Chapter 15

On tops of dewy grass So nimbly do we pass, The young and tender stalk Ne'er bends when we do walk; Yet in the morning may be seen Where we the night before have been.

THE SEA PRINCESS

In a palace of pearl and sea-weed, Set round with shining shells, Under the deeps of the ocean, The little Sea Princess dwells.

Sometimes she sees the shadows Of great whales passing by, Or white-winged vessels sailing Between the sea and sky.

And when through the waves she rises, Beyond the breakers' roar, She hears the shouts of the children At play on the sandy shore.

Or sees the ships' sides tower Above like a wet, black wall; Or shouts to the roaring breakers, And answers the sea-gull's call.

But, down in the quiet waters, Better she loves to play, Making a sea-weed garden-- Purple and green and gray;

Stringing with pearls a necklace, Or learning curious spells From the water-witch, gray and ancient, And hearing the tales she tells.

Out in the stable her sea-horse Champs in his crystal stall; And fishes with scales that glisten Come leaping forth at her call.

So the little Sea Princess Is busy and happy all day, Just as the human children Are busy and happy at play.

And when the darkness gathers Over the lonely deep, On a bed of velvet sea-weed The Princess is rocked to sleep.

LONG AGO

When the fairies used to live here, Long ago, There was never any dark, Or any snow; But the great big sun kept shining All the night, And the roses just kept blooming, Oh, so bright!

Then the little children never Teased their mothers; And little sisters always Loved their brothers. And they played so very gently-- But, you know, That was when the fairies lived here, Long ago.

THISTLE-TASSEL[G]

BY FLORENCE HARRISON

Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Dancing in the sunlight; Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, With your silver wings, Will you come and live with me In my little nursery, Down beside a royal city, Where the river sings?

Little Lady, Little Lady, Stepping in the sunlight; Little Lady, Little Lady, Where the rivers run, What have you to give to me, In your pretty nursery, Fairer than a shady valley, Brighter than the sun?

Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Dancing in the twilight; Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, With your yellow hair, You shall have a couch of down, You shall have a golden crown, And a little gown of silver Sewn for you to wear.

Little Lady, Little Lady, Stooping in the twilight; Little Lady, Little Lady, All so bonnie brown, Roses are a softer bed, Golden flowers crown my head, Finer than a robe o' silver Is a fairy gown.

Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Dancing in the starlight; Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, With a bright penny You shall buy the sugar plums, And the honey when it comes, Very sweet, and golden-glowing As the honey bee.

Little Lady, Little Lady, Sighing in the starlight; Little Lady, Little Lady, In the heather curled, Fairy fruit is full and clear, And the honey bee is here: Never need have we of money In a fairy world.

Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Dancing in the moonlight; Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Queen of fairy ones, I will give you street and spire, Boat, and bridge, and beacon fire, And a sound of merry music Where the river runs.

Little Lady, Little Lady, Kneeling in the moonlight; Little Lady, Little Lady, In your yellow shoon: Where the boats and bridges be, Naught have you to give to me Fairer than a twilit valley, Brighter than the moon.

[G] From "Elfin Songs," by Florence Harrison; used by permission of the publishers, Blackie & Sons, Glasgow.

SONG OF THE FAIRY

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through brier, Over park, over pale, Through flood, through fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green; The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see: These be rubies, fairy favors-- In those freckles live their savors. I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

THE FAIRIES

BY WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together: Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!

Down along the rocky shore Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.

High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow, They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!

OH, WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS?

BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY

Oh, where do fairies hide their heads When snow lies on the hills, When frost has spoiled their mossy beds, And crystallized their rills?

Beneath the moon they cannot trip In circles o'er the plain, And draughts of dew they cannot sip Till green leaves come again.

Perhaps, in small blue diving-bells They plunge beneath the waves-- Inhabiting the wreathed shells That lie in coral caves. Perhaps in red Vesuvius Carousal they maintain; And cheer their little spirits thus Till green leaves come again.

Or, maybe, in soft garments rolled, In hollow trees they lie, And sing, when nestled from the cold, To while the season by. There, while they sleep in pleasant trance, 'Neath mossy counterpane, In dreams they weave some fairy dance, Till green leaves come again.

When they return there will be mirth And music in the air, And fairy rings upon the earth, And mischief everywhere. The maids, to keep the elves aloof, Will bar the doors in vain; No key-hole will be fairy-proof, When green leaves come again.

THE ELF OF THE WOODLANDS

RETOLD FROM RICHARD HENGIST HORNE BY WILLIAM BYRON FORBUSH

One morning when the summer sun was still sleeping an Elf came up from below, tickling an oak-tree's foot, skipping like a flea, and whispering mischievously to himself.

