, disappointment, and care,Bruises and knocks, bruises and knocks,
Such is their portion who dare
Walk arm-in-arm with a fox.
242
To Foxes.
Foxes, who deal in sly blows,Pause, if you please, pause, if you please;
Trying to pinch other toes,
May not your own get a squeeze?
PATS OF BUTTER.
Fairies can hide anywhere,
Up and down, and in and out,
'Neath the cushion of a chair,
In a teapot's empty spout;
They can nestle in your hair,
They can creep beneath your chin;
Fairies can hide anywhere,
Up and down, and out and in.
Up and down, and in and out,
'Neath the cushion of a chair,
In a teapot's empty spout;
They can nestle in your hair,
They can creep beneath your chin;
Fairies can hide anywhere,
Up and down, and out and in.
244
Fairies are so very small,
That I think we cannot be
Ever safe from them at all,
On the earth or on the sea;
For we are so big and tall,
And our eyes so powerful are—
Fairies being very small,
Are beyond our vision far.
That I think we cannot be
Ever safe from them at all,
On the earth or on the sea;
For we are so big and tall,
And our eyes so powerful are—
Fairies being very small,
Are beyond our vision far.
Fairies are so full of tricks:
I have heard the farmers say,
They have stolen from the ricks
All the blossoms of the hay;
And with little dabs and pricks
Made the horses plunge and rear,—
Fairies are so full of tricks,
So extremely odd and queer!
I have heard the farmers say,
They have stolen from the ricks
All the blossoms of the hay;
And with little dabs and pricks
Made the horses plunge and rear,—
Fairies are so full of tricks,
So extremely odd and queer!
245
In the dairy stood the cream,
Fresher than the snowflake white,
And the butter that a dream
Never churn'd more sweetly bright:
'Neath the moon's delightful beam,
On a summer evening fair,
In the dairy stood the cream,
And a fairy spied it there.
Fresher than the snowflake white,
And the butter that a dream
Never churn'd more sweetly bright:
'Neath the moon's delightful beam,
On a summer evening fair,
In the dairy stood the cream,
And a fairy spied it there.
And a fairy spied it,—that
Tells the story, does it not?
They may whip the patient cat,
Who the sweet cream never got.
At the door poor Pussy sat,
Sorrowfully mew'd and purr'd;
But a fairy spied it,—that
Tells the story in a word!
Tells the story, does it not?
They may whip the patient cat,
Who the sweet cream never got.
At the door poor Pussy sat,
Sorrowfully mew'd and purr'd;
But a fairy spied it,—that
Tells the story in a word!
246
She was hidden by a fly
On the dairy-floor that slept;
When the moon was in the sky,
From beneath its wing she stept.
Greedy creature, brisk and sly,
With a flourish and a hop,
Spurns the carcase of the fly,
Drains the sweet cream ev'ry drop.
On the dairy-floor that slept;
When the moon was in the sky,
From beneath its wing she stept.
Greedy creature, brisk and sly,
With a flourish and a hop,
Spurns the carcase of the fly,
Drains the sweet cream ev'ry drop.
Tipsy with the luscious draught,
Little tumbling, reeling thing,
How she coo'd and how she laugh'd,
Toss'd her head and plumed her wing;
But the liquor that she quaff'd
Rapidly revenge can take;
She was tipsy with the draught,
And her head began to ache!
Little tumbling, reeling thing,
How she coo'd and how she laugh'd,
Toss'd her head and plumed her wing;
But the liquor that she quaff'd
Rapidly revenge can take;
She was tipsy with the draught,
And her head began to ache!
247
Fairies are cut up so soon,
Such a little makes them mope;
If a gnat sings out of tune,
I have known them give up hope;
I have seen them croak and croon
If a dewdrop touch'd their wings—
Fairies are cut up so soon,
Are such nervous little things!
Such a little makes them mope;
If a gnat sings out of tune,
I have known them give up hope;
I have seen them croak and croon
If a dewdrop touch'd their wings—
Fairies are cut up so soon,
Are such nervous little things!
Where the lovely butter lies,
She betakes her to repose;
Closeth little tipsy eyes,
Cooleth little blushing nose,
Sinking, to her great surprise,
Deeper, deeper in the cup;
Where the lovely butter lies,
Is a fairy swallow'd up!
She betakes her to repose;
Closeth little tipsy eyes,
Cooleth little blushing nose,
Sinking, to her great surprise,
Deeper, deeper in the cup;
Where the lovely butter lies,
Is a fairy swallow'd up!
248
In the morning Susan comes,
Scolds the most misjudged of cats,
“Flaxen-headed Ploughboy” hums
While she forms the butter pats;
Active fingers, willing thumbs
Knead them into pretty shape.
In the morning Susan comes,—
Captive fairy can't escape.
Scolds the most misjudged of cats,
“Flaxen-headed Ploughboy” hums
While she forms the butter pats;
Active fingers, willing thumbs
Knead them into pretty shape.
In the morning Susan comes,—
Captive fairy can't escape.
Happy faces welcome are
Where the pleasant breakfast is:
This is oldest grandpapa,
Youngest little grandchild this;
Children running from afar,
Sons and daughters not a few,
At the table welcome are,—
So is bread and butter too.
Where the pleasant breakfast is:
This is oldest grandpapa,
Youngest little grandchild this;
Children running from afar,
Sons and daughters not a few,
At the table welcome are,—
So is bread and butter too.
249
Greedy Jim is always rude,
Pokes his hand in every dish;
In his hurry to intrude,
Swallows bones instead of fish;
Swallows bad instead of good;
Snatches meat, but swallows fat,—
Greedy Jim, extremely rude,
Swallows a whole butter-pat!
Pokes his hand in every dish;
In his hurry to intrude,
Swallows bones instead of fish;
Swallows bad instead of good;
Snatches meat, but swallows fat,—
Greedy Jim, extremely rude,
Swallows a whole butter-pat!
“Goodness! Jim, don't look so wild!”
“Gracious! Jim, don't scream so shrill!”
“What's the matter with the child?”
“Goodness, gracious! are you ill?”
Father's getting rather riled,
Mother hardly draws her breath,—
“Goodness! Jim, don't look so wild;
Sure you frighten us to death!”
“Gracious! Jim, don't scream so shrill!”
“What's the matter with the child?”
“Goodness, gracious! are you ill?”
Father's getting rather riled,
Mother hardly draws her breath,—
“Goodness! Jim, don't look so wild;
Sure you frighten us to death!”
250
Tumbling down and leaping up,
Twisting limbs in ev'ry shape;
Rolling, grov'lling like a pup,
Mowing, mopping like an ape;
Tasting neither bit nor sup,—
Yelling like an imp in pain;
Tumbling down and leaping up,—
Certainly the boy's insane.
