Down-Adown-Derry Part 1

Down-Adown-Derry.

by Walter De La Mare.

FAIRIES

THE FAIRIES DANCING

I heard along the early hills, Ere yet the lark was risen up, Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills The night-dew of the bramble-cup,-- I heard the fairies in a ring Sing as they tripped a lilting round Soft as the moon on wavering wing.

The starlight shook as if with sound, As if with echoing, and the stars Prankt their bright eyes with trembling gleams While red with war the gusty Mars Rained upon earth his ruddy beams.

He shone alone, low down the West, While I, behind a hawthorn-bush, Watched on the fairies flaxen-tressed The fires of the morning flush.

Till, as a mist, their beauty died, Their singing shrill and fainter grew; And daylight tremulous and wide Flooded the moorland through and through; Till Urdon's copper weatherc.o.c.k Was reared in golden flame afar, And dim from moonlit dreams awoke The towers and groves of Arroar.

DREAM-SONG

Sunlight, moonlight, Twilight, starlight-- Gloaming at the close of day, And an owl calling, Cool dews falling In a wood of oak and may.

Lantern-light, taper-light, Torchlight, no-light: Darkness at the shut of day, And lions roaring, Their wrath pouring In wild waste places far away.

Elf-light, bat-light, Touchwood-light and toad-light, And the sea a shimmering gloom of grey, And a small face smiling In a dream's beguiling In a world of wonders far away.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A-TISHOO

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Sneeze, Pretty, sneeze, Dainty, Else the Elves will have you sure, Sneeze, Light-of-Seven-Bright-Candles, See they're tippeting at the door; Their wee feet in measure falling, All their little voices calling, Calling, calling, calling, calling-- Sneeze, or never come no more!"

"A-tishoo!"

THE DOUBLE

I curtseyed to the dovecote.

I curtseyed to the well.

I twirled me round and round about, The morning sweets to smell.

When out I came from spinning so, Lo, betwixt green and blue Was the ghost of me--a Fairy Child-- A-dancing--dancing, too.

Nought was of her wearing That is the earth's array.

Her thistledown feet beat airy fleet Yet set no blade astray.

The gossamer shining dews of June Showed grey against the green; Yet never so much as a bird-claw print Of footfall to be seen.

Fading in the mounting sun That image soon did pine.

Fainter than moonlight thinned the locks That shone as clear as mine.

Vanished! Vanished! O, sad it is To spin and spin--in vain; And never to see the ghost of me A-dancing there again.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE UNFINISHED DREAM

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Rare-sweet the air in that unimagined country-- My spirit had wandered far From its weary body close-enwrapt in slumber Where its home and earth-friends are; A milk-like air--and of light all abundance; And there a river clear Painting the scene like a picture on its bosom, Green foliage drifting near.

No sign of life I saw, as I pressed onward, Fish, nor beast, nor bird, Till I came to a hill clothed in flowers to its summit, Then shrill small voices I heard.

And I saw from concealment a company of elf-folk With faces strangely fair, Talking their unearthly scattered talk together, A bind of green-gra.s.ses in their hair,

Marvellously gentle, feater far than children, In gesture, mien and speech, Hastening onward in translucent shafts of sunshine, And gossiping each with each.

Straw-light their locks, on neck and shoulder falling, Faint of almond the silks they wore, Spun not of worm, but as if inwoven of moonbeams And foam on rock-bound sh.o.r.e;

Like lank-legged gra.s.shoppers in June-tide meadows, Amalillios of the day, Hungrily gazed upon by me--a stranger, In unknown regions astray.

Yet, happy beyond words, I marked their sunlit faces, Stealing soft enchantment from their eyes, Tears in my own confusing their small image, Harkening their bird-like cries.

They pa.s.sed me, unseeing, a waft of flocking linnets; Sadly I fared on my way; And came in my dream to a dreamlike habitation, Close-shut, festooned and grey.

Pausing, I gazed at the porch dust-still, vine-wreathed, Worn the stone steps thereto, Mute hung its bell, whence a stony head looked downward, Grey 'gainst the sky's pale-blue--

Strange to me: strange....

THE HORN

Hark! is that a horn I hear, In cloudland winding sweet-- And bell-like clash of bridle-rein, And silver-shod light feet?

Is it the elfin laughter Of fairies riding faint and high, Beneath the branches of the moon, Straying through the starry sky?