Part 12

All, alas! and well-away! “Oh, sister Ellen, sister sweet, Come with me to the hill I pray, And I will prove that blessed freet!” They rose with soft and silent feet, They left their mother where she lay, Their mother and her care discreet, (All, alas! and well-away!) And soon they reached the Fairy Well, The mountain’s eye, clear, cold, and grey, Wide open in the dreary fell: How long they stood ’twere vain to tell, At last upon the point of day, Bawn Una bares her bosom’s swell, (All, alas! and well-away!) Thrice o’er her shrinking breasts she laves The gliding glance that will not stay Of subtly-streaming fairy waves:— And now the charm three brackens craves, She plucks them in their fringed array:— Now round the well her fate she braves, (All, alas! and well-away!)

IV.

Save us all from Fairy thrall! Ellen sees her face the rim Twice and thrice, and that is all— Fount and hill and maiden swim, All together melting dim! “Una! Una!” thou may’st call, Sister sad! but lith or limb (Save us all from Fairy thrall!) Never again of Una bawn Where now she walks in dreamy hall Shall eye of mortal look upon! Oh! can it be the guard was gone, That better guard than shield or wall? Who knows on earth save Turlagh Daune? (Save us all from Fairy thrall!) Behold the banks are green and bare, No pit is here wherein to fall: Aye—at the fount you well may stare, But nought save pebbles smooth is there, And small streams twirling one and all. Hie thee home, and be thy pray’r, Save us all from Fairy thrall!

SAMUEL FERGUSON, LL.D., M.R.I.A.

THE KELPIE OF CORRIEVRECKAN.

I.

He mounted his steed of the water clear, And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere; He held his bridle of strings of pearl, Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl.

II.

He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth, Soft and dainty as velvet cloth, And donn’d his mantle of sand so white, And grasp’d his sword of the coral bright.

III.

And away he gallop’d, a horseman free, Spurring his steed through the stormy sea, Clearing the billows with bound and leap— Away, away, o’er the foaming deep!

IV.

By Scarba’s rock, by Lunga’s shore, By Garveloch isles where the breakers roar, With his horse’s hoofs he dash’d the spray, And on to Loch Buy, away, away!

V.

On to Loch Buy all day he rode, And reach’d the shore as sunset glow’d, And stopp’d to hear the sounds of joy That rose from the hills and glens of Moy.

VI.

The morrow was May, and on the green They’d lit the fire of Beltan E’en, And danced around, and piled it high With peat and heather and pine-tops dry.

VII.

A piper play’d a lightsome reel, And timed the dance with toe and heel; While wives look’d on, as lad and lass Trod it merrily o’er the grass.

VIII.

And Jessie (fickle and fair was she) Sat with Evan beneath a tree, And smiled with mingled love and pride, And half agreed to be his bride.

IX.

The Kelpie gallop’d o’er the green— He seemed a knight of noble mien, And old and young stood up to see, And wonder’d who the knight could be.

X.

His flowing locks were auburn bright, His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flash’d light; And as he sprang from his good gray steed, He look’d a gallant youth indeed.

XI.

And Jessie’s fickle heart beat high, As she caught the stranger’s glancing eye: And when he smiled, “Ah well,” thought she, “I wish this knight came courting me!”

XII.

He took two steps towards her seat— “Wilt thou be mine, O maiden sweet?” He took her lily-white hand, and sigh’d, “Maiden, maiden, be my bride!”

XIII.

And Jessie blush’d, and whisper’d soft— “Meet me to-night when the moon’s aloft; I’ve dream’d, fair knight, long time of thee— I thought thou earnest courting me.”

XIV.

When the moon her yellow horn display’d, Alone to the trysting went the maid; When all the stars were shining bright, Alone to the trysting went the knight.

XV.

“I have loved thee long, I have loved thee well, Maiden, oh more than words can tell! Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine; Maiden, maiden, be thou mine!”

XVI.

“Fair sir, thy suit I’ll ne’er deny— Though poor my lot, my hopes are high; I scorn a lover of low degree— None but a knight shall marry me.”

XVII.

He took her by the hand so white, And gave her a ring of the gold so bright; “Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine— Maiden, maiden, now thou’rt mine!”

XVIII.

He lifted her on his steed of gray, And they rode till morning away, away— Over the mountain and over the moor, And over the rocks, to the dark sea-shore.

XIX.

“We have ridden east, we have ridden west— I’m weary, fair knight, and I fain would rest, Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea? Hast thou a good ship waiting for me?”

XX.

“I have no dwelling beyond the sea, I have no good ship waiting for thee; Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam, And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home.”

XXI.

The gray steed plunged in the billows clear, And the maiden’s shrieks were sad to hear. “Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine— Maiden, maiden, now thou’rt mine!”

XXII.