Twisting limbs in ev'ry shape;
Rolling, grov'lling like a pup,
Mowing, mopping like an ape;
Tasting neither bit nor sup,—
Yelling like an imp in pain;
Tumbling down and leaping up,—
Certainly the boy's insane.
Little have his parents guess'd
Whence the mighty mischief springs;
Men and women, much depress'd,
Recommend a hundred things.
But it's hard, if truth's confess'd,
To find cure or antidote;
For—a fairy in your chest,
Trying to ascend your throat!
Whence the mighty mischief springs;
Men and women, much depress'd,
Recommend a hundred things.
But it's hard, if truth's confess'd,
To find cure or antidote;
For—a fairy in your chest,
Trying to ascend your throat!
251
All unchanged by day and night,
All unchanged by night and day,
Desperately showing fight,
Conqueror in ev'ry fray.
Eyes are weary of the sight,
Ears are deafen'd by the roar;
All unchanged by day and night,
Till the weeks were number'd four.
All unchanged by night and day,
Desperately showing fight,
Conqueror in ev'ry fray.
Eyes are weary of the sight,
Ears are deafen'd by the roar;
All unchanged by day and night,
Till the weeks were number'd four.
Then a mouse, in mere disgust,
(Sensible, though very small,)
Murmur'd it was most unjust
That he could not sleep at all;
Gnaw'd the wainscot into dust,
The apartment enter'd in,
And, in absolute disgust,
Made a spring at Jimmy's chin!
(Sensible, though very small,)
Murmur'd it was most unjust
That he could not sleep at all;
Gnaw'd the wainscot into dust,
The apartment enter'd in,
And, in absolute disgust,
Made a spring at Jimmy's chin!
252
Took possession of his tongue,
Saying, with disdainful squeak,
“Come, my lad, you are but young,
Let your betters act and speak!”
Then his little forelegs flung
Down the throat of Master Jim,
Backing nimbly on his tongue,
Dragg'd the fairy out of him!
Saying, with disdainful squeak,
“Come, my lad, you are but young,
Let your betters act and speak!”
Then his little forelegs flung
Down the throat of Master Jim,
Backing nimbly on his tongue,
Dragg'd the fairy out of him!
MORAL.
Butter-pats, to eat alone,
Is a crime the wise forbid;
Naughty children must atone
For their sins, as Jimmy did.
Fairies should drink mountain dew,—
Cream's too dear at any price;
And if danger threatens you,
Always put your trust in mice.
Is a crime the wise forbid;
Naughty children must atone
For their sins, as Jimmy did.
Fairies should drink mountain dew,—
Cream's too dear at any price;
And if danger threatens you,
Always put your trust in mice.
A SLIGHT CONFUSION.
“What's the use of fairies?” said the child,
“What's the use of fairies at all?
The weeds in my garden grow wild,
And I've lost my favourite ball;
My poor little bird is dead,
They won't let me milk the cow,
And this lesson will never be said,
For I ought to be learning it now!
“What's the use of fairies at all?
The weeds in my garden grow wild,
And I've lost my favourite ball;
My poor little bird is dead,
They won't let me milk the cow,
And this lesson will never be said,
For I ought to be learning it now!
254
“If fairies were like fairies, you know,
Of the least bit of use or good,
The weeds would just die as they grow,
And my ball jump out of the wood;
My birdie would live again,
I'd find the cow in my bed,
And this lesson that gives me such pain,
Would grow of itself in my head.”
Of the least bit of use or good,
The weeds would just die as they grow,
And my ball jump out of the wood;
My birdie would live again,
I'd find the cow in my bed,
And this lesson that gives me such pain,
Would grow of itself in my head.”
So she sat down on the floor to cry,
The dear little sensible thing!
And the fairies made no reply,
Not even so much as to sing!
She heard a moo as she sat,—
A moo, I say, not a mia-u,
And she cried, “Why that is not the cat,
But it never can be the cow!”
The dear little sensible thing!
And the fairies made no reply,
Not even so much as to sing!
She heard a moo as she sat,—
A moo, I say, not a mia-u,
And she cried, “Why that is not the cat,
But it never can be the cow!”
255
The door flew open with such a bang,
And the cow came careering through,
The pail on her bright horns she swang,
“Milk me quickly,” she cried; “pray do!”
The child stood up in amaze,
And said, with a timid laugh,
“Well, surely, of all the queer plays,
This play is the queerest by half!”
And the cow came careering through,
The pail on her bright horns she swang,
“Milk me quickly,” she cried; “pray do!”
The child stood up in amaze,
And said, with a timid laugh,
“Well, surely, of all the queer plays,
This play is the queerest by half!”
But the cow kept running round and round,
Like a cow that was quite distraught,
And she mooed with a dreadful sound,
No moo that her poor mother taught.
The child sprang up on a chair,
Crying, “Oh, cow, please don't!”
But the cow career'd through the air,
Replying, “Is it likely I won't?”
Like a cow that was quite distraught,
And she mooed with a dreadful sound,
No moo that her poor mother taught.
The child sprang up on a chair,
Crying, “Oh, cow, please don't!”
256
Replying, “Is it likely I won't?”
At that moment the poor little bird,
That was lying dead in its cage,
Call'd out, “You're enough, on my word,
To put a dead bird in a rage!”
The weeds in her garden knock'd
On the window, they'd grown so tall,
And laugh'd when they saw she look'd shock'd,
And she thought that the worst of all!
That was lying dead in its cage,
Call'd out, “You're enough, on my word,
To put a dead bird in a rage!”
The weeds in her garden knock'd
On the window, they'd grown so tall,
And laugh'd when they saw she look'd shock'd,
And she thought that the worst of all!
Then the grammar she held in her hand
Dropp'd down on the floor with a jar,
And she murmur'd, “I don't understand;
How troublesome all the things are!”
She rubb'd her eyes, and she said,
As she took a frighten'd peep,
“The cow's not here, and the bird is dead,
And I fancy I've been asleep!”
Dropp'd down on the floor with a jar,
And she murmur'd, “I don't understand;
How troublesome all the things are!”
257
As she took a frighten'd peep,
“The cow's not here, and the bird is dead,
And I fancy I've been asleep!”
And a fairy, all beauty and light,
Reproachfully perch'd on her ear,
And gave it a sharp little bite,
Till she scream'd out with pain and fear.
But the fairy cried, “Alas!
Why didst thou utter abuse?
The world has come to a pretty pass,
When fairies are called of no use!
Reproachfully perch'd on her ear,
And gave it a sharp little bite,
Till she scream'd out with pain and fear.
But the fairy cried, “Alas!
