ELFIN MOUNDS AND FAIRY HILLS
’Tis the Midnight Hour!
The Moon hangs white!
Mortal beware,
’Tis Fairy Night!
From Elfin Mound,
And Fairy Hill,
Comes music sweet,
And laughter shrill!
Mortal beware,
For Fairy-Spell
Lies on meadow,
Wood and dell!
MONDAY! TUESDAY!
From Ireland
There once lived a lad in old Ireland named Lusmore. He had a great hump on his back, and whenever he sat down he had to rest his chin on his knee for support. But, in spite of this, he was as happy as a cricket, and used to go about the country with a sprig of Fairy-cap, or Foxglove, in his little straw hat. He went from house to house plaiting baskets out of rushes, and in that way he earned a living. And he was so merry that people always gave him a penny more than he asked.
One evening, he was returning from a distant town, and as he walked slowly on account of his hump, it grew dark before he could reach home. He came to an old mound by the side of the road, and, being tired, sat down on it to rest.
He had not been sitting there long when he heard strains of music, and many little voices singing sweetly. He laid his ear to the mound, and perceived that the music and singing came from inside it. And he could hear the words that the little voices were chanting over and over again:—
“Monday! Tuesday!
Monday! Tuesday!
Monday! Tuesday!”
It was all so very sweet, that Lusmore listened with delight; but by and by he grew tired of hearing the same words sung over and over. He waited politely until the voices had finished their song, then he called:—
“And Wednesday!”
The Fairies—for it was the singing of Fairies that he heard—were so pleased with Lusmore’s addition to their words, that they pulled him right down through the top of the mound with the speed of a whirlwind. And he went falling and twirling round and round as light as a feather.
He found himself in a palace so bright that it dazzled his eyes. Then all the Fairies stopped capering and dancing, and came crowding around him. And one, wearing a crown, stepped forward and said:—
“Lusmore! Lusmore!
The hump that you wore,
On your back is no more.
Look down on the floor,
And see it, Lusmore!”
And as these words were being said, Lusmore felt himself grow so light and happy, that he could have bounded up to the moon. And he saw his hump tumble off his back and roll on the floor. Then the Fairies took hands, and danced around him, and as they did so he became dizzy and fell asleep.
When he opened his eyes it was broad daylight, and the sun was shining, and the birds were singing, and cows and sheep were grazing peacefully around him. He put his hand to his hump. It was gone! And there he was, as tall, straight, and handsome as any other lad in Ireland. And, besides all that, he was dressed in a full suit of beautiful clothes.
He went toward his home stepping out lightly, and jumping high at every step, so full of joy was he. And as he passed his neighbours, they hardly knew him without his hump, and because he was so straight and handsome, and was dressed so finely.
Now, in another village, not far away, lived a lad named Jack Madden. He also had a great hump on his back. He was a peevish, cunning creature, and liked to scratch and pinch all who came near him.
When he heard how the Fairies had taken away Lusmore’s hump, he decided that he, too, would visit them. So one night after darkness had fallen, he sat down on the mound all alone, and waited. He had not been there long before he heard the music, and the sweet voices singing:—
“Monday! Tuesday!
Monday! Tuesday!
Monday! Tuesday!
And Wednesday!”
And as he was in a very great hurry to get rid of his hump, he did not wait for the Fairies to finish their song, but yelled out, thinking that two days were better than one:—
“And Thursday and Friday!”
No sooner had the words left his lips, than he was taken up quickly, and whisked through the mound with terrific force. And the Fairies came crowding around him, screeching and buzzing with anger, and crying out:—
“Our song you have spoiled!
Our song you have spoiled!
Our song you have spoiled!”
Then the one wearing the crown stepped forward, and said:—
“Jack Madden! Jack Madden!
Your words came so bad in,
That your life we will sadden!
Here’s two humps for Jack Madden!”
And quick as a wink, twenty Fairies brought Lusmore’s hump and clapped it down on Jack Madden’s back, and there it was fixed as firmly as if nailed on with tenpenny nails.
Then out of the mound they kicked him. And when morning was come, he crept home with the two humps on his back—and he is wearing them still.
THE GREEDY OLD MAN
From Cornwall
Long ago in Cornwall, on a hillock called “the Gump,” there was a Fairy Ring. Many a good old man or woman, on moonlit nights, had seen the Fairies dancing there at their revels, and had been rewarded with gifts small but rich.
Now, there was one greedy old man, who, having heard his neighbours tell of the Fairy Gold at the revels, decided to steal some of the treasure. So on a moonlit night, when all was quiet, he stole softly up to “the Gump.”
As he drew near he heard delightful music, which seemed to come from inside the hillock. The notes were now slow and solemn, and now quick and gay, so that the old man had to weep and laugh in one breath. Then before he knew it, he began to dance to the Fairy measure. He was forced by some unseen power to whirl round and round; but in spite of this he kept his wits about him, and watched to see what would happen.
