Part 2
A wandering fire, Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night Condenses, and the cold environs round, Kindled through agitation to a flame, Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends, Hovering and blazing with delusive light, Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way To bogs, and mires, and oft through pond and pool,
_Book the Ninth._
The different hierarchies of fairy spirits who are supposed to be in relation with man may be grouped broadly into three general divisions:—1. Land Fairies. 2. Sea Fairies. 3. Elfin dwellers of the underworld. In the first class will be included such inhabitants of grove and forest as the lovely Korrigan of Brittany, the Moss Folk of Germany, and the Elves proper of English traditional poetry. It will include the fairies of field and meadow such as the Lutin of Normandy, the Little Monk of Neapolitan legends, the Good Neighbours of Scottish lore. It will comprise the domestic fairies who, under the name of Pixies, haunt our Cornish farms and homesteads, the Caledonian Brownie, the Germanic Kobold, and the Niss of Scandinavian legend. The Neckan and Merman are familiar instances of the nature-spirits included in the second division. The elves of the underworld—the trolls, dwarfs, wild-women, and still-folk of Germany, Scandinavia, and Switzerland—are unrepresented in English tradition and poetry, though in most of our early romances the Land of Faerie is supposed to be underground. Modern imagination has added many supernatural characters to those of ancient legend. Some of its most graceful conceptions—its flower fairies, and sprites of the twilight—are included in this volume.
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Besides the story of Orfeo and Heurodis, there are several ancient English metrical romances which are concerned with adventurous quests and travels into Fairyland. Their archaic form and considerable length naturally exclude them from a popular anthology, but this introduction may fitly close with an abstract of one which is singularly beautiful in conception and in high repute among discerning students of our early poetical literature.
The “Romaunt of the Knight Launfal,” by Thomas Chestre, is an amplified version of an antique Lay by Marie de France, a Norman poetess, who flourished in the thirteenth century. It is concerned with a “bacheler” named Launfal, who for generosity and _largesse_ was made steward at the court of King Arthur, and was chosen by Merlin to bring home the king’s bride, Gwennere. The mission was undertaken by the knight—
But syr Launfal lyked her noght.... For the lady bar bos of swych word, That sche hadde lemannys under her lord, So fele there was noon ende.
After the marriage of Arthur, Launfal took leave of the court and repaired with two knights to Karlyoun, where he tarried, making good cheer for a year’s space, till he came to the end of his resources. His boon companions then forsook him, and he fell into great poverty. In this strait he borrowed a saddle and bridle from the mayor’s daughter, and rode away westward.
The weather was hot; he dismounted in a fair forest, and sat in the shadow of a tree, covering his worn garments with his mantle. After a space, two “gentyll maydenes,” wearing kirtles of Indian sandel and green mantles bordered with gold, appeared before him.
Har faces wer whyt as snow on downe, Har rode was red, hern ey were browne, I sawe never non swyche; That oon bar of gold a basyn, That other a towayle whyt and fyn, Of selk that was good and ryche.
They came to him over the heath; he greeted them in all gentleness, while on the part of their lady, dame Tryamour, they returned his salutation, and invited him to follow them and speak with her. He courteously consented, and was conducted to an honourable pavilion, enriched with gold and crystal, as well as radiant carbuncles.
He fond yn the pavyloun The Kynges doughter of Olyroun, Dame Tryamour that hyghte, Her fadyr was Kyng of fayrye, Of occient fer and nyghe, A man of mochell myghte. In the pavyloun he fond a bed of prys Theled with purpur bys, That semylé was of syghte Therinne lay that lady gent, That after Syr Launfal hadde ysent, That lessome lemede bryght. For hete her clothes down sche dede, Almest to her gerdyl stede, Than lay sche uncovert, She was as whyt as lylye yn May, Or snow that sneweth yn wynterys day, He seyght never non so pert. The rede rose, whan sche ys newe, Ayens her rode nes naught of hewe, I dare well say yn fert. Her here schon as gold wyre, May no man rede her attyre, Ne naught well thenke yn hert.