Why didst thou utter abuse?
The world has come to a pretty pass,
When fairies are called of no use!
“Little girl, thou must thy part fulfil,
If we're to take kindly to ours:
Then pull up the weeds with a will,
And fairies will cherish the flowers;
Feed thy poor prisoner, the bird,
Or fairies its spirit will free;
Learn of thy lesson each difficult word,
And fairies will smile upon thee.”
If we're to take kindly to ours:
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And fairies will cherish the flowers;
Feed thy poor prisoner, the bird,
Or fairies its spirit will free;
Learn of thy lesson each difficult word,
And fairies will smile upon thee.”
Said the child, “I don't understand, quite,
There surely is something forgot,—
Are fairies permitted to bite?
Or is it a dream, or what?
What is the moral? and why?
The cow alone should be blamed—
The fairy takes ground extremely high,
But I don't feel a bit ashamed!”
There surely is something forgot,—
Are fairies permitted to bite?
Or is it a dream, or what?
What is the moral? and why?
The cow alone should be blamed—
The fairy takes ground extremely high,
But I don't feel a bit ashamed!”
THE WEDDING-RING.
PART I.
Children should not leave about
Anything that's small and bright,
Lest the fairies spy it out,
And fly off with it at night.
Foolish people wonder so
Where the little pins can go
That are lost through years and years
Surely every one must know
Fairies take them for their spears!
Anything that's small and bright,
Lest the fairies spy it out,
And fly off with it at night.
Foolish people wonder so
Where the little pins can go
That are lost through years and years
Surely every one must know
Fairies take them for their spears!
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Even scissors, knives, and rings,
Though so large, and such a weight,
(Little avaricious things,
So ambitious to be great!),
I have known them steal away,
As the ants do sticks and clay
(For united strength is strong);
You may see ants every day,
Dragging heavy weights along.
Though so large, and such a weight,
(Little avaricious things,
So ambitious to be great!),
I have known them steal away,
As the ants do sticks and clay
(For united strength is strong);
You may see ants every day,
Dragging heavy weights along.
Through the bright grass fluttering,
Laughing till they cannot speak,
Moonlight fairies softly spring,
Playing games of Hide and Seek.
And a little blue-eyed fay,
Deftly hides herself away
From the eager-seeking troop,
Calling out in accent gay
Such a pretty fairy “whoop!”
Laughing till they cannot speak,
Moonlight fairies softly spring,
Playing games of Hide and Seek.
And a little blue-eyed fay,
Deftly hides herself away
From the eager-seeking troop,
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Such a pretty fairy “whoop!”
Hunting low and hunting high,
Whispering and shouting loud;
“Chaffing” her for being shy,
Mocking her for being proud.
Spreading o'er the moonlit sands,
All dispersed in shining bands;
Searching still—and still at fault,—
Till a fairy claps her hands,
And proclaims a sudden halt.
Whispering and shouting loud;
“Chaffing” her for being shy,
Mocking her for being proud.
Spreading o'er the moonlit sands,
All dispersed in shining bands;
Searching still—and still at fault,—
Till a fairy claps her hands,
And proclaims a sudden halt.
Lo, she points her tiny foot,
Silent in her great surprise,
Where beside a primrose root,
Such a dazzling creature lies;
Eager fairies round it come,
Pompous fairies haw and hum,
Timid fairies shrink in fright;
Can it talk, or is it dumb?
Will it hurt us? can it bite?
Silent in her great surprise,
Where beside a primrose root,
Such a dazzling creature lies;
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Pompous fairies haw and hum,
Timid fairies shrink in fright;
Can it talk, or is it dumb?
Will it hurt us? can it bite?
Then the wisest fairy born
(Almost thought too wise to thrive)
Touch'd it with a sort of scorn,
Saying, “It is not alive;”
Saying, “'Tis a golden thing;”
Saying, “'Tis a wedding-ring.
Wedding-ring for mortal made,
Bitter grief its loss will bring
To the Princess Scherazade!”
(Almost thought too wise to thrive)
Touch'd it with a sort of scorn,
Saying, “It is not alive;”
Saying, “'Tis a golden thing;”
Saying, “'Tis a wedding-ring.
Wedding-ring for mortal made,
Bitter grief its loss will bring
To the Princess Scherazade!”
Azurine, the blue-eyed fay,
Who had hid herself erewhile,
Join'd them in a sulky way,
Pouting lips that ought to smile.
Angry that the sport forsook,
They forgot for her to look;
So she said, extremely cross,
“Let us throw it in the brook,
Careless losers merit loss!”
Who had hid herself erewhile,
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Pouting lips that ought to smile.
Angry that the sport forsook,
They forgot for her to look;
So she said, extremely cross,
“Let us throw it in the brook,
Careless losers merit loss!”
But Luline cried, “Not so,
Let us neither lose nor keep;
Unkind fairies—don't you know?—
Find it hard to go to sleep;
For a little conscience pricks
Worse than little thorns in sticks.
But a little heart at ease
Better is than pranks or tricks;
Let us be good fairies, please!”
Let us neither lose nor keep;
Unkind fairies—don't you know?—
Find it hard to go to sleep;
For a little conscience pricks
Worse than little thorns in sticks.
But a little heart at ease
Better is than pranks or tricks;
Let us be good fairies, please!”
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They divided into parts,
All according to their lights;
Luline led the Tender Hearts,
Azurine the Tricksy Sprites.
Wise Monimia lonely stood,
Would not join with bad or good,
So abuse from both did get.
(Well, I really never could
See the use of wisdom yet!)
All according to their lights;
Luline led the Tender Hearts,
Azurine the Tricksy Sprites.
Wise Monimia lonely stood,
Would not join with bad or good,
So abuse from both did get.
(Well, I really never could
See the use of wisdom yet!)
Tricksy Sprites have seized the ring,
But Luline cries, “How unfair!
Muster, Tender Hearts, and spring
On the robbers gather'd there!
Azurine, just turn about,
You and I should fight it out.
Single combat is the dodge.
Don't engage the rabble rout
In a horrible hodge-podge!”
But Luline cries, “How unfair!
Muster, Tender Hearts, and spring
On the robbers gather'd there!
Azurine, just turn about,
You and I should fight it out.
Single combat is the dodge.
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In a horrible hodge-podge!”
Azurine laugh'd saucily.
“I have got it, you have not.
This is well from you to me,
Who have not what I have got!
Come, my gay, successful troop,
Roll it, 'tis a golden hoop.
Hoop is a delicious play;
Let the conquer'd mourn and droop,
Every fairy has her day!”
“I have got it, you have not.
This is well from you to me,
Who have not what I have got!
Come, my gay, successful troop,
Roll it, 'tis a golden hoop.