"With little legs straddling, He dances about-- Pretends to be waddling-- Then leaps with a flout. Now he stops-- Now he hops-- Now cautiously trips On tiptoe And sliptoe He scuttles and skips; Along the grass gliding, Half dancing, half sliding."

There was a pretty white cottage on the edge of the wood, and, with everybody quiet within, it also seemed asleep. Toward this cottage skipped the Elf.

He was a little fellow, scarce five inches tall. His body was as brown as the bark of a tree, all mixed with green streaks and tarnished gold. You could hardly see him as he went stooping along against the green leaves and the brown branches.

When he got to the sleeping cottage he climbed up the lattice, and poked his sharp little nose into every crevice. He pulled open a loose shutter, tapped once or twice on the windows, and when he found a broken pane--in he went!

In this cottage lived a girl named Toody. She was not very big, as you can believe when I tell you that all the shrubs in the garden were taller than she, and all the flowers nodded over her head. In this same house lived Toody's cousins, Kitty, and Crocus, and Twig, and Tiny--only Tiny was a little dog, not a little boy. And here, too, lived Grandmother Grey.

"In spectacles, tucker and flower'd-chintz gown, Who always half smiled when trying to frown."

Grandmother Grey took care of them all. At five o'clock that morning she woke up. "What noise do I hear below?" she cried. "It is daylight, but nobody is up I know."

So Grandmother Grey threw off her skullcap and bandage, and nightcap with all its ribbons, bows and strings, and called out loudly: "Come, children, jump up quickly! There's a rat in the dairy! Come down with me."

Then Toody, and Crocus, and Kitty, and Twig, in their nightgowns and nightcaps, ran scrambling and laughing down stairs, with Tiny barking and tumbling about between their legs. They crept through the parlor, where all the shutters were closed but one. Like cautious Indians they went silently on, Dame Grey and the children in single file, each holding on to the one before by the tail of her nightgown.

Into the dairy they went, and stared about. Then they huddled together in fear, for behind a milk-jug, under the spout, they saw a quaint little figure.

"It was golden, and greenish, and earthy brown, With a perking nose and a pointed chin; It had very bright eyes and a funny frown, With a russet-apple's network skin."

They all started to run in terror, but brave Tiny sprang up and began to chase the Elf round a milkpan.

Oh, what a race was there! They ran so fast that the two small bodies were as one. They looked like the dark band on the humming-top when you spin it. And just as Tiny was about to catch him, the Elf leaped into a pan, swam across three pails of milk, climbed the wall and hid on a shelf.

"We've lost him; we've lost him!" cried all the children. But, just in time, Grandmother Grey seized her jelly-bag, swung it across the shelf, and into it was swept our little elfin friend.

"Now, children," said she, "Go up and dress."

The children did not know what the old dame was going to do next. She led the way into the parlor. "Tiny," said she, "I depend on you to keep watch for us." So Tiny stood like a soldier, with both ears cocked and his nose down bent, and watched every motion that was going on in the bag, which stood up now like a tent on the floor.

'Twas but a minute before the children were down again, all dressed. The tea-kettle was singing, and the hot rolls were on the table, and everybody was ringing the bell all at once for more eggs. But Tiny stood guard over the jelly-bag tent.

"I think the Elf is hungry and thirsty," said Toody. So she slipped a saucer of milk under the edge of the tent, and then, laughing, she rolled in an egg. They all listened for ten minutes, and then they plainly heard the crackling of the shell.

"Away with the tea things!" said Dame Grey to Martha, the maid. "And bring me my white wicker bird-cage."

So the bird-cage was brought, and Grandmother Grey took up the jelly-bag carefully, clapped its mouth to the open cage-door, shook it, and--pop! in went the Elf, and the cage door was made fast! Did he moan? Did he complain? Not he. With one spring and ten kicks he climbed to the pole and seated himself there, with his hands on the pole.

Toody ran close to the cage, and so did Crocus and Twig; and Kitty, a little farther off, stood staring and smiling. But the Elf was not a bit frightened. He sat swinging his little legs, with his tongue in his left cheek and his left eye looking down with a half-winking, impertinent air.

"Now," cried Dame Grey, "tell us who you are, little Sir, and what you are. Do you know that you have spoilt all my cream, and broken my best china-cup? Speak up now! What have you to say for yourself?"

