THE ROAD TO ELFLAND

THE HORNS OF ELFLAND

HE splendor falls on castle walls

story:

The long light shakes across the lakes
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying!

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying!

O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow for ever and for ever.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying! Alfred, Lord Tennyson

FROM THE HILLS OF DREAM

ACROSS the silent stream

Where the slumber-shadows go,
From the dim blue Hills of Dream
I have heard the west wind blow.

Who hath seen that fragrant land,

Who hath seen that unscanned west? Only the listless hand

And the unpulsing breast.

But when the west wind blows
I see moon-lances gleam
Where the Host of Faerie flows
Athwart the Hills of Dream.

And a strange song I have heard

By a shadowy stream,

And the singing of a snow-white bird On the Hills of Dream.

Fiona Macleod.

UP

THE FAIRIES

P 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 shore
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.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.

If any man so daring

As dig them up in spite,

He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

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!

William Allingham

FAERIES' SONG

FROM The Land Of Heart's Desire

HE wind blows out of the gates of the day,

THE windows over the lonely of heart,

And the lonely of heart is withered away,
While the faeries dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring,
Tossing their milk-white arms in the air;
For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and
sing

Of a land where even the old are fair,

And even the wise are merry of tongue;

But I heard a reed of Coolaney say,

66

"When the wind has laughed and murmured

and sung,

The lonely of heart is withered away."

William Butler Yeats

WHERE THE BEE SUCKS

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I:
cowslip's bell I lie;

There I couch when owls do cry.

On the bat's back I do fly

After summer merrily.

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

Shakespeare

OVER HILL, OVER DALE

OVER hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,
In those freckles live their savors:
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Shakespeare

You

YOU SPOTTED SNAKES

OU spotted snakes, with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not se
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;

seen;

Come not near our fairy queen.

Philomel, with melody.

Sing in our sweet lullaby;

Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby;

Never harm,

Nor spell nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh;

So good-night, with lullaby.