Loud the cold sea-blast did blow, As they sank ’mid the angry waves below— Down to the rocks where the serpents creep, Twice five hundred fathoms deep.

XXIII.

At morn a fisherman, sailing by, Saw her pale corse floating high; He knew the maid by her yellow hair And her lily skin so soft and fair.

XXIV.

Under a rock on Scarba’s shore, Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers roar, They dug her a grave by the water clear, Among the sea-weed salt and sere.

XXV.

And every year at Beltan E’en, The Kelpie gallops across the green, On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind, With Jessie’s mournful ghost behind.

XXVI.

I warn you, maids, whoever you be, Beware of pride and vanity; And ere on change of love you reckon, Beware the Kelpie of Corrievreckan.

CHARLES MACKAY.

THE ELF OF THE WOODLANDS. A CHILD’S STORY.

In his bed the summer sun is sleeping, And the air is murky and cool; The vapours o’er the grass are creeping, Or hanging above the pool; But a timid gleam, Like a half-awake dream, Comes peering and peeping soon; Till dew-drops trickle gay In the spider’s web to play, And swing in his spangled festoon. A soft beam tips the trunks and leaves Of this green silent wood, And presently a net-work weaves, And presently a hood; A net-work and a hood of gold, Spread in many a lovely fold, And many a gleaming band, Silently as minutes, told Into a Lover’s hand.

Oh, it is a silent wood In this early summer morning! Even the birds are not half awake, But whisper their chirrups in the brake, Like a prelude of sweet warning. It is as if the placid hours Hung their heads like folded flowers, Or like sweet flowers in bud, Still and happy, smiling and good, As children in a morning dream, Who move not—yet awake they seem, Their close lids gilded by the beam.

There is a pretty cottage white, Which also seems asleep, Dreaming in the early light— Its very roof and windows sleep! Each gentle shade that fades away, Before the rays that following creep, Is nothing more than dreaming play— The cottage surely _is_ asleep!

What buzzing tickles yon oak-tree’s foot, Bustling and busy, with nought to be seen! There’s something fidgeting at the root, With a foo-fooing sound like a school-boy’s flute, And a rattling like pods of dry bean! See! see! there’s a thing scarce five inches high, With a comical motion and funny bright eye, And a look both roguish and bold— His limbs are all antics—he skips like a flea— His body is brown as the bark of a tree, Mix’d with green streaks and tarnish’d gold!

With little legs straddling, He dances about— Pretends to be waddling— Then leaps with a flout At something he sees in the bright quiet air, And in front of the cottage he makes antics rare! He dances, he prances, Gives hiccups and kick-ups, But all without noise is his merriment made; He laughs at the little cot! Threatens the chimney-pot! But soft as a moth, or as light plays with shade.

Now he stops— Now he hops— Now cautiously trips! On tip-toe, And slip-toe He skuttles and skips; Along the grass gliding, Half-dancing—half-sliding— Oft stooping—half hiding— Then bolt upright walks, And whispering talks To himself, Pretty elf; And quaint sounds he utters, Till close to the shutters Of the cot that’s still sleeping, He climbs up close, peeping, And pokes in each crevice his sharp little nose; Till one shutter creaks, And opening squeaks, And the elfin springs down, and dances and crows! Till softly again, He climbs to the lattice, Taps once, twice, and thrice! Puffs and blows— And through the crack’d pane In he goes!

Within this cottage lived a child— “Toody” her name—she was not very big You might judge by the plants and shrubs that grew wild, And o’er her head nodded or lifted a sprig. Within the same cot there also resided Her cousins—in love they were never divided— Kitty and Crocus, Tiny and Twig. But accurate words in good time to employ, We say “Tiny’s” a small dog, and not a small boy; And likewise explain that Grandmama Grey, In spectacles, tucker, and flower’d chintz gown, Took care of them all—often grave, seldom gay, Yet she always half smiled when trying to frown.

Five o’clock in the morning! “What noise do I hear below?” Cried Grandmama Grey. “Although it’s broad day, There’s no one up, I know.” Then her head’s complete adorning— Her turret cover’d with snow, Skull-cap and bandage, and double-frill’d night-cap, With puff-crown and ribbon, bows, broad-strings, and all, Not stopping to think, and not caring what might hap, She cast off, and threw at the opposite wall! Crying loudly, “Come, children! jump up with me— There’s a rat in the dairy! run quickly and see! Down with me, each one, as blithe as a grig— Toody and Kitty, and Crocus and Twig!” At once down the stairs they ran scrambling and fumbling, In night-gowns and night-caps—all laughing and jumbling, With Tiny between their legs, barking and tumbling.

Down at last they are safely landed, Dusky the parlour—the shutters closed, Though one swings a-jar (which the Elfin’s hand did), By green blinds the light is still opposed. So one by one, some rosy, some pale— As Indians cautiously pass through a mead, Holding each other by night-gown tail, Dame Grey and the children in silence proceed.

