For in the whole of fairy land
They have no finer sight
Than little children sleeping sound
With faces rosy bright.
On tip-toe crowding round their heads,
When bright the moonlight beams,
They whisper little tender words
That fill their minds with dreams;
And when they see a sunny smile,
With lightest finger tips
They lay a hundred kisses sweet
Upon the ruddy lips.
And then the little spotted moths
Spread out their crimson wings,
And bear away the fairy crowd
With shaking bridle rings.
Come, bairnies, hide in daddy's coat,
Beside the fire so bright-
Perhaps the little fairy folk
Will visit you to-night.
"OH! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS?"
Oh! where do fairies hide their heads,
When snow lies on the hills,
When frost has spoiled their mossy beds,
And crystallized their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o'er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip,
Till green leaves come again.
Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bells
They plunge beneath the waves,
Inhabiting the wreathed shells
That lie in coral caves.
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius
Carousals they maintain;
And cheer their little spirits thus,
Till green leaves come again.
When they return, there will be mirth
And music in the air.
And fairy wings upon the earth,
And mischief everywhere.
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
Will bar the doors in vain;
No key-hole will be fairy-proof,
When green leaves come again.
THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE FAIRIES
Down the bright stream the fairies float,
A water-lily is their boat.
Long rushes they for paddles take,
Their mainsail of a bat's wing make;
The tackle is of cobwebs neat,-
With glow-worm lantern all's complete.
So down the broadening stream they float,
With Puck as pilot of the boat.
The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,
And lifts at times her languid eyes
To mark the green and mossy spots
Where bloom the blue forget-me-nots:
Oberon, on his rose-bud throne,
Claims the fair valley as his own:
And elves and fairies, with a shout
Which may be heard a yard about,
Hail him as Elfland's mighty King,
And hazel-nuts in homage bring,
And bend the unreluctant knee,
And wave their wands in loyalty.
Down the broad stream the fairies float,
An unseen power impels their boat;
The banks fly past-each wooded scene-
The elder copse-the poplars green-
And soon they feel the briny breeze
With salt and savor of the seas.
Still down the stream the fairies float,
An unseen power impels their boat,
Until they mark the rushing tide
Within the estuary wide.
And now they're tossing on the sea,
Where waves roll high and winds blow free,— Ah, mortal vision nevermore
Shall see the fairies on the shore,
Or watch upon a summer night
Their mazy dances of delight!
Far, far away upon the sea,
The waves roll high, the breeze blows free;
The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,
Slow gazing with a strange surprise
Where swim the sea-nymphs on the tide.
Or on the backs of dolphins ride;
The King, upon his rose-bud throne,
Pales as he hears the waters moan;
The elves have ceased their sportive play,
Hushed by the slowly sinking day;
And still afar, afar they float,
The fairies in their fragile boat,
Farther and farther from the shore,
And lost to mortals evermore!
Have ye left the greenwood lone?
Are your steps forever gone?
Fairy King and Elfin Queen,
Come ye to the sylvan scene,
From your dim and distant shore,
Shall the pilgrim never hear
With a thrill of joy and fear,
In the hush of moonlight hours,
Voices from the folded flowers,
Faint sweet flutter-notes as of yore,
Never more?
"Mortal! ne'er shall bowers of earth
Hear again our midnight mirth:
By our brooks and dingles green
Since unhallowed steps have been,
Ours shall thread the forests hoar
Never more.
"Ne'er on earth-born lily's stem
Will we hang the dewdrop's gem;
Ne'er shall reed or cowslip's head
Quiver to our dancing tread,
By sweet fount or murmuring shore,
Never more!"
Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Farewell, rewards and fairies!
Good housewives now may say, For slatterns now in dairies
Do fare as well as they.
And though they sweep their hearths no less
Than maids were wont to do,
Yet who of late, for cleanliness,
Finds sixpence in her shoe?
At morning and at evening both
You merry were and glad;
So little care of sleep or sloth
These pretty ladies had;
When Tom came home from labor,
Or Ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabor
And nimbly went their toes.
Witness those rings and roundelays
Of theirs, which yet remain,
Were footed in Queen Mary's days
On many a grassy plain;
But since of late, Elizabeth,
And later, James came in,
They never danced on any heath
As when the time hath been.
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