Part 4 (1/2)

”Now, ere we say farewell,” said the Queen, as they gathered nearer to the child, ”tell me, dear Eva, what among all our Fairy gifts will make you happiest, and it shall be yours.”

”You good little Fairies,” said Eva, folding them in her arms, for she was no longer the tiny child she had been in Fairy-Land, ”you dear good little Elves, what can I ask of you, who have done so much to make me happy, and taught me so many good and gentle lessons, the memory of which will never pa.s.s away? I can only ask of you the power to be as pure and gentle as yourselves, as tender and loving to the weak and sorrowing, as untiring in kindly deeds to all. Grant me this gift, and you shall see that little Eva has not forgotten what you have taught her.”

”The power shall be yours,” said the Elves, and laid their soft hands on her head; ”we will watch over you in dreams, and when you would have tidings of us, ask the flowers in your garden, and they will tell you all you would know. Farewell. Remember Fairy-Land and all your loving friends.”

They clung about her tenderly, and little Rose-Leaf placed a flower crown on her head, whispering softly, ”When you would come to us again, stand by the brook-side and wave this in the air, and we will gladly take you to our home again. Farewell, dear Eva. Think of your little Rose-Leaf when among the flowers.”

Long Eva watched their s.h.i.+ning wings, and listened to the music of their voices as they flew singing home, and when at length the last little form had vanished among the clouds, she saw that all around her where the Elves had been, the fairest flowers had sprung up, and the lonely brook-side was a blooming garden.

Thus she stood among the waving blossoms, with the Fairy garland in her hair, and happy feelings in her heart, better and wiser for her visit to Fairy-Land.

”Now, Star-Twinkle, what have you to teach?” asked the Queen.

”Nothing but a little song I heard the hare-bells singing,” replied the Fairy, and, taking her harp, sang, in a low, sweet voice:--

THE FLOWER'S LESSON.

THERE grew a fragrant rose-tree where the brook flows, With two little tender buds, and one full rose; When the sun went down to his bed in the west, The little buds leaned on the rose-mother's breast, While the bright eyed stars their long watch kept, And the flowers of the valley in their green cradles slept; Then silently in odors they communed with each other, The two little buds on the bosom of their mother.

”O sister,” said the little one, as she gazed at the sky, ”I wish that the Dew Elves, as they wander lightly by, Would bring me a star; for they never grow dim, And the Father does not need them to burn round him.

The s.h.i.+ning drops of dew the Elves bring each day And place in my bosom, so soon pa.s.s away; But a star would glitter brightly through the long summer hours, And I should be fairer than all my sister flowers.

That were better far than the dew-drops that fall On the high and the low, and come alike to all.

I would be fair and stately, with a bright star to s.h.i.+ne And give a queenly air to this crimson robe of mine.”

And proudly she cried, ”These fire-flies shall be My jewels, since the stars can never come to me.”

Just then a tiny dew-drop that hung o'er the dell On the breast of the bud like a soft star fell; But impatiently she flung it away from her leaf, And it fell on her mother like a tear of grief, While she folded to her breast, with wilful pride, A glittering fire-fly that hung by her side.

”Heed,” said the mother rose, ”daughter mine, Why shouldst thou seek for beauty not thine?

The Father hath made thee what thou now art; And what he most loveth is a sweet, pure heart.

Then why dost thou take with such discontent The loving gift which he to thee hath sent?

For the cool fresh dew will render thee far More lovely and sweet than the brightest star; They were made for Heaven, and can never come to s.h.i.+ne Like the fire-fly thou hast in that foolish breast of thine.

O my foolish little bud, do listen to thy mother; Care only for true beauty, and seek for no other.

There will be grief and trouble in that wilful little heart; Unfold thy leaves, my daughter, and let the fly depart.”

But the proud little bud would have her own will, And folded the fire-fly more closely still; Till the struggling insect tore open the vest Of purple and green, that covered her breast.

When the sun came up, she saw with grief The blooming of her sister bud leaf by leaf.

While she, once as fair and bright as the rest, Hung her weary head down on her wounded breast.

Bright grew the suns.h.i.+ne, and the soft summer air Was filled with the music of flowers singing there; But faint grew the little bud with thirst and pain, And longed for the cool dew; but now 't was in vain.

Then bitterly she wept for her folly and pride, As drooping she stood by her fair sister's side.

Then the rose mother leaned the weary little head On her bosom to rest, and tenderly she said: ”Thou hast learned, my little bud, that, whatever may betide, Thou canst win thyself no joy by pa.s.sion or by pride.

The loving Father sends the suns.h.i.+ne and the shower, That thou mayst become a perfect little flower;-- The sweet dews to feed thee, the soft wind to cheer, And the earth as a pleasant home, while thou art dwelling here.

Then shouldst thou not be grateful for all this kindly care, And strive to keep thyself most innocent and fair?