This fay lady informed Launfal that there was no man in all “Christenté,” be he king or emperor, whom she loved as much as himself, at which words the knight was inflamed with reciprocal passion,
And kiste that swete flour; And sat adoun her bysyde, And seyde, Swetyng, what so betyde, I am to thyn honour.
She tells him that she is acquainted with his present distress, and that if he will truly forsake all women for love of her, she will enrich him inexhaustibly—
I wyll the yeve an alner, Imad of sylk and of gold cler, Wyth fayre ymages thre; As oft thou puttest the hond therinne, A mark of gold thou schalt wynne, In wat place that thou be.
She also promises him her steed Blaunchard and her squire Gyfre, with the additional advantage of her protection by magic art from dangers of war or tournament.
Sir Launfal entered into the agreement; they supped and slept together, and in the morning she dismissed him, warning him not to boast of his conquest if he wished to retain her love. He returned to Karlyoun, and was presently waited on by ten men, riding upon sumpters, and bearing gold, silver, rich garments, and bright armour. Once more he kept great cheer, but this time it was the poor and unfortunate whom he entertained. His reputation became so great that a tournament was cried in the town to do him honour. The knight closed it with a rich and royal feast which lasted a fortnight. During all this time he was visited nightly by his elfin mistress, but was destined now to be divided from her by the challenge of a chevalier in Lombardy, who sent messengers praying him to cross the sea and take jousts with him for the honour of his lady. The challenge was accepted by Launfal, who repaired with his steed and his squire to Lombardy, and achieved so brilliant a victory that he was envied by “all the lords of Atalye,” who vowed revenge for the defeat of their comrade, but were themselves slain in great numbers, and the hero returned into Britain. The reputation of Launfal reached the ears of King Arthur, who sent for him. A feast of forty days took place, during which the queen took occasion to avow the passion that had long consumed her for the handsome cavalier who had conducted her to her bridal home; but the knight Launfal, faithful to his fairy mistress, repelled her advances, and the unexpected indignity, changing love into hatred, impelled the false wife to denounce Launfal to her husband as her attempted seducer. The infuriated monarch vowed his immediate death, and the unfounded accusation prompted the knight to boast for the first time of that mysterious mistress whose supernatural beauties he declared did utterly transcend and eclipse those of the royal lady. On the intervention of certain illustrious knights—Gawain and Percivall—a respite of a twelvemonth and a fortnight was granted Launfal in order that he might produce his mistress, when, if his assertions were seen to be obviously true with regard to her wonderful charms, he should receive his pardon. But the unfortunate lover had broken his compact, he had boasted of his elfin lady, his horse and squire had vanished, the time mentioned drew rapidly to its close; in truth, the day came when Launfal must pay with his life the forfeit of his supposed crime, and Triamour apparently had left him to his fate.
The knights of the round table, who knew well the character of their queen, began plotting his rescue, and arranging for his flight across the sea, when “ten maydens bright of ble” came to the royal castle, the _avant coureures_ of a lady against whose arrival King Arthur courteously appointed his fairest chamber, and then summoned his barons
For to yeve judgment Upon that traytour full of pryde.
Other ten maidens at this juncture rode up and, speaking apart with the monarch, announced the approach of the Lady Triamour. The queen, coming forward, urged her spouse to avenge her on Launfal; but
As the quene spak to the kyng, The baronns seygh come rydynge A damesele alone, Upon a whyt comely palfrey, They saw never non so gay Upon the grounde gone. As rose on rip her rode was red, The her schon upon her hed, As gold wyre that schyneth bryght; Sche hadde a cronne upon her molde, Of ryche stones and of golde, That lossom lemede lyght. The lady was clad yn purpere palle, With gentyll body and myddyll small, That semely was of syght, Her mantyll was furryth with whyt ermyn, Ireversyd jolyf and fyn, No rychere be ne myght. And when Launfal sawe that lady, To alle the folk he gon crye an hy, Both to yonge and olde, Her, he seyd, comyth my lemman swete, Sche myghte me of my balys bete, Yf that lady wold.
