Invocation To The Faeries

Faery Song

ALL my life is joy and plaesure,
Sportive as my tuneful measure;
In the rose's cup I dwell,
Balmy sweets perfume my cell;
My food the crimson luscious cherry,
And the vine's luxurious berry;
The nectar of the dew is mine;
Nectar from the flowers divine.
And when I join the fairy band,
Lightly tripping hand in hand,
By the moonlight's quivering beam,
In concert with the dashing stream;
Then my music leads the dance,
When the gentle fays advance;
And oft my numbers on the green,
Lull to rest the fairy queen.
" All my life is joy and plaesure,
" Sportive as my airy measure."

By Felicia Dorothea Browne-Hemans

The Lady of Shalott

By Lord Alfred Tennyson

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle embowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veiled,
Slide the heavy barges trailed
By slow horses; and unhailed
The shallop flitteth silken-sailed
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the beared barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to towered Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight forever kneeled,
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glittered free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot;
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung,
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often through the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed;
On burnished hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flowed
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crick'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over towered Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Throug the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turned to towered Camelot.
For ere she reached upon the tide
The first house by the waterside,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

The Story of the Brownie

By R. Menzies Fergusson

Once upon a time, long, long, before any of you were born, there lived an old woman in a cottage, beside a wide-stretching moor, behind the Ochil hills. Her cottage was in a very lonely spot,far from neighbours, and to keep her company there lived a little grandchild with the name of Nelly. The house in which they dwelt was known by the name of "Bessie o' the Bogs", for the old woman's name was Bessie, and the moor at this part was full of boggy places, in which it was very dangerous to venture. The old woman kept a cow and a few fowls, so that she and her grandchild were supplied with plenty of milk, butter, and eggs. Little Nelly was not able to go to school, because the road was too long for her tiny feet; so her grandmother gave her lessons at home,and taught Nelly the letters of the Alphabet from an old horn book, which she had used herself when a little child. She also taught Nelly to sew a sampler, which is a piece of fine canvas, stretched upon a frame, on which is sewn in coloured wool all the letters of the Alphabet, the figures 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0, and beneath that the child's own name, which in this case was Nelly Henderson. On the long winter nights the Granny used to tell stories about the Fairies and Brownies, who were at that time believed to dwell in a large earth mound, called "The Fairy Knowe," which was near Pendreich, overlooking the beautiful vale of Menteith, and the western group of the Grampian mountains. There they held high revels, dancing in the silver moonbeams, and playing at leap-frog and other funny games, which kept them amused until the dawn drove them into hiding. Nelly loved to listen to tales of these grey people, as they were sometimes called, and especially the doings of one Brownie, called Tod Lowrie, or Red Bonnett, from the red cap which he was supposed to wear. This Brownie was a great favourite with the shepherds who looked after the sheep on the Ochils, and as he always helped them, though he was never seen by any of them, none would speak an evil word of this good Fairy. Nelly's Granny had quite a budget of tales about the things Tod Lowrie used to do, and thus the little child got to love the tiny elf whose good-humour and kindly deeds were proverbial. At night when she went to bed she used to wish very much to see her favourite Fairy, but she never managed to catch even a glimpse of his red cap. As time went on little Nelly thought more and more about her Fairy friends, and often wished to see some of them as they gambolled on the dewy grass or crept quietly into people's houses to do their work for them, and leave everything tidy in the morning. For, of course, Nelly knew that when all the folks in a house were sound asleep, then it was that Tod Lowrie would step inside, and take up the broom and sweep the floors and lay the fire, and leave everything tidy and neat for the shephard's wife in the morning. Though Nelly and her Granny lived so far from other people, they had a little world of their own to take up their attention. Nelly was specially fond of the scones which her Granny baked, and which she called her "Fairy scones", because they were covered with little rings made by a thimble. These rings reminded Nelly of the rings she often observed on the dewy grass in the early morning, which were supposed to be made by the Fairies dancing at the dawn of day. When the evening shadows fell she would sit by the fire and dream of the little folk who hid away from the view of mortals, and only appeared to do some service to the people they regarded with favour. One night, as Nelly thus sat by the fire and watched the glowing peats, for they had no coal in that moorland region, she prayed to herself that God would let her see the Brownie whom she knew as Tod Lowrie, or Red Bonnet. Her Granny had not been very well that day, and Nelly had tried her best to do the work of the house, but she had not been able to do it all. When she went to bed, where her Granny had been resting all day, she felt very tired, and soon fell asleep. It was the month of January, and the cold of winter was severe, the ground being covered with snow. That night a snowstorm began to blow across the moor, just as the evening shadows began to fall, and about the time little Nelly had gone to bed. Some little time after she fell asleep the door gently opened, and a strange, quaint little figure stole into the room. It was a wee man with a red cap upon his head, green shoes upon his feet, and a little jacket of greenish leather closely buttoned round his body. He looked slyly round the room, which was in semi-darkness, the only light being that which came from the flickering embers of the peat fire. Having satisfied himself that everybody was asleep, he picked up a broom and set to work to sweep the hearth and the floor; next he arranged the dishes upon the shelves of the dresser or cupboard. Then the Brownie, for this was none other than Tod Lowrie himself, went out to an outhouse and brought in two wooden stoups, or pitchers, full of water, and set them carefully in a corner. Going out again, he brought in some peats which he placed upon the fire, and bending down upon his knees, he blew the embers until the fire blazed quite cheerily. Taking a hurried glance round to see if he might be observed, he seemed to be satisfied that all was well, and going into a scullery close by, he carried a into the room, and, having put some water into it, he hung it upon the hook above the fire. The Brownie then took a bowl full of meal, and with a wooden stick, called a "spurtle," in his hand, he slowly allowed the oatmeal to trickle through his fingers into the bowl, stirring the contents the while until it boiled; adding a pinch of salt, he allowed it to boil for some time. Taking out the wooden spurtle, he scraped it upon the side of the bowland laid it carefully aside. His next action was to fetch two wooden bowls from a press, one large and one small. Turning to the fire, he unhooked the bowl, carried it carefully to the table, and poured out the porridge into the twoempty bowls. When this was done, Ted Lowrie took the dish into the scullery and washed it clean, using a bunch of heather stalks tied firmly together, called a "range"; going into the scullery again, he returned with two small bowls of fresh milk, which he placed beside the bowls of steaming porridge. Looking at his handiwork, the Brownie smiled to himself and rubbed his hands together in high glee. "This will surprise my little Nell," he said to himself; and wheeling round he said, "Now it's time I was off, before the morning light wakens up my little friend." Red Bonnet went to the door, but great was his surprise to find that during the night, when he had been so busy, the snow had been falling and the wind had been causing it to drift; so heavy had it been that the cottage was completely surrounded by a bank of snow, heaped up to the roof. He next tried the window, but it was blocked too, so the wee man could find no exit that way. Standing in the middle of the floor the Brownie considered what he should do. At last he hit upon a plan of escape. He went to the fireplace and prepared to climb up the chimney; but as he stepped upon the jamb of the fireplace, the smoke from the burning peats so tickled his little nose that he gave a huge sneeze and fell with a dump on the floor. This untoward noise awoke Nelly from her slumbers, and looking out from her box-bed, she saw the wee Brownie with his red cap and green shoes, and, thrilled with delight; she cried to her Granny: "Oh look, Granny, here's Tod Lowrie!" But when Granny had opened her eyes and looked out of the bed, the Brownie was gone, having leapt up the chimney and vanished. So, after all, the only person who ever saw Tod Lowrie was little Nelly, whose pure eyes and kind heart enabled her to see a Fairy.