Suddenly there was a crashing sound, and a door in the hillock opened. Instantly the old man saw that everything about him was ablaze with coloured lights. Each blade of grass was hung with tiny bright lamps, and every tree and bush was illuminated with stars.
Out of the opening in the hillock marched a band of Goblins, as if to clear the way. Then came a number of Fairy musicians playing on every kind of musical instrument. These were followed by troop after troop of Elfin soldiers, carrying waving banners.
The soldiers arranged themselves in two files on either side of the door; but the Goblins, much to the old man’s disgust, placed themselves close behind him. As they were no bigger than his thumb, he thought to himself: “If they bother me, I can easily step on them and crush them with my foot.”
This vast array having disposed itself, next from the hillock came a crowd of Elfin servants carrying pitchers of silver and gold, and goblets cut out of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other precious stones. Servants followed bearing aloft gold and silver platters heaped high with the richest meats, pastries, candies, and glowing fruits. A number of Elfin boys, clad in crimson, then set out small tables made of ivory curiously carved, and the servants arranged the feast with order.
Then out of the hillock came crowding thousands and thousands of lovely winged Fairies clad in gossamer robes of every colour, like the rainbow.
The music suddenly changed to low, delicate notes, and the old man found that he was no longer forced to dance and whirl about. And as he stood still, the perfume of a thousand rich flowers filled the air, and the whole vast host of Fairies began to sing a song as clear and sweet as the tinkle of silver bells.
Then from the hillock issued forth line after line of Elfin boys dressed in green and gold, and behind them on an ivory throne, borne aloft by a hundred Fairies, came the King and Queen of Fairyland blazing with beauty and jewels.
The throne was placed upon the hillock, which immediately bloomed with lilies and roses. Before the King and Queen was set the most beautiful of all the little tables laden with gold and silver dishes and precious goblets. The Fairies took their places at the other tables, and began to feast with a will.
“Now,” thought the old man, “my time is come! If only I can creep up, without being seen, to the Fairy King’s table, I shall be able to snatch enough gold to make me rich for life.”
And with his greedy mind set on this, he crouched down, and began very slowly to creep toward the throne. But he did not see that thousands of Goblins had cast fine threads about his body, and were holding the ends in their hands.
Trembling with greed, the old man crept closer and closer to the Fairy King and Queen. He took his hat from his head, and raised it carefully to cover the royal throne and table; and, as he did so, he heard a shrill whistle. Instantly his hand was fixed powerless in the air. Then, with a sudden crash, all became dark around him.
“Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!” and he heard as if a flight of bees were brushing past his ears, and suddenly, his body, from head to foot, was stabbed with pins and pinched with tweezers. Then he was thrown violently upon his back with his arms outstretched; and his arms and legs were fastened to the ground with magic chains. His tongue seemed tied with cords so that he could not call out.
And as he lay there trembling with fright and pain, he felt as though swarms of insects were running over him. Then he saw standing on his nose a grinning Goblin. This little monster stamped and jumped with great delight; then making a fearful grimace, shouted:—
“Away! Away!
I smell the day!”
And on this, an army of Goblins, Fairies, and Elves, who were running up and down the old man’s body, stabbing him with pins, and pinching him with tweezers, jumped quickly down, and rushed into the hillock; which closed immediately. And the old man saw the Fairies no more.
At length the sun rose and he found that he was tied to the ground with a myriad of gossamer webs, which were covered with dew-drops that glistened like diamonds in the sunlight.
He shook himself free, and got up. Wet, cold, ashamed, and pinched black and blue, he returned to his home. And you may be sure that he never again tried to steal the Fairy Gold.
LEGEND OF BOTTLE HILL
From Ireland
It was in the good days, when the Little People were more frequently seen than they are in these unbelieving times, that a farmer, named Mick Purcell, rented a few acres of barren ground not far from the city of Cork.
Mick had a wife and seven children. They did all that they could to get on, which was very little, for the poor man had no child grown big enough to help him in his work; and all that the poor woman could do was to mind the children, milk the cow, boil the potatoes, and carry the eggs to market. So besides the difficulty of getting enough to eat, it was hard on them to pay the rent.
Well, they did manage to get along for a good while; but at last came a bad year, and the little field of oats was spoiled, and the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the measles, and poor Mick found that he hadn’t enough to pay half his rent.
“Why, then, Molly,” said he, “what’ll we do?”
“Wisha, then, mavourneen, what would you do but take the cow to the Fair of Cork, and sell her?” said she. “And Monday is Fair-day, so you must go to-morrow.”
“And what’ll we do when she’s gone?” said Mick.
“Never a know I know, Mick, but sure God won’t leave us without help. And you know how good He was to us when little Billy was sick, and we had nothing at all for him to take—that good doctor gentleman came riding past and asked for a drink of milk, and he gave us two shillings, and sent me things and a bottle for the child; and he came to see Billy and never left off his goodness until he was well.”
“Oh, you are always hopeful, Molly, and I believe you are right, after all,” Mick said, “so I won’t be sorry for selling the cow. I’ll go to-morrow, and you must put a needle and thread through my coat, for you know it’s ripped under the arm.”
