Make their dance-rings about it,

Sing their songs in its praise.
Years of fading and growing

Pass, - the daisy is not!
Sweeter grass-blooms are growing

Still by that little spot.
There each fairy that hover'd

Sang while pausing above,
“Here the daisy recover'd, -

Here is a footprint of Love!”

THE LITTLE FAY.

ROBERT BUCHANAN. EXTRACT.

WHEN the summer day
Makes the greenwood gay

And the blue sky clear,
I roam wherever I may

And I feel no fear.

I rise from my bed of an acorn cup

And shake the dew from my hair and eyes, Then I stoop to a dewdrop and drink it up, And it seems to strengthen my wings to rise.

Then I fly, I fly!

I rise up high,

High as the greenwood tree. The humming bee and the butterfly And the moth with its broad brown wings go by While down on the leaf of an oak I lie,

Covered up where none can see !
But I seem to hear strange voices call
Like the hum of a distant waterfall

Sighing and saddening me.
And still I lie and hearken there,
Swinging and floating high in air ;
And the voices make me red and pale

Till the sunbeams go,
And the large green fly with his silken sail

Floats by me slow,
And the leaves grow dark and are lightly rolled,
The soft boughs flutter, the dews fall cold,

And the shadows grow

Before I know !
And down I fall to the side of the stream,
And with palpitating silver gleam

I see it flow
As the moon comes out above the place,
And I stoop to drink, and smile to trace
The water-kelpie's cold, strange face

Gleaming below.

QUEEN MAB.

THOMAS Hoop.

A LITTLE fairy comes at night,

Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,

And from the moon she flutters down.

She has a little silver wand,

And when a good child goes to bed, She waves her wand from right to left

And makes a circle round its head.

And then it dreams of pleasant things,

Of fountains filled with fairy fish, And trees that bear delicious fruit

And bow their branches at a wish.

Of arbors filled with dainty scents

From lovely flowers that never fade; Bright flies that glitter in the sun,

And glow-worms shining in the shade ; And singing-birds with gifted tongues

For singing songs and telling tales ; And pretty dwarfs to show the way

Through fairy hills and fairy dales.

But when a bad child goes to bed,

From left to right she weaves her rings, And then it dreams all through the night

Of only ugly, horrid things ! Then lions come with glaring eyes,

And tigers growl — a dreadful noise; And ogres draw their cruel knives

To shed the blood of girls and boys.

Then stormy waves rush on to drown,

And raging flames come scorching round; Fierce dragons hover in the air,

And serpents crawl along the ground.

Then wicked children wake and weep

And wish the long, black gloom away; But good ones love the dark, and find

The night as pleasant as the day.

“ And where have you been, my Mary,

And where have you been from me?” “I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low,

The midsummer night to see!” “ And what did you see, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon-Low?” “I saw the blithe sunshine come down,

And I saw the merry winds blow.”

“ And what did you hear, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon Hill?” “I heard the drops of water made,

And I heard the corn-ears fill.”

“ Oh tell me all, my Mary –

All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies

Last night on the Caldon-Low."

“ Then take me on your knee, mother,

And listen, mother of mine :
A hundred fairies danced last night,

And the harpers they were nine;

“And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,

And their dancing feet so small; But oh! the sound of their talking

Was merrier far than all !”

“ And what were the words, my Mary,

That you did hear them say ?” "I'll tell you all, my mother,

But let me have my way.

66

“And some they played with the water

And rolled it down the hill ; · And this,' they said, shall speedily turn

The poor old miller's mill;

66. For there has been no water

Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man shall the miller be

By the dawning of the day!

«« Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,

When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,

Till the tears fill both his eyes !'

“ And some they seized the little winds,

That sounded over the hill,