Hoop is a delicious play;
Let the conquer'd mourn and droop,
Every fairy has her day!”
As the golden creature flew
Swifter than the feather'd dart,
What did little Luline do—
Luline of the tender heart?
Noble spirit—nerves high-strung,
Through the hoop herself she flung,
Stopping the too dreadful race,
And, while cheers of rapture rung,
Lay exhausted on her face!
Swifter than the feather'd dart,
What did little Luline do—
Luline of the tender heart?
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Through the hoop herself she flung,
Stopping the too dreadful race,
And, while cheers of rapture rung,
Lay exhausted on her face!
It was by the river's side,
Moment more had been too late;
In the darkly-flowing tide
Wedding-ring had met its fate;
Azurine cried, “Hip, hurrah!
Tender Hearts the victors are;
Luline is the queen of queens.
Luline of the tender heart,
What a thorough brick thou art,
Worth a thousand Azurines!”
Moment more had been too late;
In the darkly-flowing tide
Wedding-ring had met its fate;
Azurine cried, “Hip, hurrah!
Tender Hearts the victors are;
Luline is the queen of queens.
Luline of the tender heart,
What a thorough brick thou art,
Worth a thousand Azurines!”
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Then the noble foes embrace,
As brave foes have done before;
Hand to hand and face to face,
Hugh each other more and more.
All in pleased contentment gaze;
Then the wedding-ring they raise,
Polish it from stain or speck,
And, with little songs of praise,
Hang it round Lulina's neck!
As brave foes have done before;
Hand to hand and face to face,
Hugh each other more and more.
All in pleased contentment gaze;
Then the wedding-ring they raise,
Polish it from stain or speck,
And, with little songs of praise,
Hang it round Lulina's neck!
PART II.
In the night she cannot sleep
For the depth of her distress;
In the day she can but weep—
Lovely, sorrowful princess!
On her hand she draws her glove
At the footstep of her love,
Of her love, the royal prince;
Trembling like a frighten'd dove,
At his touch she seems to wince.
For the depth of her distress;
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Lovely, sorrowful princess!
On her hand she draws her glove
At the footstep of her love,
Of her love, the royal prince;
Trembling like a frighten'd dove,
At his touch she seems to wince.
Dared she but her grief to tell
To the prince who loved her so,
Then, perchance, had all been well,
Though indeed we cannot know;
For she had not strength for that,
And her heart went pit-a-pat
At the notion of the thing.
So in misery she sat
Mourning for her wedding-ring.
To the prince who loved her so,
Then, perchance, had all been well,
Though indeed we cannot know;
For she had not strength for that,
And her heart went pit-a-pat
At the notion of the thing.
So in misery she sat
Mourning for her wedding-ring.
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For Prince Azof swore one night
That her white hands should not be
Always cover'd from the sight,
But that all who liked should see;
For no hands were ever known
White and lovely as her own;
And no jewel should she wear,
But her wedding-ring alone
Should enclasp one finger fair.
That her white hands should not be
Always cover'd from the sight,
But that all who liked should see;
For no hands were ever known
White and lovely as her own;
And no jewel should she wear,
But her wedding-ring alone
Should enclasp one finger fair.
And the hour is very near,
And the banquet rich is spread,
When she knows she must appear
With her hands uncoverèd.
How she wrings them in her grief!
Crying out for some relief—
Crying out in her distress,
“I of mourners am the chief,
Most unfortunate princèss!”
And the banquet rich is spread,
When she knows she must appear
With her hands uncoverèd.
How she wrings them in her grief!
Crying out for some relief—
Crying out in her distress,
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Most unfortunate princèss!”
What is that which floateth by,
Scarcely seen and scarcely heard?
Little shining butterfly?
Little radiant humming-bird?
Doth it brush her brow and cheek?
Will it sing or will it speak?
Doth it glitter, glance, and gleam?
Will it melt like snow-crown'd peak?
Is it real or a dream?
Scarcely seen and scarcely heard?
Little shining butterfly?
Little radiant humming-bird?
Doth it brush her brow and cheek?
Will it sing or will it speak?
Doth it glitter, glance, and gleam?
Will it melt like snow-crown'd peak?
Is it real or a dream?
It is gone,—but in her hand
(Ah, what joy a sunbeam brings!)
Lies that precious marriage band,
Most beloved of wedding-rings!
On her finger soon shines bright
That small rim of golden light,
Which she welcomes with a kiss,
Cooing out her soft delight
At a happy chance like this.
(Ah, what joy a sunbeam brings!)
Lies that precious marriage band,
Most beloved of wedding-rings!
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That small rim of golden light,
Which she welcomes with a kiss,
Cooing out her soft delight
At a happy chance like this.
THE LITTLE WHITE DOE.
In the beautiful forest is straying
An innocent little white doe,
And the creature is happily playing
With the sunlight that flickereth so;
The sunlight so soft and so tender,
That moves with each leaf as it moves,
And the doe, quite amazed at its splendour,
Is hunting the beam that she loves!
An innocent little white doe,
And the creature is happily playing
With the sunlight that flickereth so;
The sunlight so soft and so tender,
That moves with each leaf as it moves,
And the doe, quite amazed at its splendour,
Is hunting the beam that she loves!
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Alas! is she never reflecting
How far she has roamed from the track?
How far from the mother expecting
Her darling who does not come back?
Alas! can the sunshine deceive her?
The sunshine so tender and bright;
Can it lure her from home, and then leave her
Alone in the darkness of night?
How far she has roamed from the track?
How far from the mother expecting
Her darling who does not come back?
Alas! can the sunshine deceive her?
The sunshine so tender and bright;
Can it lure her from home, and then leave her
Alone in the darkness of night?
Dark night round the forest is closing,
It frightens the little white doe,
Who earnestly longs to be dozing
With the mother that fondles her so.
The cold makes the little thing shiver,
She bleats for the sunshine that's fled,
She lays herself down by the river,
And mournfully thinks she is dead.
It frightens the little white doe,
Who earnestly longs to be dozing
With the mother that fondles her so.
The cold makes the little thing shiver,
She bleats for the sunshine that's fled,
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And mournfully thinks she is dead.
By the side of that stream brightly flowing
A dear little child has to pass;
To her home she is leisurely going,
When she sees something white in the grass.
She cries out, with joy in each feature,
“How charming a plaything is this!
You dear little beautiful creature,
I hope you will give me a kiss!”
A dear little child has to pass;
To her home she is leisurely going,
When she sees something white in the grass.
She cries out, with joy in each feature,
“How charming a plaything is this!
You dear little beautiful creature,
I hope you will give me a kiss!”
