He slammed the door, and went clod, clod, clod, But while in the porch she bides, He squealed so fierce, 'twas as much as she could To keep from cracking her sides, her sides, To keep from cracking her sides.

He threw a pumpkin over the wall, And melons and apples beside, So thick in the air, that to see 'em all fall, She laughed, and laughed, till she cried, cried, cried, Jane laughed and laughed till she cried.

Down fell her teardrops a pit-apat-pat, And red as a rose she grew;-- 'Kah! kah!' said the dwarf, 'is it crying you're at?

It's the very worst thing you could do, do, do, It's the very worst thing you could do.'

He slipped like a monkey up into a tree, He shook her down cherries like rain; 'See now,' says he, cheeping, 'a blackbird I be, Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again-gain-gain, Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again.'

Ah me! what a strange, what a gladsome duet From a house i' the deeps of a wood!

Such shrill and such harsh voices never met yet A-laughing as loud as they could-could-could, A-laughing as loud as they could.

Come Jinnie, come dwarf, c.o.c.ksparrow, and bee, There's a ring gaudy-green in the dell, Sing, sing, ye sweet cherubs, that flit in the tree; La! who can draw tears from a well-well-well, Who ever drew tears from a well!

ALULVAN

The sun is clear of bird and cloud, The gra.s.s shines windless, grey, and still, In dusky ruin the owl dreams on, The cuckoo echoes on the hill; Yet soft along Alulvan's walks The ghost at noonday stalks.

His eyes in shadow of his hat Stare on the ruins of his house; His cloak, up-fasten'd with a brooch, Of faded velvet grey as mouse, Brushes the roses as he goes: Yet wavers not one rose.

The wild birds in a cloud fly up From their sweet feeding in the fruit; The droning of the bees and flies Rises gradual as a lute; Is it for fear the birds are flown, And shrills the insect-drone?

Thick is the ivy o'er Alulvan, And crisp with summer-heat its turf; Far, far across its empty pastures Alulvan's sands are white with surf: And he himself is grey as sea, Watching beneath an elder-tree.

All night the fretful, shrill Banshee Lurks in the chambers' dark festoons, Calling for ever, o'er garden and river, Through magpie changing of the moons: 'Alulvan, O, alas! Alulvan, The doom of lone Alulvan!'

THE PEDLAR

There came a Pedlar to an evening house; Sweet Lettice, from her lattice looking down, Wondered what man he was, so curious His black hair dangled on his tattered gown: Then lifts he up his face, with glittering eyes,-- 'What will you buy, sweetheart?--Here's honeycomb, And mottled pippins, and sweet mulberry pies, Comfits and peaches, snowy cherry bloom, To keep in water for to make night sweet: All that you want, sweetheart,--come, taste and eat!'

Ev'n with his sugared words, returned to her The clear remembrance of a gentle voice:-- 'And O! my child, should ever a flatterer Tap with his wares, and promise of all joys And vain sweet pleasures that on earth may be; Seal up your ears, sing some old happy song, Confuse his magic who is all mockery: His sweets are death.' Yet, still, how she doth long But just to taste, then shut the lattice tight, And hide her eyes from the delicious sight!

'What must I pay?' she whispered. 'Pay!' says he, 'Pedlar I am who through this wood do roam, One lock of hair is gold enough for me, For apple, peach, comfit, or honeycomb!'

But from her bough a drowsy squirrel cried, 'Trust him not, Lettice, trust, oh trust him not!'

And many another woodland tongue beside Rose softly in the silence--'Trust him not!'

Then cried the Pedlar in a bitter voice, 'What, in the thicket, is this idle noise?'

A late, harsh blackbird smote him with her wings, As through the glade, dark in the dim, she flew; Yet still the Pedlar his old burden sings,-- 'What, pretty sweetheart, shall I show to you?

Here's orange ribands, here's a string of pearls, Here's silk of b.u.t.tercup and pansy glove, A pin of tortoisesh.e.l.l for windy curls, A box of silver, scented sweet with clove: Come now,' he says, with dim and lifted face, 'I pa.s.s not often such a lonely place.'

'Pluck not a hair!' a hidden rabbit cried, 'With but one hair he'll steal thy heart away, Then only sorrow shall thy lattice hide: Go in! all honest pedlars come by day.'

There was dead silence in the drowsy wood; 'Here's syrup for to lull sweet maids to sleep; And bells for dreams, and fairy wine and food All day thy heart in happiness to keep';-- And now she takes the scissors on her thumb,-- 'O, then, no more unto my lattice come!'

O sad the sound of weeping in the wood!

Now only night is where the Pedlar was; And bleak as frost upon a too-sweet bud His magic steals in darkness, O alas!

Why all the summer doth sweet Lettice pine?

And, ere the wheat is ripe, why lies her gold Hid 'neath fresh new-pluckt sprigs of eglantine?

Why all the morning hath the cuckoo tolled, Sad to and fro in green and secret ways, With lonely bells the burden of his days?

And, in the market-place, what man is this Who wears a loop of gold upon his breast, Stuck heartwise; and whose gla.s.sy flatteries Take all the townsfolk ere they go to rest Who come to buy and gossip? Doth his eye Remember a face lovely in a wood?

O people! hasten, hasten, do not buy His woful wares; the bird of grief doth brood There where his heart should be; and far away Dew lies on grave-flowers this selfsame day!

THE GREY WOLF

'A f.a.got, a f.a.got, go fetch for the fire, son!'

'O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!'

'Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now; Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.'

'I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster, O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door, Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel, Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'

THE OGRE

'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale, And moonlight on an Ogre keen, Who prowling hungry through the dale A lone cottage hath seen.

Small with thin smoke ascending up Three cas.e.m.e.nts and a door:-- The Ogre eager is to sup, And here seems dainty store.

Sweet as a larder to a mouse, So to him staring down, Seemed the sweet-windowed moonlit house, With jasmine overgrown.

He snorted, as the billows snort In darkness of the night, Betwixt his lean locks tawny-swart, He glowered on the sight.

Into the garden sweet with peas He put his wooden shoe, And bending back the apple trees Crept covetously through;

Then, stooping, with an impious eye Stared through the lattice small, And spied two children which did lie Asleep, against the wall.

Into their dreams no shadow fell, Of his disastrous thumb Groping discreet, and gradual, Across the quiet room.

But scarce his nail had sc.r.a.ped the cot Wherein these children lay, As if his malice were forgot, It suddenly did stay.

For faintly in the ingle-nook He heard a cradlesong, That rose into his thoughts and woke Terror them among.

For she who in the kitchen sat Darning by the fire, Guileless of what he would be at, Sang sweet as wind or wire:--

'Lullay, thou little tiny child, By-by, lullay, lullie; Jesu of glory, meek and mild, This night remember ye!