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SONG OF WOOD-NYMPHS.
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring
To dig one up in spite, He shall find the thornies set
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen, We dare n'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 !
COME here, come here, and dwell
THE FAIRY CHILD.
The summer sun was sinking
With a mild light, calm and mellow; It shone on my little boy's bonnie cheeks,
And his loose locks of yellow.
The robin was singing sweetly,
And his song was sad and tender; And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the song,
Smiled with a sweet, soft splendor.
THE GREEN GNOME.
My little boy lay on my bosom
While his soul the song was quaffing ; The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek,
And his heart and his eye were laughing.
I sate alone in my cottage,
The midnight needle plying ;
In the socket now was dying !
Like the wind at midnight moaning; I knelt to pray, but rose again,
For I heard my little boy groaning.
I crossed my brow and I crossed my breast,
But that night my child departed, They left a weakling in his stead,
And I am broken-hearted !
Ring, sing ! ring, sing ! pleasant Sabbath bells ! Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales
and dells ! Rhyme, ring! chime, sing ! pleasant Sabbath
bells ! Chime, sing ! rhyme, ring ! over fields and fells! And I galloped and I galloped on my palfrey
white as milk, My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk was
of the silk; My hair was golden yellow, and it floated to my
shoe ; My eyes were like two harebells bathed in little
drops of dew; My palfrey, never stopping, made a music sweetly
blent With the leaves of autumn dropping allaround me
as I went ; And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind
me peal and play, Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to die
away ; And beside a silver runnel, on a little heap o
0, it cannot be my own sweet boy,
For his eyes are dim and hollow; My little boy is gone
- is gone, And his mother soon will follow.
The dirge for the dead will be sung for me,
And the mass be chanted meetly,
I saw the green gnome sitting, with his cheek | And we saw the kirk before us, as we trotted upon his hand.
down the fells, Then he started up to see me, and he ran with And nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the welcome of cry and bound,
the bells. And drew me from my palfrey white and set me on the ground.
Ring, sing ! ring, sing ! pleasant Sabbath bells ! O crimson, crimson were his locks, his face was
Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales
and dells ! green to see, But he cried, “O light-haired lassie, you are Rhyme, ring! chime, sing ! pleasant Sabbath
bells ! bound to marry me!” He clasped me round the middle small, he kissed Chime, sing ! rhyme, ring ! over fields and fello !
me on the cheek, He kissed me once, he kissed me twice, I could
not stir or speak; He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice, — but LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.
when he kissed again, I called aloud upon the name of Him who died “O, What can ail thee, knight-at-arms, for men.
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake, Sing, sing ! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells !
And no birds sing. Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales and dells !
“O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
The squirrel's granary is full,
With anguish moist and fever-dew, So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far And on thy cheeks a fading rose away ;
Fast withereth too." And as I named the Blessed Name, as in our need we can,
“I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, The ugly green green gnome became a tall and
- a fairy's child, comely man :
Her hair was long, her foot was light, His hands were white, his beard was gold, his
And her eyes were wild. eyes were black as sloes,
“ I made a garland for her head, His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ;
She looked at me as she did love, A pensive light from Faëryland still lingered on
And made sweet moan. his cheek, His voice was like the running brook, when he “I set her on my pacing steed, began to speak;
And nothing else saw all day long; “0, you have cast away the charm my step-dame
For sidelong would she bend, and sing put on me,
A fairy's song. Seven years I dwelt in Faëryland, and you have set me free.
“She found me roots of relish sweet, 0, I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride to And honey wild and manna-dew; kirk with thee,
And sure in language strange she said, And, by those little dewy eyes, we twain will I love thee true.' wedded be!”
“She took me to her elfin grot, Back we galloped, never stopping, he before and And there she wept, and sighed full sore ; I behind,
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes And the autumn leaves were dropping, red and With kisses four.
yellow, in the wind : And the sun was shining clearer, and my heart “And there she lulléd me asleep, was high and proud,
And there I dreamed - ah, woe betide ! As nearer, nearer, nearer rang the kirk bells The latest dream I ever dreamed sweet and loud,
On the cold hi?!'s side.
