Chapter 2

Past Mountain, River, Forest, River, Mountain- That Thief's lean shanks sped on, Till Evening found him knocking at a Dark House, His breath now well-nigh gone.

There came a little maid and asked his Business; A Cobbler dwelt within; And though she much misliked the Bag he carried, She led the Bad Man in.

He bargained with the Cobbler for a lodging And soft laid down his Sack- In the Dead of Night, with none to spy or listen- From off his weary back.

And he taught the little Chicks to call him Father, And he sold his stolen Pelf, And bought a Palace, Horses, Slaves, and Peacocks To ease his wicked self.

And though the Children never really loved him, He was rich past all belief; While Robin and his Dame o'er Delf and Pewter Spent all their Days in Grief.

PLACES AND PEOPLE

A WIDOW'S WEEDS

A poor old Widow in her weeds Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds; Not too shallow, and not too deep, And down came April -- drip -- drip -- drip. Up shone May, like gold, and soon Green as an arbour grew leafy June. And now all summer she sits and sews Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows, Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet, Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit; Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells; Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells; Like Oberon's meadows her garden is Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees. Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs, And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes; And all she has is all she needs -- A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

'SOOEEP!'

Black as a chimney is his face, And ivory white his teeth, And in his brass-bound cart he rides, The chestnut blooms beneath.

'Sooeep, Sooeep!' he cries, and brightly peers This way and that, to see With his two light-blue shining eyes What custom there may be.

And once inside the house, he'll squat, And drive his rods on high, Till twirls his sudden sooty brush Against the morning sky.

Then, 'mid his bulging bags of soot, With half the world asleep, His small cart wheels him off again, Still hoarsely bawling, 'Sooeep!'

MRS. MACQUEEN (OR THE LOLLIE-SHOP)

With glass like a bull's-eye, And shutters of green, Down on the cobbles Lives Mrs. MacQueen,

At six she rises; At nine you see Her candle shine out In the linden tree:

And at half-past nine Not a sound is nigh But the bright moon's creeping Across the sky;

Or a far dog baying; Or a twittering bird In its drowsy nest, In the darkness stirred;

Or like the roar Of a distant sea A long-drawn S-s-sh In the linden tree.

THE LITTLE GREEN ORCHARD

Some one is always sitting there, In the little green orchard; Even when the sun is high In noon's unclouded sky, And faintly droning goes The bee from rose to rose, Some one in shadow is sitting there In the little green orchard.

Yes, when the twilight's falling softly In the little green orchard; When the grey dew distills And every flower-cup fills; When the last blackbird says, 'What - what!' and goes her way - ssh! I have heard voices calling softly In the little green orchard

Not that I am afraid of being there, In the little green orchard; Why, when the moon's been bright, Shedding her lonesome light, And moths like ghosties come, And the horned snail leaves home: I've sat there, whispering and listening there, In the little green orchard.

Only it's strange to be feeling there, In the little green orchard; Whether you paint or draw, Dig, hammer, chop or saw; When you are most alone, All but the silence gone... Some one is watching and waiting there, In the little green orchard.

POOR 'MISS 7'

Lone and alone she lies, Poor Miss 7, Five steep flights from the earth, And one from heaven; Dark hair and dark brown eyes, - Not to be sad she tries, Still - still it's lonely lies Poor Miss 7.

One day-long watch hath she, Poor Miss 7, Not in some orchard sweet In April Devon - Just four blank walls to see, And dark come shadowily, No moon, no stars, ah me! Poor Miss 7.

And then to wake again, Poor Miss 7, To the cold night, to have Sour physic given; Out of some dream of pain, Then strive long hours in vain Deep dreamless sleep to gain: Poor Miss 7.

Yet memory softly sings Poor Miss 7 Songs full of love and peace And gladness even; Clear flowers and tiny wings, All tender, lovely things, Hope to her bosom brings - Happy Miss 7.