Quite close to her breast she doth fold it,
And kisses its innocent face,
Her fat little arms can just hold it,
And she walks with a tottering pace.
Her home by the bright fire is lighted,
With triumph she opens the door,
She enters,—she laughs out delighted,
And puts down the doe on the floor!
And kisses its innocent face,
Her fat little arms can just hold it,
And she walks with a tottering pace.
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With triumph she opens the door,
She enters,—she laughs out delighted,
And puts down the doe on the floor!
It moves not,—as motionless lying
As if it was modell'd in snow;
It is pretty if dead or if dying,—
It moves not,—ah, poor little doe!
Then May wrings her hands in her sorrow,
And almost in anger she cries,—
“Are you dead? will you not live tomorrow,
And open your beautiful eyes?
As if it was modell'd in snow;
It is pretty if dead or if dying,—
It moves not,—ah, poor little doe!
Then May wrings her hands in her sorrow,
And almost in anger she cries,—
“Are you dead? will you not live tomorrow,
And open your beautiful eyes?
“In my arms, little doe, I will take you,
You freeze me, so cold have you grown,
But indeed I will never forsake you;
I found you, and you are my own.”
With that white, frozen thing, sadly weeping,
She mournfully creeps to her bed,
And clasps to her bosom while sleeping
The doe she believes to be dead!
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But indeed I will never forsake you;
I found you, and you are my own.”
With that white, frozen thing, sadly weeping,
She mournfully creeps to her bed,
And clasps to her bosom while sleeping
The doe she believes to be dead!
The heart of the dear little maiden
Beats against the cold breast of the doe,
With love is that tender heart laden,
And love works enchantment we know.
Yes, life through the creature is stealing,
Her heart gives an answering beat,
And the wonder she cannot help feeling
Finds vent in a pitiful bleat!
Beats against the cold breast of the doe,
With love is that tender heart laden,
And love works enchantment we know.
Yes, life through the creature is stealing,
Her heart gives an answering beat,
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Finds vent in a pitiful bleat!
May wakes, in the low sound delighting,
Embraces the doe in her bed,
And feeds her with milk, so inviting
'Twould almost give life to the dead.
She smoothes her soft hairs as a duty,
She washes her free from each speck,
And a blue ribbon, bright in its beauty,
She ties round her pretty white neck.
Embraces the doe in her bed,
And feeds her with milk, so inviting
'Twould almost give life to the dead.
She smoothes her soft hairs as a duty,
She washes her free from each speck,
And a blue ribbon, bright in its beauty,
She ties round her pretty white neck.
The doe is quite pleased with such petting,
And fondly keeps licking her hand,
But still in her heart is regretting
Her home in the free forest land.
She utters a sorrowful bleating,
But May comprehends not the strain,
For the meaning that sound is repeating
Is “Please take me back, dear, again.”
And fondly keeps licking her hand,
But still in her heart is regretting
Her home in the free forest land.
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But May comprehends not the strain,
For the meaning that sound is repeating
Is “Please take me back, dear, again.”
One day in the forest they're playing,
And frisking with frolicsome glee,
And further and further keep straying,
Like creatures that love to be free.
Ah! oak, with thy branches wide spreading,
Once dear to the doe's startled mind,
Ah! track to a happy home leading,
She runs on and looks not behind.
And frisking with frolicsome glee,
And further and further keep straying,
Like creatures that love to be free.
Ah! oak, with thy branches wide spreading,
Once dear to the doe's startled mind,
Ah! track to a happy home leading,
She runs on and looks not behind.
She runs like the wind,—swiftly flying,
She reaches the well-beloved glade,
And there her old mother is lying
Asleep in the beautiful shade.
Through the long ferns her wee darling presses,
Ah, softly she slackens her pace,
With tenderest bleats and caresses
She crouches and licks her dear face.
She reaches the well-beloved glade,
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Asleep in the beautiful shade.
Through the long ferns her wee darling presses,
Ah, softly she slackens her pace,
With tenderest bleats and caresses
She crouches and licks her dear face.
Oh, rapturous, passionate meeting,
Oh, moments that form a bright past,
Too exquisite not to be fleeting,
Yet follow'd by joy that can last!
May watches them, tearful and breathless,
Her pleasure is mix'd with regret;
She sees their affection is deathless,
She feels she must part from her pet.
Oh, moments that form a bright past,
Too exquisite not to be fleeting,
Yet follow'd by joy that can last!
May watches them, tearful and breathless,
Her pleasure is mix'd with regret;
She sees their affection is deathless,
She feels she must part from her pet.
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But after much talking and loving
(Not a word of it May understands),
The mother towards her is moving,
And rubs her soft nose in her hands.
And when,—for the stars are now peeping,—
May runs o'er the dew-cover'd ground,
The old doe beside her is creeping
And the young one is frisking around.
(Not a word of it May understands),
The mother towards her is moving,
And rubs her soft nose in her hands.
And when,—for the stars are now peeping,—
May runs o'er the dew-cover'd ground,
The old doe beside her is creeping
And the young one is frisking around.
Quite close to May's cottage they made them
A new home so pretty and neat;
Each night in that warm nest they laid them,
Each morning waked May with their bleat.
The wee doe jumps up to caress her
With kisses she prizes, we know,
And the mother's fond eyes softly bless her
For her love to the Little White Doe!
A new home so pretty and neat;
Each night in that warm nest they laid them,
Each morning waked May with their bleat.
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With kisses she prizes, we know,
And the mother's fond eyes softly bless her
For her love to the Little White Doe!
THE BUTTERFLY AND THE FAIRIES.
A butterfly was grieved one day
Because he could do nought but play;
He envied bees and birds and ants,
And senseless stones and common plants,
And leaves that feed the life of trees,
And tiny builders in the seas,
And breathings of the summer gale,
That waft a seed or swell a sail,
And winter's fleece of folded snow,
That wraps the roots before they grow,
And light that wakes the hope of earth,
And shade that shelters every birth,
And dew that fosters every bloom,
And heat and silence and perfume,
All things were sent to toil and strive,
To keep this happy world alive:
No wonder tales and sermons grim
Pointed their morals oft at him,
For all had work to do, except
Himself—and here he paused and wept.
Because he could do nought but play;
He envied bees and birds and ants,
And senseless stones and common plants,
And leaves that feed the life of trees,
And tiny builders in the seas,
And breathings of the summer gale,
That waft a seed or swell a sail,
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That wraps the roots before they grow,
And light that wakes the hope of earth,
And shade that shelters every birth,
And dew that fosters every bloom,
And heat and silence and perfume,
All things were sent to toil and strive,
To keep this happy world alive:
No wonder tales and sermons grim
Pointed their morals oft at him,
For all had work to do, except
Himself—and here he paused and wept.