ALAS, that moon should ever beam
I stayed awhile to see her throw Her tresses back, that all beset The fair horizon of her brow With clouds of jet.
I stayed a little while to view
I stayed to watch, a little space, Her parted lips, if she would sing; The waters closed above her face With many a ring.
V. And still I stayed a little more, Alas ! she never comes again! I throw my flowers from the shore, And watch in vain.
The waters purled, the waters swelled,
A fisher sat near by,
With tranquil heart and eye ;
He sees the waves divide,
Springs from the troubled tide.
“Why lur'st thou from below, In cruel mood, my tender brood,
To die in day's fierce glow? Ah ! didst thou know how sweetly there
The little fishes dwell, Thou wouldst come down their lot to share,
And be forever well. “ Bathes not the smiling sun at night
The moon too - in the waves ?
“I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, — death-pale were they all ; They cried, 'La belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall !'
“I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gapéd wide, And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hill's side.
“ And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing."
The night comes stealing o'er me,
And clouds are on the sea ;
With a mystical melody.
A water-maid rose singing
Before me, fair and pale ;
Like fountains, 'neath her veil.
She kissed me and she pressed me,
Till I wished her arms away : “Why hast thou so caressed me,
Thou lovely water-fay ?”
“O, thou need'st not alarm thee,
That thus thy form I hold; For I only seek to warm me,
And the night is black and cold.”
“The wind to the waves is calling,
The moonlight is fading away ;
Thou beautiful water-fay!"
“ The wind to the waves is calling,
And the moonlight grows dim on the rocks ; But no tears from mine eyes are falling,
”T is the water which drips from my locks." “The ocean is heaving and sobbing,
The sea-mews scream in the spray ; And thy heart is wildly throbbing,
Thou beautiful water-fay!” “My heart is wildly swelling,
And it beats in burning truth; For I love thee past all telling, Thou beautiful mortal youth."
HENRY HEINE (German). Translation
of CHARLES G. LELAND.
Comes he not forth more fresh and bright Some of these may be broken, and some may be From ocean's cooling caves ?
rotten ; Canst thou unmoved that deep world see, But if twenty for accident should be detached, That heaven of tranquil blue,
It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to be hatched. Where thine own face is beckoning thee
“Well, sixty sound eggs, — no, sound chickens, Down to the eternal dew?
I mean : The waters purled, the waters swelled, – Of these some may die, -we'll suppose seventeen, They kissed his naked feet ;
Seventeen ! not so many, - say ten at the most, His heart a nameless transport held,
Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast. As if his love did greet. She spake to him, she sang to him ;
“But then there's their barley : how much will Then all with him was o'er,
they need ? Half drew she him, half sank he in,
Why, they take but one grain at a time when He sank to rise no more.
they feed, GOETHE. Translation of CHARLES T. BROOKS. So that 's a mere trifle ; now then, let us see,
Ata fair market price how much money there'll be.
“Six shillings a pair— five-four-three-and-six, THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.
To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix ;
Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said, -
“0, but stop, — three-and-sixpence a pair I
must sell 'em ; Began to feel — as well he might The keen demands of appetite;
Well, a pair is a couple, —now then let us tell 'em;
A couple in fifty will go (my poor brain !)
Why, just a score times, and five pair will remain. A something shining in the dark,
“Twenty-five pair of fowls — now how tiresome And knew the glow-worm by his spark ;
it is So, stooping down from hawthorn top, That I can't reckon up so much money as this ! He thought to put him in his crop. Well, there's no use in trying, so let 's give a The worm, aware of his intent,
guess, Harangued him thus, quite eloquent, – I'll say twenty pounds, and it can't be no less.
“Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, “As much as I your minstrelsy,
“Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow, You would abhor to do me wrong,
Thirty geese, and two turkeys, - eight pigs and
a sow; As much as I to spoil your song ;
Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year, For 't was the self-same Power divine
I shall fill both my pockets with guineas, 't is Taught you to sing, and me to shine ;
clear." That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night.” Forgetting her burden, when this she had said, The songster heard his short oration,
The maid superciliously tossed up her head ; And, warbling out his approbation, When, alas for her prospects ! her milk-pail Released him, as my story tells,
descended, And found a supper somewhere else. And so all her schemes for the future were ended.