SAM

When Sam goes back in memory, It is to where the sea Breaks on the shingle, emerald-green, In white foam, endlessly; He says - with small brown eye on mine- 'I used to keep awake, And lean from my window in the moon, Watching those billows break. And half a million tiny hands, And eyes, like sparks of frost, Would dance and come tumbling into the moon, On every breaker tossed. And all across from star to star, I've seen the watery sea, With not a single ship in sight, Just ocean there, and me; And heard my father snore. And once, As sure as I'm alive, Out of those wallowing, moon-flecked waves I saw a mermaid dive; Head and shoulders above the wave, Plain as I now see you, Combing her hair, now back, now front, Her two eyes peeping through; Calling me, 'Sam!' -quietlike- 'Sam!'... But me .... I never went, Making believe I kind of thought 'Twas some one else she meant.... Wonderful lovely there she sat, Singing the night away, All in the solitudinous sea Of that there lonely bay.

P'raps,' and he'd smooth his hairless mouth, 'P'raps, if 'twere now, my son, Praps, if I heard a voice say, 'Sam!'... Morning would find we gone.'

ANDY BATTLE

Once and there was a young sailor, yeo ho! And he sailed out over the say For the isles where pink coral and palm branches blow, And the fire-flies turn night into day, Yeo ho! And the fire-flies turn night into day.

But the Dolphin went down in a tempest, yeo ho! And with three forsook sailors ashore, The portingales took him wh'ere sugar-canes grow, Their slave for to be evermore, Yeo ho! Their slave for to be evermore.

With his musket for mother and brother, yeo ho! He warred with the Cannibals drear, in forests where panthers pad soft to and fro, And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear, Yeo ho! And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear.

Now lean with long travail, all wasted with woe, With a monkey for messmate and friend, He sits 'neath the Cross in the cankering snow, And waites for his sorrowful end, Yeo ho! And waits for his sorrowful end.

THE OLD SOLDIER

There came an Old Soldier to my door, Asked a crust, and asked no more; The wars had thinned him very bare, Fighting and marching everywhere, With a Fol rol dol rol di do.

With nose stuck out, and cheek sunk in, A bristling beard upon his chin - Powder and bullets and wounds and drums Had come to that Soldier as suchlike comes - With a Fol rol dol rol di do.

'Twas sweet and fresh with buds of May, Flowers springing from every spray; And when he had supped the Old Soldier trolled The song of youth that never grows old, Called Fol rol dol rol di do.

Most of him rags, and all of him lean, And the belt round his belly drawn tightsome in He lifted his peaked old grizzled head, And these were the very same words he said- A Fol-rol-dol-rol-di-do.

THE PICTURE

Here is a sea-legged sailor, Come to this tottering Inn, Just when the bronze on its signboard is fading, And the black shades of evening begin.

With his head on thick paws sleeps a sheep-dog, There stoops the Shepherd, and see, All follow-my-leader the ducks waddle homeward, Under the sycamore tree.

Very brown is the face of the Sailor, His bundle is crimson, and green Are the thick leafy boughs that hang dense o'er the Tavern, And blue the far meadows between.

But the Crust, Ale and Cheese of the Sailor, His Mug and his platter of Delf, And the crescent to light home the Shepherd and Sheep-dog The painter has kept to himself.

THE LITTLE OLD CUPID

'Twas a very small garden; The paths were of stone, Scattered with leaves, With moss overgrown; And a little old Cupid Stood under a tree, With a small broken bow He stood aiming at me.

The dog-rose in briars Hung over the weeds, The air was aflock With the floating of seed, And a little old Cupid Stood under a tree, With a small broken bow He stood aiming at me.

The dovecote was tumbling, The fountain dry, A wind in the orchard Went whispering by; And a little old Cupid Stood under a tree, With a small broken bow He stood aiming at me.

KING DAVID

King David was a sorrowful man: No cause for his sorrow had he; And he called for the music of a hundred harps, To ease his melancholy.

They played till they all fell silent: Played-and play sweet did they; But the sorrow that haunted the heart of King David They could not charm away.

He rose; and in his garden Walked by the moon alone, A nightingale hidden in a cypress-tree Jargoned on and on.

King David lifted his sad eyes Into the dark-boughed tree- ''Tell me, thou little bird that singest, Who taught my grief to thee?'

But the bird in no wise heeded And the king in the cool of the moon Hearkened to the nightingale's sorrowfulness, Till all his own was gone.