The lady rode into the hall, into the presence of the King, his queen, and her damsels. The maidens who had heralded her approach crowded round, assisting her to dismount. Arthur greeted her, and she returned his salutation with sweet words. She informed the monarch of her mission,
To shere Launfal the knyght, That he never, yn no folye, Besofte the quene of no drurye, By dayes ne by nyght.... He bad naght her, but sche bad hym, Here lemman for to be.
The king having confessed that she was fairer and brighter than his wife—
Wyth that dame Tryamour to the quene geth, And blew on her swych a breth, That never eft myght sche se. The lady lep on hyr palfrey And bade hem alle have good day, Sche nolde no longere abyde; Wyth that came Gyfre al so prest, Wyth Launfal’s stede out of the forest, And stod Launfal besyde. The knyght to horse began to sprynge, Anoon without any lettynge, Wyth hys lemman away to ryde; The lady took her maydenys achon, And went the way that sche hadde er gon, Wyth solas and wyth pryde.
She carried her lover to a “jolyf ile,” called Olyroun; and on a certain day in every year you may still see the horse of the knight Launfal, and hear his loud neighing, as he goes wearily seeking his master, who, in all truth, was taken into fairy-land, and
Seththe saw hym yn thys loud no man, Ne no more of hym tells y ne can, For sothe, wythout lye,
as Thomas Chestre avers in his valedictory lines.
This little volume is devoted to a sweet and delightful section of poetic fancy, and not to the lofty flights of inspired imagination. It is full of felicity and beauty, and though not a tabernacle enshrining the rarest gems, it is a storehouse of dainty devices. If individual poems are occasionally found to fall below the general level of their writers, as perhaps in the case of Herrick, an explanation will possibly be seen in the unserious spirit with which the subject has been too frequently approached by our English poets, who have generally represented a class superior to the superstitions and sometimes to the faiths of the time. In such cases as that of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, for whom the doctrine of spiritual essences was still true, for whom those elemental intelligences
Which have their haunts in dale and piny mountain, Or forests, by slow stream or tingling brook,
still survived in the “faith of reason,” we find the concentrated strength of a vivid and mature imagination devoted to the production of a true fairy poem which is “not for an age but for all time.”
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A word, in conclusion, must be said on the arrangement of this anthology. The absence of a sufficiently harmonious development of fairy fancy as it is found in our English poetry does not warrant a simple chronological plan; I have adopted another, which I trust will contribute towards the attractiveness and literary value of the book. It opens with a foreview, or bird’s-eye prospect of the fairy country, as it might be beheld by the traveller from without. A prelude follows, which implores the return of its inhabitants into the world of humanity. Then, in the first division there is a particular account of the court, country, and people of Fairyland, of its temples, palaces, and festivals. The second division contains the Chronicles of Fairyland, a series of pleasing poetic romances, where the scene is laid in the Fairy country and the actors are exclusively elfin folk. A third division is devoted to those wonderful and mystical travels or spiritual pilgrimages into Fairyland, which have been occasionally undertaken by favoured and adventurous mortals. The section entitled Men and Fairies comprises those poems and romances in which the different orders of elfin spirits enter into communication with man and mingle in the life of earth, dispensing supernatural benevolence, or working unheard-of woe, according to their various dispositions. Some poems which cannot be included in the foregoing divisions, but deserve by their merits a place in this elfin anthology, are comprised in a miscellaneous section. The work closes with an epilogue, which shows why the fairies have departed, and what are the conditions of their return.
My best thanks are due to Mr. William Allingham for his permission to insert several graceful poems; to Mr. Philip James Bailey for the use of his mystical “Fairy Tale;” to Dr. Charles Mackay for similar kindness in respect of his “Kelpie of Corrievreckan,” and to a number of recent writers who have generously contributed to the adornment of this collection. The omission of several poems by illustrious contemporary poets, whose copyrights are vigilantly reserved by their publishers, will be viewed by indulgent readers as a matter of necessity, however much it may be regretted.
ARTHUR EDWARD WAITE.
The Foreview.
FAIRYLAND.
