They come from beds of lichen green, They creep from the mullein's velvet screen; Some on the backs of beetles fly From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, And rocked about in the evening breeze; Some from the humbird's downy nest-- They had driven him out by elfin power, And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, With glittering ising-stars inlaid; And some had opened the four-o'clock, And stole within its purple shade.

And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above--below--on every side, Their little minim forms arrayed, In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride.

VI

_The Throne of the Lily-King_

The throne was reared upon the gra.s.s, Of spice-wood and of sa.s.safras; On pillars of mottled tortoise-sh.e.l.l Hung the burnished canopy-- And over it gorgeous curtains fell Of the tulip's crimson drapery.

The monarch sat on his judgment-seat, On his brow the crown imperial shone, The prisoner Fay was at his feet, And his peers were ranged around the throne, He waved his sceptre in the air, He looked around and calmly spoke; His brow was grave and his eye severe, But his voice in a softened accent broke:

VII

_The Fay's Crime_

Fairy! Fairy! list and mark: Thou hast broke thine elfin chain; Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain-- Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye, Thou hast scorned our dread decree, And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high, But well I know her sinless mind Is pure as the angel forms above, Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, Such as a spirit well might love; Fairy! had she spot or taint, Bitter had been thy punishment.

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_The Fay's Sentence_

"Thou shalt seek the beach of sand Where the water bounds the elfin land; Thou shalt watch the oozy brine Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, Then dart the glistening arch below, And catch a drop from his silver bow.

The water-sprites will wield their arms And dash around, with roar and rave, And vain are the woodland spirits' charms, They are the imps that rule the wave.

Yet trust thee in thy single might: If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, Thou shalt win the warlock fight.

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"If the spray-bead gem be won, The stain of thy wing is washed away: But another errand must be done Ere thy crime be lost for aye; Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, Thou must reillume its spark.

Mount thy steed and spur him high To the heaven's blue canopy; And when thou seest a shooting star, Follow it fast, and follow it far-- The last faint spark of its burning train Shall light the elfin lamp again.

Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay; Hence! to the water-side, away!"

X

_The Fay's Departure_

The goblin marked his monarch well; He spake not, but he bowed him low, Then plucked a crimson colen-bell, And turned him round in act to go.

The way is long, he cannot fly, His soiled wing has lost its power, And he winds adown the mountain high, For many a sore and weary hour.

Through dreary beds of tangled fern, Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, Over the gra.s.s and through the brake, Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake; Now over the violet's azure flush He skips along in lightsome mood; And now he thrids the bramble-bush, Till its points are dyed in fairy blood.

He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the brier, He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, And the red waxed fainter in his cheek.

He had fallen to the ground outright, For rugged and dim was his onward track, But there came a spotted toad in sight, And he laughed as he jumped upon her back: He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist, He lashed her sides with an osier thong; And now, through evening's dewy mist, With leap and spring they bound along, Till the mountain's magic verge is past, And the beach of sand is reached at last.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

_A Myth_

A floating, a floating Across the sleeping sea, All night I heard a singing bird Upon the topmast tree.

"Oh, came you from the isles of Greece Or from the banks of Seine?

Or off some tree in forests free That fringe the western main?"

"I came not off the old world, Nor yet from off the new; But I am one of the birds of G.o.d Which sing the whole night through."

"Oh, sing and wake the dawning!

Oh, whistle for the wind!

The night is long, the current strong, My boat it lags behind."

"The current sweeps the old world, The current sweeps the new; The wind will blow, the dawn will glow, Ere thou hast sailed them through."

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

_The Fairy Folk_

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen We daren'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.

Down along the rocky sh.o.r.e Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.

High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits.

With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music, On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow; They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since Deep within the lakes, On a bed of flag leaves, Watching till she wakes.

By the craggy hillside, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there.

Is any man so daring As 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 daren'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.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

_The Merman_

I

Who would be A merman bold, Sitting alone, Singing alone Under the sea, With a crown of gold, On a throne?

II

I would be a merman bold, I would sit and sing the whole of the day; I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power; But at night I would roam abroad and play With the mermaids in and out of the rocks, Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower; And holding them back by their flowing locks I would kiss them often under the sea, And kiss them again till they kiss'd me Laughingly, laughingly; And then we would wander away, away, To the pale-green sea-groves straight and high, Chasing each other merrily.

III