THE OLD HOUSE

A very, very old house I know- And ever so many people go, Past the small lodge, forlorn and still, Under the heavy branches, till Comes the blank wall, and there's the door. Go in they do; come out no more. No voice says aught; no spark of light Across that threshold cheers the sight; Only the evening star on high Less lonely makes a lonely sky, As, one by one, the people go Into that very old house I know.

BEASTS

UNSTOOPING

Low on his fours the Lion Treads with the surly Bear', But Men straight upward from the dust Walk with their heads in air; The free sweet winds of heaven, The sunlight from on high Beat on their clear bright cheeks and brows As they go striding by; The doors of all their houses They arch so they may go, Uplifted o'er the four-foot beasts, Unstooping, to and fro.

ALL BUT BLIND

All but blind In his cambered hole Gropes for worms The four-clawed Mole.

All but blind In the evening sky The hooded Bat Twirls softly by.

All but blind In the burning day The Barn-Owl blunders On her way.

And blind as are These three to me, So blind to someone I must be.

NICHOLAS NYE

Thistle and darnell and dock grew there, And a bush, in the corner, of may, On the orchard wall I used to sprawl In the blazing heat of the day; Half asleep and half awake, While the birds went twittering by, And nobody there my lone to share But Nicholas Nye.

Nicholas Nye was lean and gray, Lame of leg and old, More than a score of donkey's years He had been since he was foaled; He munched the thistles, purple and spiked, Would sometimes stoop and sigh, And turn to his head, as if he said, "Poor Nicholas Nye!"

Alone with his shadow he'd drowse in the meadow, Lazily swinging his tail, At break of day he used to bray,-- Not much too hearty and hale; But a wonderful gumption was under his skin, And a clean calm light in his eye, And once in a while; he'd smile:-- Would Nicholas Nye.

Seem to be smiling at me, he would, From his bush in the corner, of may,-- Bony and ownerless, widowed and worn, Knobble-kneed, lonely and gray; And over the grass would seem to pass 'Neath the deep dark blue of the sky, Something much better than words between me And Nicholas Nye.

But dusk would come in the apple boughs, The green of the glow-worm shine, The birds in nest would crouch to rest, And home I'd trudge to mine; And there, in the moonlight, dark with dew, Asking not wherefore nor why, Would brood like a ghost, and as still as a post, Old Nicholas Nye.

THE PIGS AND THE CHARCOAL - BURNER

The old Pig said to the little pigs, 'In the forest is truffles and mast, Follow me then, all ye little pigs, Follow me fast!'

The Charcoal-burner sat in the shade With his chin on his thumb, And saw the big Pig and the little pigs, Chuffling come.

He watched 'neath a green and giant bough, And the pigs in the ground Made a wonderful grizzling and gruzzling And a greedy sound.

And when, full-fed they were gone, and Night Walked her starry ways, He stared with his cheeks in his hands At his sullen blaze.

FIVE EYES

In Hans' old Mill his three black cats Watch the bins for the thieving rats. Whisker and claw, they crouch in the night, Their five eyes smouldering green and bright: Squeaks from the flour sacks, squeaks from where The cold wind stirs on the empty stair, Squeaking and scampering, everywhere. Then down they pounce, now in, now out, At whisking tail, and sniffing snout; While lean old Hans he snores away Till peep of light at break of day; Then up he climbs to his creaking mill, Out come his cats all grey with meal -- Jekkel, and Jessup, and one-eyed Jill.

GRIM

Beside the blaze of forty fires Giant Grim doth sit, Roasting a thick-woolled mountain sheep Upon an iron spit. Above him wheels the winter sky, Beneath him, fathoms deep, Lies hidden in the valley mists A village fast asleep --- Save for one restive hungry dog That, snuffing towards the height, Smells Grim's broiled supper-meat, and spies His watch-fire twinkling bright.

TIT FOR TAT

Have you been catching of fish, Tom Noddy? Have you snared a weeping hare? Have you whistled, 'No Nunny,'and gunned a poor bunny, Or a blinded bird of the air?

Have you trod like a murderer through the green woods, Through the dewy deep dingles and glooms, While every small creature screamed shrill to Dame Nature, 'He comes --and he comes!'?