Dim vales, and shadowy floods, And cloudy-looking woods; Whose forms we can’t discover For the tears that drip all over; Huge moons there wax and wane— Again, again, again— Every moment of the night, For ever changing places; And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces. About twelve by the moon-dial, One more filmy than the rest (A kind which, upon trial, They have found to be the best) Comes down—still down—and down With its centre on the crown Of a mountain’s eminence; While its wide circumference In easy drapery falls Over hamlets, over halls, Wherever they may be— O’er the strange woods, o’er the sea, Over spirits on the wing, Over every drowsy thing— And buries them up quite In a labyrinth of light; And then, how deep!—O, deep, Is the passion of their sleep! In the morning they arise, And their moony covering Is soaring in the skies, With the tempests as they toss, Like—almost anything, Or a yellow albatross. They use that moon no more For the same end as before— Videlicet a tent— Which I think extravagant: Its atomies, however, Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies Of earth, who seek the skies, And so come down again, (Never contented things!) Have brought a specimen Upon their quivering wings.
EDGAR ALLAN POE.
Prelude.
FAIRIES’ RECALL.
While the blue is richest In the starry sky, While the softest shadows On the greensward lie, While the moonlight slumbers In the lily’s urn, Bright elves of the wild-wood! Oh! return, return!
Round the forest fountain, On the river shore, Let your silvery laughter Echo yet once more; While the joyous bounding Of your dewy feet Rings to that old chorus: “The daisy is so sweet!”
Oberon, Titania, Did your starlight mirth With the song of Avon Quit this work-day earth? Yet while green leaves glisten, And while bright stars burn, By that magic memory, Oh, return, return!
FELICIA HEMANS.
The Fairy Family.
THE ROLLS OF ELFIN EMPEROURS.
Prometheus did create A man of many parts from beasts deryv’d, And then stole fire from heven to animate His worke, for which he was by Jove depryv’d Of life himselfe, and hart-strings of an ægle ryv’d.
That man so made, he called Elfe, to weet Quick, the first author of all Elfyn kynd; Who, wand’rin through the world with wearie feet, Did in the Gardins of Adonis find A goodly Creature, whom he deemd in mynd To be no earthly wight, but either spright Or angell, th’ author of all woman kynd; Therefore a Fay he her according hight, Of whom all Fayres spring, and fetch their lignage right.
Of these a mighty people shortly grew, And puissant kinges, which all the world war-rayd, And to themselves all nations did subdew. The first and eldest, which that scepter swayd, Was Elfin; him all India obayd, And all that now America men call: Next him was noble Elfinan, who laid Cleopolis’ foundation first of all, But Elfiline enclosed it with a golden wall.
His sonne was Elfinelle, who overcame The wicked Gobbelines in bloody field; But Elfant was of most renowned fame, Who all of crystal did Panthea build: Then Elfar, who two brethren gyaunts kild, The one of which had two heads, th’ other three; Then Elfinor, who was in magick skild; He built by art upon the glassy see A bridge of bras, whose sound heven’s thunder seemed to be.
He left three sonnes, the which in order raynd, And all their offspring in their dew descents; Even seven hundred princes, which maintaynd With mightie deeds their sondry governments, That were too long their infinite contents Here to record, ne much materiall; Yet should they be most famous moniments, And have ensample, both of martiall And civil rule to kings and states imperiall.
After all these Elficleos did rayne, The wise Elficleos! in great maiestie, Who mightily that scepter did sustayne, And with rich spoyles and famous victorie Did high advaunce the Crown of Faëry. He left two sonnes, of which fayre Elferon, The eldest brother, did untimely dy, Whose empty place the mighty Oberon Doubly supplide in spousall and dominion.
Great was his power and glory over all, Which him before that sacred seate did fill, That yet remains his wide memoriall. He dying, left the fairest Tanaquill Him to succeede therein by his last will: Fairer and nobler liveth none this houre, Ne like in grace, ne like in learned skill; Therefore they Glorian call that glorious floure: Long mayst thou, Glorian! live in glory and great power.
EDMUND SPENSER.
THE FAERY KING.