They reach the dairy—pause at the door; They look at each other, then clap their hands, And in they bounce, as a wave on the shore Scatters its foam on the lonely sands, On all sides they spread, and stare round about, But soon they huddle together in fear, For behind a milk-jug, under the spout, They see a small figure that’s wondrous queer!

It is golden, and greenish, and earthy brown, With a perking nose and a pointed chin, It has very bright eyes and a funny frown, With a russetin, apple’s network skin. They see him! they see him! He knows it, too well!— They flee him! they flee him!— In terror pell-mell! But Tiny springs up—and around a milk-pan Gives chase!—now they scour round as fast as they can!—

They whirl round so swift their two bodies seem one, And like a dark band on a humming-top spun. Dame Grey and the children ran back from their nook,— The chase takes away their breath as they look! Till at length with a noise like a bark, laugh, and scream, The elf leapt in!—and swam across three pans of cream! On the opposite side, He had quickly espied In the wall a small shelf, And there landed himself. “We’ve lost him! we’ve lost him!” The children all cried! But Grandmama Grey, I am happy to say, Being in her own dairy, Was wise as a fairy, And quick with a jelly-bag, At the shelf’s end, Into its belly-swag Swept our small friend!

Now you must know that good Dame Grey Had prudence at her fingers’ ends, And to the parlour leads the way, But no one knows what she intends.

Said she, “Now, all go up and dress, I’ll leave the bag upon the floor Mouth downwards; Tiny’s watchfulness Shall guard the window, chimney, door.” So Tiny came, and gravely stood With both ears cock’d, and nose down bent, While with as fix’d an attitude The pointed bag stood, like a tent!

Soon they were dress’d, and down they came; Breakfast was ready, the tea-kettle singing; Toast, hot rolls, water-cresses, and ham,— And the parlour-bell still for more egg-cups ringing! But mute as a tree, with a truant notching it! Stood the jelly-bag tent, with Tiny watching it.

Up rose little Toody, and said, “Don’t you think An Elf of the woods would like something to drink? Coffee or tea, by way of exhorter Not to turn sulky—perhaps, milk-and-water!” So under one edge of the jelly-bag tent Toody a saucer cautiously push’d, Then roll’d an egg under with merriment, Though silently all in the room sat hush’d. Ten minutes they listened—and then—shall I tell? They all plainly heard the crack of a shell.

“Away with the tea-things!” said Grandmama Grey; In a twinkling the tea-things were taken away! And Martha ran back to see what they meant To do with the small rogue under the tent. Cried Dame Grey, “Bring the bird-cage—look sharp—and run quicker!” It once was a blackbird’s, and made of white wicker.

The bird-cage was brought, and Grandmama Grey Took the jelly-bag up in her carefullest way, Clapt its mouth to the open door—shook it—at last In popp’d the Elf!—the cage-door was made fast! Now, what do you think the small prisoner did? Shed many tears, and jibber’d, and groan’d? Crouch’d at the bottom, d’ye fancy he did, And there his sad capture and fate bemoan’d? Nothing like this: with one spring and ten kicks He climbed to the perch, and himself he seated, Like a young thing practising calisthenics, With his hands on his pole, as if tired and heated.

Toddy ran close to the cage—so did Crocus; Twig cried, “Here’s mischief and hocus-pocus!” And Kitty stared smiling; her soft hazel eyes With wonder seem’d double their natural size. But the Elf met their looks without a wince, While his cheek was yellow and tart as quince, And his tongue at one side thrust a bulb on the skin As the sight of his left eye slid out and in. He sat on his perch, not the least in despair, But swinging his little legs—and, I declare, With a perking, half-winking, impertinent air.

Dame Grey with her spectacles now rose up, “Who are you, little sir? and what may you be? Do you know you have broken my best China cup, And spoilt all my cream?—now, answer to me! Tell us your story from first to last— Where you were born—where educated— Or here a captive for life you stay fast!— Begin, sir, at once—all must be stated.”

Rough the crown of the Elf did bristle, His brutus rose like a flowering thistle, Till his anger through his nose did whistle; But his feelings he master’d, and tried to look Demure as a good child over his book. Some yellow of egg he rubb’d off his chin, And stuck like a buttercup on his shin, Then shrugg’d his shoulders up in a hunch, With a wheezing squeal, and a noise like Punch, Though not half so loud. And now with a sneeze, Like a parrot’s, who suffers much from a cold, His account of his life among the trees He thus, in his way, began to unfold.