He flutter'd on through tracts of air,
So sorrowful, he knew not where,
Away from all that once he sought,
He cared not what the roses thought;
A daring lily, full of dew,
Struck his swift bosom as he flew,
Great was the shock, but on he pass'd,
And on and up and far and fast,
Till scarcely fit to sit or stand,
He came at length to Fairyland.
So sorrowful, he knew not where,
Away from all that once he sought,
He cared not what the roses thought;
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Struck his swift bosom as he flew,
Great was the shock, but on he pass'd,
And on and up and far and fast,
Till scarcely fit to sit or stand,
He came at length to Fairyland.
A busy scene! Laborious fays!
He watches them in mute amaze,
The whirr goes on from morn to night,
Some twisting threads of bloom and light;
Some weaving each resplendent line,
Into a fabric soft and fine;
Some cutting shapes with anxious care;
Some ever sorting, pair by pair;
Some bringing tiny moulds and prints,
To stamp the wares with rainbow tints;
Some piling up the finish'd bales;
Some packing them in dockleaf mails,
Arranging, cording, ticketing—
“These for the realms of earth, next spring:”
In short, it was, as all might see,
A fairy manufactory.
He watches them in mute amaze,
The whirr goes on from morn to night,
Some twisting threads of bloom and light;
Some weaving each resplendent line,
Into a fabric soft and fine;
Some cutting shapes with anxious care;
Some ever sorting, pair by pair;
Some bringing tiny moulds and prints,
To stamp the wares with rainbow tints;
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Some packing them in dockleaf mails,
Arranging, cording, ticketing—
“These for the realms of earth, next spring:”
In short, it was, as all might see,
A fairy manufactory.
Sadly he watch'd them while they wrought:
“Here too is toil,” 'twas thus he thought,
In all the lustre of this clime,
Not even a sylph is wasting time,
All have their task to toil and strive,
To keep this happy world alive,
All have their work. I wish I knew
What lovely business they do!
“It must be something great and grand
To need the skill of fairyland.
Queen Morning's robes of rich device,
She never wears the same dress twice!
I wonder if I've rightly guess'd,
I'll ask when next they stop to rest.”
“Here too is toil,” 'twas thus he thought,
In all the lustre of this clime,
Not even a sylph is wasting time,
All have their task to toil and strive,
To keep this happy world alive,
All have their work. I wish I knew
What lovely business they do!
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To need the skill of fairyland.
Queen Morning's robes of rich device,
She never wears the same dress twice!
I wonder if I've rightly guess'd,
I'll ask when next they stop to rest.”
While thus he stood to see and hear,
A brisk light porter saunter'd near,
And touch'd his foxglove with an air
That ask'd him what he wanted there;
Had he an order? It should be
Attended to immediately;
Or a complaint? He might depend
On their endeavour to amend.
Perhaps a little bill to pay?
Or had he only lost his way?
“No,” quoth the wanderer, “none of these;
But, will you tell me, if you please,
What all these busy workers do?”
A brisk light porter saunter'd near,
And touch'd his foxglove with an air
That ask'd him what he wanted there;
Had he an order? It should be
Attended to immediately;
Or a complaint? He might depend
On their endeavour to amend.
Perhaps a little bill to pay?
Or had he only lost his way?
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But, will you tell me, if you please,
What all these busy workers do?”
“Why here's a lark? I thought you knew!”
(He utter'd with a knowing twang
That pretty phrase of fairy slang,
Made when a lark, benighted, found
Its wondering way to elfin ground,
And the small folk believed with awe,
It was a dragon that they saw.)
“Look round me, stranger—use your eyes;
We make the wings of butterflies.”
“Oh, waste of labour, to adorn
A plaything, which the wise must scorn!
Toil rather for the bee, whose fame
I envy, though I must not claim,
And leave the useless butterfly,
Unmark'd to live, unmourn'd to die.”
(He utter'd with a knowing twang
That pretty phrase of fairy slang,
Made when a lark, benighted, found
Its wondering way to elfin ground,
And the small folk believed with awe,
It was a dragon that they saw.)
“Look round me, stranger—use your eyes;
We make the wings of butterflies.”
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A plaything, which the wise must scorn!
Toil rather for the bee, whose fame
I envy, though I must not claim,
And leave the useless butterfly,
Unmark'd to live, unmourn'd to die.”
Shouts of fine laughter while he spoke
Betrayed how fairies love a joke;
(On earth the mothers mused that day,
What made their leaping babes so gay,
For well the darlings understand
When there is fun in fairyland.)
A hoary sylph his smiles suppress'd,
And gravely answer'd for the rest:
“Weep not,” he said, “nor look askance
At thy most sweet inheritance;
Thou hast thy purpose; be content
To teach the use of ornament.
Honey, which human hearts can drink,
Is better than the bees', I think;
And though not stored in comb or hive,
It keeps this happy world alive.
The child who marks thy fluttering way,
And stops a moment in his play,
And feels at that familiar sight,
Some little movement of delight,—
Learns what no years of toil can teach,
Looks at the regions out of reach,
Sees some dim shadow of the Power
“Which vein'd the shell and shaped the flower;
“And said to wisdom, work, and pelf,
“Beauty is precious for itself!”
Betrayed how fairies love a joke;
(On earth the mothers mused that day,
What made their leaping babes so gay,
For well the darlings understand
When there is fun in fairyland.)
A hoary sylph his smiles suppress'd,
And gravely answer'd for the rest:
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At thy most sweet inheritance;
Thou hast thy purpose; be content
To teach the use of ornament.
Honey, which human hearts can drink,
Is better than the bees', I think;
And though not stored in comb or hive,
It keeps this happy world alive.
The child who marks thy fluttering way,
And stops a moment in his play,
And feels at that familiar sight,
Some little movement of delight,—
Learns what no years of toil can teach,
Looks at the regions out of reach,
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“Which vein'd the shell and shaped the flower;
“And said to wisdom, work, and pelf,
“Beauty is precious for itself!”
OLD DONALD.
Up in the Highlands of Scotland
The fairies are very rude;
I do not know if all are so—
Some of them may be good.
But I will write you a story
Of the events of a night;
And as you read, you'll own, indeed,
The fairies were not polite.
The fairies are very rude;
I do not know if all are so—
Some of them may be good.
But I will write you a story
Of the events of a night;
And as you read, you'll own, indeed,
The fairies were not polite.
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A very old man was Donald,
His cheeks were shrivell'd and lean;
His teeth were few, and broken, too,
With very big gaps between.
He stoop'd his shoulders in walking,
His head was uncrown'd by hair;
His beard was white, his legs a sight,
For of calves they were quite bare.
