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Chapter 53 : Thomas Haynes Bayly [1797-1839]FAIRY SONG From "Amyntas"We the Fairies, blith

Thomas Haynes Bayly [1797-1839]

FAIRY SONG From "Amyntas"

We the Fairies, blithe and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic, Though the moons.h.i.+ne mostly keep us, Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks are nice in chapels, Stolen, stolen be your apples.

When to bed the world is bobbing, Then's the time for orchard-robbing; Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling Were it not for stealing, stealing.

Translated by Leigh Hunt from the Latin of Thomas Randolph [1605-1635]

DREAM SONG

I come from woods enchaunted, Starlit and pixey-haunted, Where 'twixt the bracken and the trees The goblins lie and take their ease By winter moods undaunted.

There down the golden gravel The laughing rivers travel; Elves wake at nights and whisper low Between the bracken and the snow Their dreamings to unravel.

Twisted and lank and hairy, With wanton eyes and wary, They stretch and chuckle in the wind, For one has found a mermaid kind, And one has kissed a fairy.

They know no melancholy, But fas.h.i.+on crowns of holly, And gather sleep within the brake To deck a kingdom when they wake, And bless the dreamer's folly.

Ah! would that I might follow The servants of Apollo!

But it is sweet to heap the hours With quiet dreams and poppy-flowers, Down in the pixies' hollow.

Richard Middleton [1882-1911]

FAIRY SONG

Shed no tear! O, shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.

Weep no more! O, weep no more!

Young buds sleep in the root's white core.

Dry your eyes! O, dry your eyes!

For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies,-- Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!

'Mong the blossoms white and red,-- Look up, look up! I flutter now On this flush pomegranate bough.

See me! 'tis this silvery bill Ever cures the good man's ill,-- Shed no tear! O, shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.

Adieu, adieu--I fly--adieu!

I vanish in the heaven's blue,-- Adieu, adieu!

John Keats [1795-1821]

QUEEN MAB

A little fairy comes at night, Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown, With silver spots upon her wings, And from the moon she flutters down.

She has a little silver wand, And when a good child goes to bed She waves her hand from right to left, And makes a circle round its head.

And then it dreams of pleasant things, Of fountains filled with fairy fish, And trees that bear delicious fruit, And bow their branches at a wish:

Of arbors filled with dainty scents From lovely flowers that never fade; Bright flies that glitter in the sun, And glow-worms s.h.i.+ning in the shade:

And talking birds with gifted tongues, For singing songs and telling tales, And pretty dwarfs to show the way Through fairy hills and fairy dales.

But when a bad child goes to bed, From left to right she weaves her rings, And then it dreams all through the night Of only ugly horrid things!

Then lions come with glaring eyes, And tigers growl, a dreadful noise, And ogres draw their cruel knives, To shed the blood of girls and boys.

Then stormy waves rush on to drown, Or raging flames come scorching round, Fierce dragons hover in the air, And serpents crawl along the ground.

Then wicked children wake and weep, And wish the long black gloom away; But good ones love the dark, and find The night as pleasant as the day.

Thomas Hood [1799-1845]

THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW A Midsummer Legend

"And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?"

"I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low, The midsummer night to see!"

"And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Low?"

"I saw the glad suns.h.i.+ne come down, And I saw the merry winds blow."

"And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Hill?"

"I heard the drops of the water made, And the ears of the green corn fill."

"Oh, tell me all, my Mary-- All--all that ever you know; For you must have seen the fairies Last night on the Caldon-Low!"

"Then take me on your knee, mother, And listen, mother of mine: A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine.

"And their harp-strings rang so merrily To their dancing feet so small; But, oh! the words of their talking Were merrier far than all!"