The Elf was very angry, but it would never do to show it. So he tried to look as gentle as a good child reading a book. He rubbed some of the yellow of the egg off his chin, and stuck it on his leg like a buttercup. He shrugged his shoulders up in a bunch, and then, with a sneeze as if he had caught cold in the forest, he began:

"Nine white witches sat in a circle close, With their backs against a greenwood tree, As around the dead-nettle's summer stem Its woolly white blossoms you see. Then from hedges and ditches, these old lady-witches, Took bird-weed and rag-weed and spear-grass for me, And they wove me a bower, 'gainst the snow-storm or shower, In a dry old hollow beech tree. _Twangle tee!_ _Ri-rigdum, dingle shade-laugh, tingle dee!_"

"Nonsense!" said Grandmother Grey. "You can't fool me with your nettles, and nonsense, and hedges, and ditches. What do I care about all that? You know as well as I do that you came here to _steal cake_ and _drink cream_. Besides, you have broken my best china-cup!"

The Elf gave a sigh, and looked up in the air; then took a glance at Martha's broom, and as he looked down he thought he saw Toody winking at him. So he just smiled and said: "I declare, by the tom-tit's folly, and the mole's pin-hole eye, and the woodpecker's thorny tongue, that I have told you the truth."

Noticing that Toody was still winking at him he kept on, and told the following story:

"One day when I was loafing about in the wood I heard a strange noise in the bushes. I peeped over the edge, and there was a robin bathing in the brook. It ruffled its feathers with a spattering sound, made itself into a fussy ball, and threw up a shower of water; but what I most noticed was its eye--its eye!--"

"Its eye--its eye?" broke in all the children. "What about its eye?"

The Elf glanced again at Toody, and he saw that this time she gave him a quiet nod, as much as to say, "I'll find you a chance." So the Elf gave a downward squint at the closed cage-door, just for a hint. Then he scratched his cheek, jumped down on the floor of the cage, and began to act out a "robin," just as if he were on the stage.

"Its eye--its eye? Well, just as soon as it caught a glimpse of me it bobbed--took wing--and was out of sight. Then back it came again, as if angry. It looked like an alderman lecturing the poor, but meaning really to--_unlock the cage!_ I mean--to try to fool me. See! How high it flies. Clear up to the tip-top of the tree. Look at its large bright eye! There! There! See how it bobs--makes a quick bow, just as I am doing--points down its tail and up its nose--and off it goes!"

And out and off went the Elf!

"Run, Tiny, run! Oh, Kitty! Twig! The little rascal is gone! Run, Toody, run! Ah, I caught you; you are the one who loosened the cage-door. Run, Tiny! Oh, Kitty, Twig, and Crocus, that robin redbreast story was only meant to fool us!" Thus cried Grandmother Grey, till she was breathless.

"Off they all ran trooping, And hallooing and whooping, Beneath the low boughs stooping, Right through the wood, For Grandmama Grey, Like an old duck, led the way, When a string of ducks trudge to a flood. Then came Kitty, side by side With Toody, who oft cried; 'Oh, Kitty dear, was ever such rare fun, fun, fun!' And Crocus close to Twig, Both scampered in a jig, For they knew the Elf his freedom-race had won, won, won! As for him, the roguish Elf, He took good care of himself; His mites of legs they twinkled as he fled, fled, fled. He was scarcely seen, indeed, He so glistened with his speed, And his hair streamed out like silver grass behind his head."

So Dame Grey and the children chased the Elf till they were hot and tired, and till the sun went down; and by and by they gave up, and all went home to let Martha wash their soiled hands and faces.

It was a warm and pleasant night, and before very long all the children were fast asleep.

"Within a very little nook, Toody always slept alone, Its strip of window stole a look Over the lawn and hayrick-cone.

Within the open lattice crept Some jasmine from the cottage wall, And to the breathing of her sleep, Softly swayed, with rise and fall.

But something else comes creeping in, As softly, from the starry night-- The Elf!--'tis he!--first peeping in, Now like a moth doth he alight.

He trips up to the little bed, And near it hangs a full-blown rose; Then in the middle of the flower Places a light that gleams and glows.

It is a glowworm from the lea, And lighting up the rose's heart, A fairy grot it seems to be, Where dream-thoughts live and ne'er depart.

And now the Elf once more is gone Into the woodlands wild, Leaving his blessing thus to shine Upon the sleeping child."

PRINCESS FINOLA AND THE DWARF[H]

BY EDMUND LEAMY

A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut in the midst of a bare, brown, lonely moor an old woman and a young girl. The old woman was withered, sour-tempered, and dumb. The young girl was as sweet and as fresh as an opening rosebud, and her voice was as musical as the whisper of a stream in the woods in the hot days of summer. The little hut, made of branches woven closely together, was shaped like a bee-hive. In the center of the hut a fire burned night and day from year's end to year's end, though it was never touched or tended by human hand. In the cold days and nights of winter it gave out light and heat that made the hut cozy and warm, but in the summer nights and days it gave out light only. With their heads to the wall of the hut and their feet toward the fire were two sleeping-couches--one of plain woodwork, in which slept the old woman; the other was Finola's. It was of bog-oak, polished as a looking-glass, and on it were carved flowers and birds of all kinds that gleamed and shone in the light of the fire. This couch was fit for a Princess, and a Princess Finola was, though she did not know it herself.