His cheeks were shrivell'd and lean;
His teeth were few, and broken, too,
With very big gaps between.
He stoop'd his shoulders in walking,
His head was uncrown'd by hair;
His beard was white, his legs a sight,
For of calves they were quite bare.
He liked both snuff and tobacco,
He wore an old-fashioned coat;
On whisky-punch at dinner or lunch
He certainly seem'd to doat.
For he was an old campaigner;
I've heard the young fellows say,
It was no joke with him to smoke,
To drink, to fight, or to play.
He wore an old-fashioned coat;
On whisky-punch at dinner or lunch
He certainly seem'd to doat.
For he was an old campaigner;
I've heard the young fellows say,
It was no joke with him to smoke,
To drink, to fight, or to play.
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One night at home he was setting
His whisky-punch in a jug
(For punch, they say, tastes best from clay,
As beer from a pewter mug);
He said, “I don't know the reason,
But when I'm mixing this stuff,
I never find that, to my mind,
I put in whisky enough!
His whisky-punch in a jug
(For punch, they say, tastes best from clay,
As beer from a pewter mug);
He said, “I don't know the reason,
But when I'm mixing this stuff,
I never find that, to my mind,
I put in whisky enough!
“Perhaps I had better marry!
Since women can make strong tea;
They'd surely brew this creature too,
So as to satisfy me.
But there's the trouble of wooing;
I never can quite make out,
If girls I meet in fair or street,
What I should chatter about.
Since women can make strong tea;
They'd surely brew this creature too,
So as to satisfy me.
But there's the trouble of wooing;
I never can quite make out,
If girls I meet in fair or street,
What I should chatter about.
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“I think I'll go out this evening,
And to the first girl I see,
I'll simply say in a passing way,
‘My dear, will you marry me?’
I'm a very handsome fellow,
I've plenty of gold and gear;
'Twould be odd indeed if I can't succeed
In bringing a woman here.”
And to the first girl I see,
I'll simply say in a passing way,
‘My dear, will you marry me?’
I'm a very handsome fellow,
I've plenty of gold and gear;
'Twould be odd indeed if I can't succeed
In bringing a woman here.”
And oh, but Donald was cunning!
The sly fox did not forget
The fairest maid in sun or shade
Just then was sure to be met!
For down to the brook fair Peggy
Did every evening go,
Her pitcher to fill at the sparkling rill,
As cunning Donald did know.
The sly fox did not forget
The fairest maid in sun or shade
Just then was sure to be met!
For down to the brook fair Peggy
Did every evening go,
Her pitcher to fill at the sparkling rill,
As cunning Donald did know.
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But the fairies heard him prating,
And laugh'd in their fairy sleeves;
His foolish talk they meant to balk,
For folly a fairy grieves.
Fair Peggy sits in her cottage,
Her pretty hands glance and gleam,
For she must sew another row
Before she runs to the stream.
And laugh'd in their fairy sleeves;
His foolish talk they meant to balk,
For folly a fairy grieves.
Fair Peggy sits in her cottage,
Her pretty hands glance and gleam,
For she must sew another row
Before she runs to the stream.
Most haste is worst speed, fair Peggy,
And why do you work so quick?
A needle so fine can glance and shine,
But oh, it can also prick!
And when a determined fairy
Takes up his post at its head,
And pushes it into your tender skin,
Why, then, some blood will be shed.
And why do you work so quick?
A needle so fine can glance and shine,
But oh, it can also prick!
And when a determined fairy
Takes up his post at its head,
And pushes it into your tender skin,
Why, then, some blood will be shed.
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Fair Peggy holds out her finger,
And pain makes her knit her brow;
Her grandmother cried with an air of pride,
“How clumsy the girls are now!
When I was young, hoity-toity!
When pretty and young was I,
I was sonsy and sweet, and nimble and neat—”
Here Peggy began to cry!
And pain makes her knit her brow;
Her grandmother cried with an air of pride,
“How clumsy the girls are now!
When I was young, hoity-toity!
When pretty and young was I,
I was sonsy and sweet, and nimble and neat—”
Here Peggy began to cry!
Her grandmother seized the pitcher,
And grumbled on with her scold,
“Sure nobody cares how he worries and wears
The bones that are very old!
And I must run to the river,
Because you have prick'd your thumb.
Let people take care, and preachers beware,
Or the world to an end will come!”
And grumbled on with her scold,
“Sure nobody cares how he worries and wears
The bones that are very old!
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Because you have prick'd your thumb.
Let people take care, and preachers beware,
Or the world to an end will come!”
So off the old woman hobbled—
(A very old woman she;)
She had a beard, and her eyes were blear'd,
And so she could hardly see.
Her nose was like a potato,
Her voice was crack'd and shrill,
Her head was bare for want of hair,
And she liked to have her will!
(A very old woman she;)
She had a beard, and her eyes were blear'd,
And so she could hardly see.
Her nose was like a potato,
Her voice was crack'd and shrill,
Her head was bare for want of hair,
And she liked to have her will!
And lo! she was met by Donald,
Who raised his hat from his brow,
And look'd so sly, and wink'd his eye,
And made a capital bow;
And cried, with a manly flourish,
“My match you won't often see,
Or come or go? or yes or no?
My dear, will you marry me?”
Who raised his hat from his brow,
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And made a capital bow;
And cried, with a manly flourish,
“My match you won't often see,
Or come or go? or yes or no?
My dear, will you marry me?”
Now, Donald had lost his glasses;
And was it that, do you think?
Or was it the spell by the fairy well?
Or was it the power of drink?
He thought it was lovely Peggy
Was standing there by the stream;
That maiden bright, who, many a night,
Had mix'd his punch in his dream!
And was it that, do you think?
Or was it the spell by the fairy well?
Or was it the power of drink?
He thought it was lovely Peggy
Was standing there by the stream;
That maiden bright, who, many a night,
Had mix'd his punch in his dream!
The grandmother dropp'd a curtsey
As well as her stiff knees could;
She thought to herself, he has plenty of pelf,
And rule him I surely could.
With wink to his wink replying,
With look that was slyer still,
She answer'd his word as pert as a bird,
“Indeed, my dear, and I will!”
As well as her stiff knees could;
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And rule him I surely could.
With wink to his wink replying,
With look that was slyer still,
She answer'd his word as pert as a bird,
“Indeed, my dear, and I will!”
Together they sought a blacksmith,—
In Scotland it's known to all,
That man and wife are join'd for life
By almost nothing at all!
It's rather a shaky business,
And some it might not content;
But trouble's a bore, and perhaps to take more
Brings its own punishment.
In Scotland it's known to all,
That man and wife are join'd for life
By almost nothing at all!