Wonder I very much do, Tom Noddy, If ever, when you are a-roam, An Ogre from space will stoop a lean face And lug you home:

Lug you home over his fence, Tom Noddy, Of thorn-sticks nine yards high, With your bent knees strung round his old iron gun And your head dan-dangling by:

And hang you up stiff on a hook, Tom Noddy, From a stone-cold pantry shelf, Whence your eyes will glare in an empty stare, Till you're cooked yourself!

SUMMER EVENING

The sandy cat by the Farmer's chair Mews at his knee for dainty fare; Old Rover in his moss-greened house Mumbles a bone, and barks at a mouse In the dewy fields the cattle lie Chewing the cud 'neath a fading sky Dobbin at manger pulls his hay: Gone is another summer's day.

EARTH FOLK

The cat she walks on padded claws, The wolf on the hills lays stealthy paws, Feathered birds in the rain-sweet sky At their ease in the air, flit low, flit high.

The oak's blind, tender roots pierce deep, His green crest towers, dimmed in sleep, Under the stars whose thrones are set Where never prince hath journeyed yet.

WITCHES AND FAIRIES

AT THE KEYHOLE

'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler, 'Some bones, my pretty Sue; I'm tired of my lonesome with heels and soles, Springsides and uppers too; A mouse in the wainscot is nibbling; A wind in the keyhole drones; And a sheet webbed over my candle, Susie, --- Grill me some bones!'

'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler, I sat at my tic-tac-to; And a footstep came to my door and stopped, And a hand groped to and fro; And I peered up over my boot and last; And my feet went cold as stones: I saw an eye at the keyhole, Susie! --- Grill me some bones!'

THE OLD STONE HOUSE

Nothing on the grey roof, nothing on the brown, Only a little greening where the rain drips down; Nobody at the window, nobody at the door, Only a little hollow which a foot once wore; But still I tread on tiptoe, still tiptoe on I go, Past nettles, porch, and weedy well, for oh, I know A friendless face is peering, and a still clear eye Peeps closely through the casement as my step goes by.

THE RUIN

When the last colours of the day Have from their burning ebbed away, About that ruin, cold and lone, The cricket shrills from stone to stone; And scattering o'er its darkened green, Bands of the fairies may be seen, Chattering like grasshoppers, their feet Dancing a thistledown dance round it: While the great gold of the mild moon Tinges their tiny acorn shoon.

THE RIDE-BY-NIGHTS

Up on their brooms the Witches stream, Crooked and black in the crescent's gleam; One foot high, and one foot low, Bearded, cloaked, and cowled, they go, 'Neath Charlie's Wain they twitter and tweet, And away they swarm 'neath the Dragon's feet, With a whoop and a flutter they swing and sway, And surge pell-mell down the Milky Way. Betwixt the legs of the glittering Chair They hover and squeak in the empty air. Then round they swoop past the glimmering Lion To where Sirius barks behind huge Orion; Up, then, and over to wheel amain, Under the silver, and home again.

PEAK AND PUKE

From his cradle in the glamourie They have stolen my wee brother, Housed a changeling in his swaddlings For to fret my own poor mother. Pules it in the candle light Wi' a cheek so lean and white, Chinkling up its eyne so wee Wailing shrill at her an' me. It we'll neither rock nor tend Till the Silent Silent send, Lapping in their awesome arms Him they stole with spells and charms, Till they take this changeling creature Back to its own fairy nature -- Cry! Cry! As long as may be, Ye shall ne'er be woman's baby!

THE CHANGELING

'Ahoy, and ahoy!' 'Twixt mocking and merry -- 'Ahoy and ahoy, there, Young man of the ferry!'

She stood on the steps In the watery gloom --- That Changeling --'Ahoy, there!' She called him to come. He came on the green wave, He came on the grey, Where stooped that sweet lady That still summer's day. He fell in a dream Of her beautiful face, As she sat on the thwart And smiled in her place.

No echo his oar woke, Float silent did they, Past low-grazing cattle In the sweet of the hay. And still in a dream At her beauty sat he, Drifting stern foremost Down -- down to the sea.

Come you, then: call, When the twilight apace Brings shadow to brood On the loveliest face; You shall hear o'er the water Ring faint in the grey --- 'Ahoy, and ahoy, there!' And tremble away; 'Ahoy, and ahoy!...' And tremble away.

