Volume I Part 54 (1/2)
”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.
”Some of them 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 will the miller be At 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 both loud and shrill:
”'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go Away from every horn; And they 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 tall and strong!'
”And some they brought the brown linseed And flung it down 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 outspoke 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!'
”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, coming down from the hill-top, I heard, afar below, How busy the jolly 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 stout and green.
”And down the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung; And I met the weaver at his gate With the good news on his tongue!
”Now, this is all 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 [1799-1888]
THE FAIRIES
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.