It's rather a shaky business,
And some it might not content;
But trouble's a bore, and perhaps to take more
Brings its own punishment.
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The blacksmith snigger'd a little,
But he wouldn't make a row,
So married them both by word and by oath
Before you could say bow-wow.
Says he, “If driving a tandem,
A better match who could pick?”
“Sure, man alive! it's I shall drive,”
The woman replied quite quick.
But he wouldn't make a row,
So married them both by word and by oath
Before you could say bow-wow.
Says he, “If driving a tandem,
A better match who could pick?”
“Sure, man alive! it's I shall drive,”
The woman replied quite quick.
Now, was it the sudden feeling
Of being a married man?
(If you're not a block, it's an awful shock;
Bear it as well as you can!)
Or had the fumes of the whisky
Floated away from his brain?
Or fairies, for fun, their spell undone,
And given him eyes again?
Of being a married man?
(If you're not a block, it's an awful shock;
Bear it as well as you can!)
Or had the fumes of the whisky
Floated away from his brain?
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And given him eyes again?
He saw it was Peggy's grandame,
And not the sweet Peg herself,
Who, honest and fair, had married him there,
And must brew the punch in his delf!
And if you believe you've married
A beautiful village belle,
And find that instead you've her grandmother wed,
It re-al-ly is a sell!
And not the sweet Peg herself,
Who, honest and fair, had married him there,
And must brew the punch in his delf!
And if you believe you've married
A beautiful village belle,
And find that instead you've her grandmother wed,
It re-al-ly is a sell!
The old woman smiled and simper'd,
And feebly her head did wag,
Says she, “My love, we'd better move.”
Says he, “Avaunt, you hag!”
Says she “I'm a married woman—
Your own respectable wife!”
Says he, “If so, for weal and woe,
I'll plague you out of your life!”
And feebly her head did wag,
Says she, “My love, we'd better move.”
Says he, “Avaunt, you hag!”
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Your own respectable wife!”
Says he, “If so, for weal and woe,
I'll plague you out of your life!”
Says she, “You are old and crabbed,
But two can play at that game;
If you are cross, 'twill be your loss;
I'm sure I can be the same!”
Says he, all flush'd with his passion,
“I shall not mind you a bit!”
Says she, “I hear—be calm, my dear,
Or, may be you'll have a fit!”
But two can play at that game;
If you are cross, 'twill be your loss;
I'm sure I can be the same!”
Says he, all flush'd with his passion,
“I shall not mind you a bit!”
Says she, “I hear—be calm, my dear,
Or, may be you'll have a fit!”
The fairies are laughing round them,
They laugh till they cannot stand,
And then advance in a mocking dance—
Oh, mischievous fairy band!
Oh, band of mischievous fairies
That flicker and float about;
You've had your play,—do fly away,—
You'll do no good, I doubt!
They laugh till they cannot stand,
And then advance in a mocking dance—
Oh, mischievous fairy band!
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That flicker and float about;
You've had your play,—do fly away,—
You'll do no good, I doubt!
But up in the Scottish Highlands
The fairies are very rude;
They've too much ‘cheek,’ and love to speak,
And don't care how they intrude.
So they encourage the quarrel,
Just for the sake of the game;
But to provoke, although in joke,
I always think is a shame.
The fairies are very rude;
They've too much ‘cheek,’ and love to speak,
And don't care how they intrude.
So they encourage the quarrel,
Just for the sake of the game;
But to provoke, although in joke,
I always think is a shame.
They all of them flock round Donald,
To egg him on to the fight;
The grandmother knew (and isn't it true?)
That women are always right!
So she needed no incentive;
But Donald's not brisk at all:
They breathe in his ears their comical fears,
That shortly he'll sing rather small!
To egg him on to the fight;
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That women are always right!
So she needed no incentive;
But Donald's not brisk at all:
They breathe in his ears their comical fears,
That shortly he'll sing rather small!
“You to be found chicken-hearted,
After the whisky you've drunk!
You on the sly to eat humble pie!
You to be put in a funk!
You to be done by a woman!
You to be quizz'd by the men!
You to be beat! you to retreat!
You to be peck'd by a hen!”
After the whisky you've drunk!
You on the sly to eat humble pie!
You to be put in a funk!
You to be done by a woman!
You to be quizz'd by the men!
You to be beat! you to retreat!
You to be peck'd by a hen!”
This is the song they are singing,
(Fairies are certainly shrewd);
Thus they give tongue—isn't it wrong
And most uncommonly rude?
Up in the Highlands of Scotland
Manners are not what they were;
He that's ill-fed groweth ill-bred,
So are the fairies up there!
(Fairies are certainly shrewd);
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And most uncommonly rude?
Up in the Highlands of Scotland
Manners are not what they were;
He that's ill-fed groweth ill-bred,
So are the fairies up there!
Into the midst she comes tripping,
Scatters her sunshine about,
Laughs like the skies, sings with her eye,
Leads her old grandmother out.
Up in the Highlands of Scotland
Maidens are bonnie and bright,
They can endure well to be poor;
Courteous are hearts that are light.
Scatters her sunshine about,
Laughs like the skies, sings with her eye,
Leads her old grandmother out.
Up in the Highlands of Scotland
Maidens are bonnie and bright,
They can endure well to be poor;
Courteous are hearts that are light.
Donald is sipping his whisky!
Is it the very same tap?
What shall he do? can it be true?
Has he waked up from a nap?
Still floats the song of the fairies
As the good toddy he stirr'd.
Does it not change? that would be strange;
Is this the song he first heard?
Is it the very same tap?
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Has he waked up from a nap?
Still floats the song of the fairies
As the good toddy he stirr'd.
Does it not change? that would be strange;
Is this the song he first heard?
“Old men should mate with old women,
Girls are no helpmeets for them;
Donald has got certainly what
He in the hag did condemn!
His are the crutches and wrinkles,
His just as surely as hers;
Peggy would quiz wooing of his,
She a young lover prefers.
Girls are no helpmeets for them;
Donald has got certainly what
He in the hag did condemn!
His are the crutches and wrinkles,
His just as surely as hers;
Peggy would quiz wooing of his,
She a young lover prefers.
“Up in the Highlands of Scotland,
Pride goes in front of a fall,
Womankind rules, mankind are fools,
Girls are the nicest of all!
Mists hang their wreaths on the mountains;
Heaths on the moorlands are fair.
Up in the Highlands of Scotland
Life is the same as elsewhere!”
Pride goes in front of a fall,
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Girls are the nicest of all!
Mists hang their wreaths on the mountains;
Heaths on the moorlands are fair.
Up in the Highlands of Scotland
Life is the same as elsewhere!”
| Poems written for a child | |