"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 blithe sunshine 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 water made, And I heard the corn-ears 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 merry was the glee of the harp-strings, And their dancing feet so small; But oh! the sound of their talking Was merrier far than all!"

"And what were the words, my Mary, That you did hear them say?"

"I'll tell you all, my mother, But let me have my way.

"And some they played with the water And rolled it down the hill; 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill;

"'For there has been no water Ever since the first of May; And a busy man shall the miller be By the dawning of the day!

"'Oh, the miller, how he will laugh, When he sees the mill-dam rise!

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh, Till the tears fill both his eyes!'

"And some they seized the little winds, That sounded over the hill, And each put a horn into his mouth, And blew so sharp and shrill!

"'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go, Away from every horn; And those shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow's corn:

"'Oh, the poor blind widow-- Though she has been blind so long, She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands stiff and strong!'

"And some they brought the brown linseed, And flung it down from the Low: 'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow!

"'Oh, the poor lame weaver!

How will he laugh outright When he sees his dwindling flax-field All full of flowers by night!'

"And then upspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin; 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin.

"'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another-- A little sheet for Mary's bed And an ap.r.o.n for her mother.'

"And with that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon-Low, There was no one left but me.

"And all on the top of the Caldon-Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay.

"But, as I came down from the hill-top, I heard, afar below, How busy the jolly old miller was, And how merry the wheel did go!

"And I peeped into the widow's field, And, sure enough, was seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stiff and green!

"And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were high; But I saw the weaver at his gate With the good news in his eye!

"Now, this is all that I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, prithee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be!"

Mary Howitt.

_The Elf and the Dormouse_

Under a toadstool Crept a wee Elf, Out of the rain, To shelter himself.

Under the toadstool Sound asleep, Sat a big Dormouse All in a heap.

Trembled the wee Elf, Frightened, and yet Fearing to fly away Lest he get wet.

To the next shelter-- Maybe a mile!

Sudden the wee Elf Smiled a wee smile,

Tugged till the toadstool Toppled in two.

Holding it over him, Gayly he flew.

Soon he was safe home, Dry as could be.

Soon woke the Dormouse-- "Good gracious me!

"Where is my toadstool?"

Loud he lamented.

--And that's how umbrellas First were invented.

Oliver Herford.

_Meg Merrilies_

Old Meg she was a gipsy, And lived upon the moors; Her bed it was the brown heath turf, And her house was out of doors.

Her apples were swart blackberries, Her currants pods o' broom; Her wine was dew of the wild white rose, Her book a churchyard tomb.

Her brothers were the craggy hills, Her sisters larchen-trees; Alone with her great family She lived as she did please.

No breakfast had she many a morn, No dinner many a noon, And 'stead of supper she would stare Full hard against the moon.

But every morn of woodbine fresh She made her garlanding, And every night the dark glen yew She wore; and she would sing, And with her fingers old and brown She plaited mats of rushes, And gave them to the cottagers She met among the bushes.

Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen, And tall as Amazon; An old red blanket cloak she wore, A ship-hat had she on; G.o.d rest her aged bones somewhere!

She died full long agone!

John Keats.