Outside the hut the bare, brown, lonely moor stretched for miles on every side, but toward the east it was bounded by a range of mountains that looked to Finola blue in the daytime, but which put on a hundred changing colors as the sun went down. Nowhere was a house to be seen, nor a tree, nor a flower, nor sign of any living thing. From morning till night, nor hum of bee, nor song of bird, nor voice of man, nor any sound fell on Finola's ear. When the storm was in the air the great waves thundered on the shore beyond the mountains, and the wind shouted in the glens; but when it sped across the moor it lost its voice, and passed as silently as the dead. At first the silence frightened Finola, but she got used to it after a time, and often broke it by talking to herself and singing.

The only other person beside the old woman Finola ever saw was a dumb Dwarf who, mounted on a broken-down horse, came once a month to the hut, bringing with him a sack of corn for the old woman and Finola. Although he couldn't speak to her, Finola was always glad to see the Dwarf and his old horse, and she used to give them cake made with her own white hands. As for the Dwarf he would have died for the little Princess, he was so much in love with her, and often and often his heart was heavy and sad as he thought of her pining away in the lonely moor.

It chanced that he came one day, and she did not, as usual, come out to greet him. He made signs to the old woman, but she took up a stick and struck him, and beat his horse and drove him away; but as he was leaving he caught a glimpse of Finola at the door of the hut, and saw that she was crying. This sight made him so very miserable that he could think of nothing else but her sad face, that he had always seen so bright; and he allowed the old horse to go on without minding where he was going. Suddenly he heard a voice saying: "It is time for you to come."

The Dwarf looked, and right before him, at the foot of a green hill, was a little man not half as big as himself, dressed in a green jacket with brass buttons, and a red cap and tassel.

"It is time for you to come," he said the second time; "but you are welcome, anyhow. Get off your horse and come in with me, that I may touch your lips with the wand of speech, that we may have a talk together."

The Dwarf got off his horse and followed the little man through a hole in the side of a green hill. The hole was so small that he had to go on his hands and knees to pass through it, and when he was able to stand he was only the same height as the little Fairyman. After walking three or four steps they were in a splendid room, as bright as day. Diamonds sparkled in the roof as stars sparkle in the sky when the night is without a cloud. The roof rested on golden pillars, and between the pillars were silver lamps, but their light was dimmed by that of the diamonds. In the middle of the room was a table, on which were two golden plates and two silver knives and forks, and a brass bell as big as a hazelnut, and beside the table were two little chairs.

"Take a chair," said the Fairy, "and I will ring for the wand of speech."

The Dwarf sat down, and the Fairyman rang the little brass bell, and in came a little weeny Dwarf no bigger than your hand.

"Bring me the wand of speech," said the Fairy, and the weeny Dwarf bowed three times and walked out backward, and in a minute he returned, carrying a little black wand with a red berry at the top of it, and, giving it to the Fairy, he bowed three times and walked out backward as he had done before.

The little man waved the rod three times over the Dwarf, and struck him once on the right shoulder and once on the left shoulder, and then touched his lips with the red berry, and said: "Speak!"

The Dwarf spoke, and he was so rejoiced at hearing the sound of his own voice that he danced about the room.

"Who are you at all, at all?" said he to the Fairy.

"Who is yourself?" said the Fairy. "But come, before we have any talk let us have something to eat, for I am sure you are hungry."

Then they sat down to table, and the Fairy rang the little brass bell twice, and the weeny Dwarf brought in two boiled snails in their shells, and when they had eaten the snails he brought in a dormouse, and when they had eaten the dormouse he brought in two wrens, and when they had eaten the wrens he brought in two nuts full of wine, and they became very merry, and the Fairyman sang "Cooleen Dhas," and the Dwarf sang "The Little Blackbird of the Glen."

"Did you ever hear the 'Foggy Dew'?" said the Fairy.

"No," said the Dwarf.

"Well, then, I'll give it to you; but we must have some more wine."

And the wine was brought, and he sang the "Foggy Dew," and the Dwarf said it was the sweetest song he had ever heard, and that the Fairyman's voice would coax the birds off the bushes!

"You asked me who I am?" said the Fairy.