The Faeries' Revenge

A farmer called Johnstone, having plenty of money, bought some land, and chose a beautiful green spot to build a house on, the very spot the fairies loved best. The neighbours warned him that it was a fairy rath; but he laughed and never minded (for he was from the north), and looked at such things as mere old-wives' tales. So he built the house and made it beautiful to live in; and no people in the country were so well off as the Johnstones so that the people said the farmer must have found a chest of gold in the fairy rath. But the fairies were all the time plotting how they could punish the farmer for taking away their dancing ground, and for cutting down the hawthorn bush where they held their revels when the moon was full. And one day when the cows were milking, a little old woman in a blue cloak came to Mrs. Johnstone and asked her for a porringer of milk. "Go away," said the of the house, "you shall have no milk from me. I'll have no tramps coming about my place." And she told the farm servants to chase her away. "Some time after, the best and finest of the cows sickened and gave no milk, and lost her horns and teeth and finally died. Then one day as Mrs. Johnstone was sitting spinning flax in the parlour, the same little woman in the blue cloak suddenly stood before her. "Your maids are baking cakes in the kitchen," she said; "give me some of the griddle to carry away with me." "Go out of this," cried the farmer's wife, angrily; "you are a wicked old wretch, and have poisoned my best cow." And she bade the farm servants drive her off with sticks. Now the Johnstones had only one child; a beautiful bright boy, as strong as a young colt, and as full of life and merriment. But soon after this he began to grow and strange, and was disturbed in his sleep; for he said the fairies came round him at night and pinched him and beat him, and some sat on his chest and he could neither breathe nor move. And they told him they would never leave him in peace unless he promised to give them a supper every night of a griddle cake and a porringer of milk. So to soothe the child the mother had these things laid every night on a table beside his bed, and in the morning they were gone. But still the child pined away, and his eyes got a strange, wild look, as if he saw nothing near or around him, only something far away that troubled his spirit. And when they asked him what ailed him, he said the fairies carried him away to the hills every night, where he danced and danced with them till the morning, when they brought him back and laid him again in his bed. At last the farmer and his wife were at their wits' end from grief and despair, for the child was pining away before their eyes, and they could do nothing for him to help him. One night he cried out in great agony-- "Mother! mother! send for the priest to take away the fairies, for they are ing me; and they are here on my chest, crushing me" and his eyes were wild with fear. Now the farmer and his wife believed in no fairies, and in no priest, but to soothe the child they did as he asked and sent for the priest, who prayed over him and sprinkled him with holy water. The poor little fellow seemed calmer as the priest prayed, and he said the fairies were leaving him and going away, and then he sank into a quiet sleep. But when he woke in the morning he told his parents that he had a beautiful dream and was walking in a lovely garden with the angels; and he knew it was heaven, and that he would be there before night, for the angels told him they would come for him. Then they watched by the sick child all through the night, for they saw the fever was still on him, but hoped a change would come before morning; for he now slept quite calmly with a smile on his lips. But just as the clock struck midnight he awoke and sat up, and when his mother put her arms round him weeping, he whispered--"The angels are here, mother," and then he sank back, and so died. Now after this calamity the farmer never held up his head. He ceased to mind his farm, and the crops went to ruin and the cattle died, and finally before a year and a day were over he was laid in the grave by the side of his little son; and the land passed into other hands, and as no one would live in the house it was pulled down. No one, either, would plant on the rath; so the grass grew again all over it, green and beautiful, and the fairies danced there once more in the moonlight as they used to do in the old time, free and happy; and thus the evil spell was broken evermore. But the people would have nothing to do with the childless mother, so she went away back to her own people, a broken-hearted, miserable woman--a warning to all who would arouse the vengeance of the fairies by interfering with their ancient rights and possessions and privileges.




Read Yet another Faerie Story!