THE MOCKING FAIRY

'Won't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?' Quoth the Fairy, niddling, nodding in the garden; 'Can't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?' Quoth the Fairy, laughing softly in the garden; But the air was still, the cherry boughs were still, And the ivy-tod 'neath the empty sill, And never from her window looked out Mrs. Gill On the Fairy shrilly mocking in the garden.

'What have they done with you, you poor Mrs. Gill?' Quoth the Fairy brightly glancing in the garden; 'Where have they hidden you, you poor old Mrs. Gill?' Quoth the Fairy dancing lightly in the garden;

But night's faint veil now wrapped the hill, Stark 'neath the stars stood the dead-still Mill, And out of her cold cottage never answered Mrs. Gill The Fairy mimbling, mambling in the garden.

BEWITCHED

I have heard a lady this night, Lissom and jimp and slim, Calling me -- calling me over the heather, 'Neath the beech boughs dusk and dim.

I have followed a lady this night, Followed her far and lone, Fox and adder and weasel know The ways that we have gone.

I sit at my supper 'mid honest faces, And crumble my crust and say Naught in the long-drawn drawl of the voices Talking the hours away.

I'll go to my chamber under the gable, And the moon will lift her light In at my lattice from over the moorland Hollow and still and bright.

And I know she will shine on a lady of witchcraft, Gladness and grief to see, Who has taken my heart with her nimble fingers, Calls in my dreams to me;

Who has led me a dance by dell and dingle My human soul to win, Made me a changeling to my own, own mother, A stranger to my kin.

THE HONEY ROBBERS

There were two Fairies, Gimmul and Mel, Loved Earth Man's honey passing well; Oft at the hives of his tame bees They would their sugary thirst appease.

When dusk began to darken to night, They would hie along in the fading light, With elf-locked hair and scarlet lips, And small stone knives to slit the skeps, So softly not a bee inside Should hear the woven straw divide: And then with sly and greedy thumbs Would rifle the sweet honeycombs.

And drowsily drone to drone would say, 'A cold, cold wind blows in this way'; And the great Queen would turn her head From face to face, astonished, And, though her maids with comb and brush Would comb and soothe and whisper, 'Hush!' About the hive would shrilly go A keening -- keening, to and fro; At which those robbers 'neath the trees Would taunt and mock the honey-bees, And through their sticky teeth would buzz Just as an angry hornet does.

And when this Gimmul and this Mel Had munched and sucked and swilled their fill, Or ever Man's first cock could crow Back to their Faerie Mounds they'd go; Edging across the twilight air, Thieves of a guise remotely fair.

LONGLEGS

Longlegs -- he yelled 'Coo-ee!' And all across the combe Shrill and shrill it rang -- rang through The clear green gloom. Fairies there were a-spinning, And a white tree-maid Lifted her eyes, and listened In her rain-sweet glade. Bunnie to bunnie stamped; old Wat Chin-deep in bracken sate; A throstle piped, 'I'm by, I'm by!' Clear to his timid mate. And there was Longlegs, straddling, And hearkening was he, To distant Echo thrilling back A thin 'Coo-ee!'

MELMILLO

Three and thirty birds there stood In an elder in a wood; Called Melmillo -- flew off three, Leaving thirty in the tree; Called Melmillo -- nine now gone, And the boughs held twenty-one; Called Melmillo -- and eighteen Left but three to nod and preen; Called Melmillo -- three -- two -- one Now of birds were feathers none.

Then stole Melmillo in To that wood all dusk and green, And with lean long palms outspread Softly a strange dance did tread; Not a note of music she Had for echoing company; All the birds were flown to rest In the hollow of her breast; In the wood -- thorn, elder, willow -- Danced alone -- lone danced Melmillo.

EARTH AND AIR

TREES

Of all the trees in England, Her sweet three corners in, Only the Ash, the bonnie Ash Burns fierce while it is green.

Of all the trees in England, From sea to sea again, The Willow loveliest stoops her boughs Beneath the driving rain.

Of all the trees in England, Past frankincense and myrrh, There's none for smell, of bloom and smoke, Like Lime and Juniper.

Of all the trees in England, Oak, Elder, Elm and Thorn, The Yew alone burns lamps of peace For them that lie forlorn.

SILVER