“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. _Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee!_ Rills and hills, Lawns and horns, Hedges, sedges, Rushes, thrushes, _Twangle dee!_

“With hooded heads bent ’neath the broad green shade, And hands laid flat on each knee, They sat, as around the death-nettle’s stem Its beldame-shaped bloom you may see. _Tack-a-rack, tangle tang, twangle tee!_ Woods and broods, Birds and herds, Eggs and curds, Osiers, rosiers,— _Tangle dee!_

“Now the witches so white they worked a charm For the life of my mother and me, And said in the woodlands we ever should dwell, From man’s knavish fingers free. _Tangle fangle, jangle hangle, wrangle see!_ Guns and runs, Hops and pops, Nettings, frettings, Pools and fools— _Dangle dee!_

“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. _Tangle dangle, suns and funs, twangle tee!_ Sticks and tricks, Light and sprites, Moons, festoons, Glooms, mushrooms, _Tangle dee!_

“My nest-home inside, is dark, warm, and soft As the sable-hair’d breast of a panting bee; And never in my life will I have an elfin wife, Till the prettiest comes to court me. _Twangle tangle, kisses blisses, tangle tee!_ Courts and sports, Eyes and sighs, Peeps and leaps, Hands and bands, Huts and nuts— _Twangle twee!_ Ivy wreaths, Flowering heaths, Jays and fays, Owls and fogs, Bats and frogs, Holes and moles, Music sound Under ground— _Twangle dee!_ Twining, shining, Dances, prances, Berries, cherries, Sorrels, laurels, Reed-pipe, seed ripe, Burrows, furrows, Habits, rabbits, Paths and crosses, Plots and mosses, Hares and stags, Dwarfs and hags, Shrubs all burry, Creatures furry, Wren and titmouse, Wasp and woodlouse— _Twangle tee!_ Races, graces, Woodland faces, Quaint grimaces, Silver gushes, Tall bull-rushes, Rambles, scrambles, Bogs and brambles, Buzzes, fuzzes, Trailing briers, Red wood-fires, Squirrels, jackdaws, Things with black claws, Legs, horns, eyes, Blythe butterflies, Rush-knot shoe-tie, Peeps of blue sky, Distant steeple, Bee and beetle, Fairy people, Small legs fleetest, Echoes sweetest, Joy completest— _Twangle tee!_ _Ri-rigdum, dingle shade-laugh, tingle dee!_”

Each look’d at the other—none knew what to say. “This won’t do for me!” said Grandmama Grey; “None of your hoaxing about white witches, Nettles and nonsense, and hedges and ditches; I never before heard so clever a blade At an answer in genuine rhodomontade. Why do you prattle of woodland and stream? What do I care how your small heels you kick up? You know you came here to steal _cake_ and drink _cream_; And, besides, you have broken a china tea-cup!”

Hereat the Elf gazed up on high, Through the cage-top bars with rueful gloom, And then he gave a little sigh, Fixing his eyes on Martha’s broom; And meditated thoughtfully. But presently he cast a glance At Toody, who was winking nigh; And now this Elf with nonchalance Look’d round and shouted pleasantly, “I vow, by the tom-tit’s foolish ways, By the mole’s front claws and his pin-hole eye, The woodpecker’s thorn-tongue and groundless dismays, I have told my biography faithfully.” Again at Toody a look he stole, Then coolly resumed his rigmarole.

“Loitering once in a wood,” he said, Cocking his nose with a side-bent head,— “A wood full of rabbit-runs, spaces, and turns, And crowded regiments of feathery ferns, With all sorts of groundlings pleasant to see, Such as cup-moss and wild anemone,— I sat me down in a silent nook, By a rill that pearl’d from a grassy dell, And being in want of an excellent book, I took up a pebble, which did as well. I pondered much on its class and merit; Its natural secrets my heart did ferret,— I consider’d it in a learned spirit; And while I was thus at study, I heard near at hand a fussing and spirting, And a ruffling sound of dipping and flirting, ’Neath a morning sky all ruddy.

On tiptoe I trip—o’er the bushes I look— And close at the red-gravell’d edge of the brook, There stood a robin bathing! He ruffled his feathers with a spattering sound, And made himself look like a fussy round, Or some fairy’s curious plaything, With a spangly shower all flying and splashing, In a circle of water-drops showering and flashing! But presently— His eye—his eye!——”

“His eye—his eye!” all the children cried— “What of his eye?” The Elf, aside, Once more at Toody stole a glance, And Toody a quiet nod gave askance, As much as to say, “I’ll find you a chance.” And then the Elf gave a downward squint At the close cage-door, by way of a hint; And, after scratching his apricot cheek, Of the robin again he proceeded to speak,— Jumping down to the floor of the cage, And acting a “robin” as if on the stage.

“His eye! his eye! The clear round mirror of jet and light, Caught a glimpse of me. He bobbed—took wing—and was out of sight. Well, good folks—well! I have more to tell! Then I stood up in the rabbit-path, Winding along the low banks of the rill, Where I saw the robin taking his bath, And I fancy I see him still!