This moral, I think, may be safely attached,
“Reckon not on your chickens before they are THE MILKMAID.
JEFFREYS TAYLOR. A MILKMAID, who poised a full pail on her head, Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said : “Let me see, — I should think that this milk
THE TOAD'S JOURNAL will procure
[It is said that Belzoni, the traveller in Egypt, discovered a living One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, to be sure. toad in a temple which had been for ages buried in the sand.] “Well then, — stop a bit, - it must not be for. In a land for antiquities greatly renowned gotten,
A traveller had dug wide and deep under ground,
A temple for ages entombed, to disclose,
The gray moss and lichen creep over the mould, When, lo! he disturbed, in its secret repose, Lying loose on a ponderous stone. A toad, from whose journal it plainly appears Now within this huge stone, like a king on his It had lodged in that mansion some thousands of throne, years.
A toad has been sitting more years than is known; The roll which this reptile's long history records, And strange as it seems, yet he constantly deems A treat to the sage antiquarian affords:
The world standing still while he's dreaming The sense by obscure hieroglyphics concealed,
his dreams, Deep learning at length, with long labor, revealed. Does this wonderful toad, in his cheerful abode The first thousand years as a specimen take, In the innermost heart of that flinty old stone, The dates are omitted for brevity's sake: By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. “Crawled forth from some rubbish, and winked with one eye ;
Down deepin the hollow,from morning till night, Half opened the other, but could not tell why; Dun shadows glide over the ground, Stretched out my left leg, as it felt rather queer,
Where a watercourse once, as it sparkled with Then drew all together and slept for a year.
light, Awakened, felt chilly, — crept under a stone;
Turned a ruined old mill-wheel around : Was vastly contented with living alone.
Long years have passed by since its bed became One toe became wedged in the stone like a peg, dry, Could not get it away, - had the cramp in my leg; And the trees grow so close, scarce a glimpse Began half to wish for a neighbor at hand
of the sky To loosen the stone, which was fast in the sand ; Is seen in the hollow, so dark and so damp, Pulled harder, then dozed, as I found 't was no Where the glow-worm at noonday is trimming use ;
his lamp, Awoke the next summer, and lo! it was loose. And hardly a sound from the thicket around, Crawled forth from the stone when completely Where the rabbit and squirrel leap over the awake ;
ground, Crept into a corner and grinned at a snake. Is heard by the toad in his spacious abode Retreated, and found that I needed repose ; In the innermost heart of that ponderous stone, Curled up my damp limbs and prepared for a doze; By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. Fell sounder to sleep than was usual before, And did not awake for a century or more ; Down deep in that hollow the bees nerer But had a sweet dream, as I rather believe :
come, Methought it was light, and a fine summer's eve ; The shade is too black for a flower ; And I in some garden deliciously fed
And jewel-winged birds, with their musical hum, In the pleasant moist shade of a strawberry bed. Never flash in the night of that bower ; There fine speckled creatures claimed kindred with But the cold blooded snake, in the edge of the
brake, And others that hopped, most enchanting to see. Lies amid the rank grass halfasleep, halfawake; Here long I regaled with emotion extreme ; And the ashen-white snail, with the slime in Awoke, — disconcerted to find it a dream ;
its trail, Grew pensive,
discovered that life is a load ; Moves wearily on like a life's tedious tale, Began to get weary of being a toad ;
Yet disturbs not the toad in his spacious abode, Was fretful at first, and then shed a few tears.". In the innermost heart of that flinty old stone, Here ends the account of the first thousand years. By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown.
Down deep in a hollow some wiseacres sit
Like the toad in his cell in the stone ;
And their creeds are with ivy o'ergrown ;-
Their streams may go dry, and the wheels cease JANE TAYLOR.
to ply, And their glimpses be few of the sun and the sky,
Still they hug to their breast every time-hon. THE PHILOSOPHER TOAD.
And slumber and doze in inglorious rest; Dowy deep in a hollow, so damp and so cold, For no progress they find in the wide sphere of Where oaks are by ivy o'ergrown,