The Posy Ring Part 29

_William Blake._

STORY TIME

_The Fairy Folk_

Come cuddle close in daddy's coat Beside the fire so bright, And hear about the fairy folk That wander in the night.

For when the stars are shining clear And all the world is still, They float across the silver moon From hill to cloudy hill.

Their caps of red, their cloaks of green, Are hung with silver bells, And when they're shaken with the wind Their merry ringing swells.

And riding on the crimson moth, With black spots on his wings, They guide them down the purple sky With golden bridle rings.

They love to visit girls and boys To see how sweet they sleep, To stand beside their cosy cots And at their faces peep.

For in the whole of fairy land They have no finer sight Than little children sleeping sound With faces rosy bright.

On tip-toe crowding round their heads, When bright the moonlight beams, They whisper little tender words That fill their minds with dreams; And when they see a sunny smile, With lightest finger tips They lay a hundred kisses sweet Upon the ruddy lips.

And then the little spotted moths Spread out their crimson wings, And bear away the fairy crowd With shaking bridle rings.

Come bairnies, hide in daddy's coat, Beside the fire so bright-- Perhaps the little fairy folk Will visit you to-night.

Robert Bird.

_A Fairy in Armor_

He put his acorn helmet on; It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down; The corslet plate that guarded his breast Was once the wild bee's golden vest; His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, Was formed of the wings of b.u.t.terflies; His shield was the sh.e.l.l of a lady-bug green, Studs of gold on a ground of green; And the quivering lance which he brandished bright, Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.

Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed; He bared his blade of the bent-gra.s.s blue; He drove his spurs of the c.o.c.kle-seed, And away like a glance of thought he flew, To skim the heavens, and follow far The fiery trail of the rocket-star.

Joseph Rodman Drake.

_The Last Voyage of the Fairies_

Down the bright stream the Fairies float,-- A water-lily is their boat.

Long rushes they for paddles take, Their mainsail of a bat's wing make;

The tackle is of cobwebs neat,-- With glow-worm lantern all's complete.

So down the broad'ning stream they float, With Puck as pilot of the boat.

The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies, And lifts at times her languid eyes

To mark the green and mossy spots Where bloom the blue forget-me-nots:

Oberon, on his rose-bud throne, Claims the fair valley as his own:

And elves and fairies, with a shout Which may be heard a yard about,

Hail him as Elfland's mighty King; And hazel-nuts in homage bring,

And bend the unreluctant knee, And wave their wands in loyalty.

Down the broad stream the Fairies float, An unseen power impels their boat;

The banks fly past--each wooded scene-- The elder copse--the poplars green--

And soon they feel the briny breeze With salt and savour of the seas--

Still down the stream the Fairies float, An unseen power impels their boat;

Until they mark the rushing tide Within the estuary wide.

And now they're tossing on the sea, Where waves roll high, and winds blow free,--

Ah, mortal vision nevermore Shall see the Fairies on the sh.o.r.e,

Or watch upon a summer night Their mazy dances of delight!

Far, far away upon the sea, The waves roll high, the breeze blows free!

The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies, Slow gazing with a strange surprise

Where swim the sea-nymphs on the tide Or on the backs of dolphins ride:

The King, upon his rose-bud throne, Pales as he hears the waters moan;

The elves have ceased their sportive play, Hushed by the slowly sinking day:

And still afar, afar they float, The Fairies in their fragile boat,--

Further and further from the sh.o.r.e, And lost to mortals evermore!

W. H. Davenport Adams.