Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

And each put a horn into his mouth,

And blew so sharp and shrill !

“6 And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go,

Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank

From the blind old widow's corn:

“Oh, the poor blind widow

Though she has been blind so long, She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,

And the corn stands stiff and strong!'

-“ And some they brought the brown linseed,

And flung it down from the Low : And this,' said they, "by the sunrise,

In the weaver's croft shall grow !

“Oh, the poor lame weaver!

How will he laugh outright
When he sees his dwindling flax-field

All full of flowers by night!'

“ And then upspoke a brownie,

With a long beard on his chin; 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,

* And I want some more to spin.

“I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,

And I want to spin another A little sheet for Mary's bed

And an apron for her mother.'

“ And with that I could not help but laugh,

And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,

There was no one left but me.

“ And all on the top of the Caldon-Low

The mists were cold and gray,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones

That round about me lay.

“But, as I came down from the hill-top,

I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,

And how merry the wheel did go!

“ And I peeped into the widow's field,

And, sure enough, was seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn

All standing stiff and green !

“ And down by the weaver's croft I stole,

To see if the flax were high ; But I saw the weaver at his gate

With the good news in his eye!

Now, this is all that I heard, mother,

And all that I did see;
So, prithee, make my bed, mother,

For I'm tired as I can be!”

1

THE FAIRY TO PUCK.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

OVER hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moone'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 favours :
In those freckles live their savours.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

SONG OF THE ELFIN MILLER.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM,

Full merrily rings the millstone round,

Full merrily rings the wheel,
Full merrily gushes out the grist -

Come, taste my fragrant meal!
As sends the lift its snowy drift,

So the meal comes in a shower;
Work, fairies, fast, for time flies past —

I borrowed the mill an hour.

The miller he's a worldly man,

And maun hae double fee;
So draw the sluice of the churl's dam,

And let the stream come free.
Shout, fairies, shout! see, gushing out,

The meal comes like a river:
The top of the grain on hill and plain

Is ours, and shall be ever.

One elf goes chasing the wild bat's wing

And one the white owl's horn;
One hunts the fox for the white o' his tail

And we winna hae him till morn.
One idle fay, with the glow-worm's ray,

Runs glimmering 'mong the mosses; Another goes tramp wi' the will-o-wisps' lamp,

To light a lad to the lasses.

O haste, my brown elf, bring me corn

From Bonnie Blackwood plains; Go, gentle fairy, bring me grain

From green Dalgona mains;
But, pride of a’ at Closeburn ha',

Fair is the corn and fatter;
Taste, fairies, taste, a gallanter grist

Has never been wet with water.

Hilloah ! my hopper is heaped high;

Hark to the well-hung wheels ! They sing for joy; the dusty roof

It clatters and it reels.

Haste, elves, and turn yon mountain burn

Bring streams that shine like siller ;
The dam is down, the moon sinks soon,

And I maun grind my miller.

Ha! bravely done, my wanton elves,

That is a foaming stream:
See how the dust from the mill flies,

And chokes the cold moon-beam.
Haste, fairies, fleet come baptized feet,

Come sack and sweep up clean,
And meet me soon, ere sinks the moon,

In thy green vale, Dalreen.

THE LARCH AND THE OAK.

THOMAS CARLYLE. A FABLE.

“What is the use of thee, thou gnarled sapling ?” said a young larch-tree to a young oak. “I grow three feet in a year, thou scarcely so many inches; I am straight and taper as a reed, thou straggling and twisted as a loosened withe.” — “And thy duration," answered the oak, “is some third part of man's life and I am appointed to flourish for a thousand years. Thou art felled and sawed into paling, where thou rottest and art burned after a single summer; of me are fashioned battle-ships, and I carry mariners and heroes into unknown seas."

The richer a nature the harder and slower its devel

« AnteriorContinuar »