When the monthly horned queene Grew jealous that the starrs had seene Her rising from Endymion’s arms, In rage she threw her misty charmes Into the bosome of the night, To dimme theire curious pryeing sight; Then did the dwarfish Faery elves, Having first attyr’d themselves, Prepare to dresse their Oberon King In light robes fitt for revelling: With a cobweb shirt more thinne, Than ever spider since could spin, Bleacht to the whiteness of the snow, By the stormie windes that blow In the vast and frozen ayre No shirt half so fine, so fayre. A rich wastcoat they did bring, Made of the trout-flies gilded wing: At which his elveship gan to fret, Swearing it would make him sweat Even with its weight: he needs would weare A wastcoat wrought of downy haire, New shaven from an eunuck’s chin, That pleas’d him well, ’twas wondrous thin; The outside of his doublet was Made of the foure-leav’d, true lov’d, grasse Chang’d into so fine a glosse, With the oyle of crispie mosse, It made a rainbow in the night, Which gave a lustre passing light: On every seame there was a lace Drawne by the unctious snail’s slow pace To which the fin’st, pur’st silver thread Compar’d, did looke like dull pale lead. Each button was a sparkling eye Tane from the speckled adder’s frye; And for coollness next the skin, ’Twas wᵗʰ white poppey linde wᵗʰin. His breeches of the fleece was wrought, Which from Cholchos Jason brought; Spun into so fine a yarne, “No mortal wight might it discerne,” Weaved by Arachne on her loome, Just before she had her doome. A rich mantle he did weare, Made of tinsell gosameare; Beflowered over with a few Diamond stars of morning dew; Dyed crimson in a mayden’s blush; Lin’d with humble-bee’s soft plush. His cap was all of ladies’ love, So wondrous light that it would move, If any humming gnat or flie Buzz’d the air in passing by. About his necke a wreath of pearle Dropt from the eyes of some poore girle, Pinched, because she had forgot To leave clean water in the pot. And for’s feather he did weare, Old Nisus’ fatall purple haire, The sword ygirded to his thigh Was smallest blade of finest rye; A payre of buskins they did bringe Of yᵉ cowladye’s corrall winge, Powdred o’er with spots of jett, And lin’d wᵗʰ purple violett. His belt was made of myrtle leaues, Pleyted in small curious threavs, Besett wᵗʰ amber cowslip’s studs, And fringed about with daysey buds, In wᶜʰ his bugle home was hunge, Made of the babling Ecchoe’s tongue, Wᶜʰ Sett vnto his moone-burnt lip He winds, and then his Faeryes skipp; At that the lazy drone ’gan sound, And each did trip a fayrey round.
SIR SIMEON STEWARD.
QUEEN MAB.
This is Mab, the mistress Fairy, That doth nightly rob the dairy, And can help or hurt the cherning, As she please without discerning.
She that pinches country wenches, If they rub not clean their benches, And with sharper nails remembers When they rake not up their embers: But if so they chance to feast her, In a shoe she drops a tester.
This is she that empties cradles, Takes out children, puts in ladles: Trains forth midwives in their slumber, With a sieve the holes to number; And then leads them from her burrows, Home through ponds and water-furrows.
She can start our Franklin’s daughters, In their sleep, with shrieks and laughters; And on sweet St. Anna’s night, Feed them with a promised sight, Some of husbands, some of lovers, Which an empty dream discovers.
BEN JONSON.
THE FAIRY QUEEN.
Come, follow, follow me, You, fairy elves that be; Which circle on the greene, Come follow Mab, your queene. Hand in hand let’s dance around, For this place is fairy ground.
When mortals are at rest And snoring in their nest, Unheard and unespy’d, Through key-holes we do glide; Over tables, stools, and shelves, We trip it with our fairy elves.
And, if the house be foul With platter, dish, or bowl, Upstairs we nimbly creep, And find the sluts asleep; Then we pinch their arms and thighs; None escapes, nor none espies.
But if the house be swept, And from uncleanness kept, We praise the household maid, And duely she is paid: For we use before we goe To drop a tester in her shoe.
Upon a mushroomes head Our table-cloth we spread; A grain of rye, or wheat, Is manchet, which we eat; Pearly drops of dew we drink In acorn cups fill’d to the brink.
The brains of nightingales, With unctuous fat of snailes, Between two cockles stew’d, Is meat that’s easily chew’d; Tails of wormes and marrow of mice, Do make a dish that’s wonderous nice.