Molly told him he should have everything right. And about twelve o’clock the next day he left her, after having promised not to sell his cow except for the highest penny.
He drove the beast slowly through a little stream that crossed the road under the walls of an old fort; and as he passed, he glanced his eyes on a pile of stones and an old elder tree that stood up sharply against the sky.
“Oh, then, if only I had half the Fairy money that is buried in yon fort, ’tisn’t driving this cow I’d be now!” said he aloud.
Then he moved on after his beast. ’Twas a fine day, and the sun shone brightly, and after he had gone six miles, he came to that hill—Bottle Hill it is called now, but that was not the name of it then.
“Good morrow, Mick!” said a little voice, and with that a little man started up out of the hill.
“Good morrow, kindly,” said Mick, and he looked at the stranger who was like a dwarf with a bit of an old wrinkled face, for all the world like a dried cauliflower; only he had a sharp red nose, red eyes, and white hair. His eyes were never quiet, but looked at everything; and it made Mick’s blood run cold just to see them roll so rapidly from side to side.
In truth Mick did not like the little man’s company at all, and he drove his cow somewhat faster; but the little man kept up with him. Out of the corner of his eye Mick could see that he moved over the road without lifting one foot after the other; and the poor fellow’s heart trembled within him.
“Where are you going with that cow, honest man?” said the little man at last.
“To the Fair of Cork, then,” said Mick, trembling even more at the shrill and piercing voice.
“Are you going to sell her?” asked the little man.
“Why, then, what else am I going for, but to sell her?”
“Will you sell her to me?”
Mick started. He was afraid to have anything to do with the little man, but he was more afraid to say no.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you this bottle,” said the little man, pulling a bottle from under his coat.
Mick looked at him and the bottle, and in spite of his terror he could not help bursting into a loud fit of laughter.
“Laugh if you will!” said the little man, “but I tell you that this bottle is better for you than all the money you will get for the cow at Cork—aye, than ten thousand times as much.”
Mick laughed again. “Why, then,” said he, “do you think I am such a fool as to give my good cow for a bottle—and an empty one, too! Indeed, then, I won’t!”
“You’d better give me the cow, and take the bottle—you’ll not be sorry for it,” said the little man.
“Why, then, what would Molly say? I’d never hear the last of it! And how should I pay the rent? And what should we do without a penny of money?”
“When you go home, never mind if your wife is angry,” answered the little man, “but quiet yourself, and make her sweep the room, and set the table in the middle of the floor, and spread the best cover on it. Then put the bottle on the ground, saying these words: ‘Bottle, do your duty!’ And you will see the end of it.”
“And is this all?” said Mick.
“No more,” said the stranger, forcing the bottle into Mick’s hand. Then he moved swiftly off after the cow.
Well, Mick, rather sick at heart, retraced his steps toward his cabin, and as he went he could not help turning his head to look after the little man; but he had vanished completely.
“He can’t belong to this earth,” exclaimed Mick in horror to himself. “But where is the cow?” She, too, was gone; and Mick hurried homeward muttering prayers and holding fast the bottle.
He soon reached his cabin, and surprised his wife sitting over the turf fire in the big chimney.
“Oh! Mick, are you come back?” said she. “Sure you weren’t at Cork all the way? What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you sell her? How much money did you get for her? What news have you? Tell us everything.”
“Why, then, Molly, if you’ll give me time, I’ll tell you all about it!”
“Oh! then, you sold her. Where’s the money?”
“Arrah! stop a while, Molly, and I’ll tell you all about it!”
“But what is that bottle under your waistcoat?” said Molly, seeing its neck sticking out.
“Why, then, be easy about it,” said Mick, “till I tell it you.” And putting the bottle on the table, he added, “That’s all I got for the cow.”
His poor wife was thunderstruck. She sat crying, while Mick told her his story, with many a crossing and blessing between him and harm. She could not help believing him, for she had great faith in Fairies. So she got up, and, without saying a word, began to sweep the earthen floor with a bunch of heather. Then she tidied everything, and put the long table in the middle of the room, and spread over it a clean cloth.
And then Mick, placing the bottle on the ground, said: “Bottle, do your duty!”
“Look! Look there, mammy!” cried his eldest son. “Look there! Look there!” and he sprang to his mother’s side, as two tiny fellows rose like light from the bottle; and in an instant they covered the table with dishes and plates of gold and silver, full of the finest victuals that ever were seen. And when all was done, the two tiny fellows went into the bottle again.
Mick and his wife looked at everything with astonishment; they had never seen such dishes and plates before, and the very sight of them almost took their appetites away. But at length Molly said:—
“Come and sit down, Mick, and try to eat a bit. Sure, you ought to be hungry, after such a good day’s work!”
So they all sat down at the table. After they had eaten as much as they wished, Molly said:—
“I wonder will those two good, little gentlemen carry away these fine things.”
They waited, but no one came; so Molly put the dishes and plates carefully aside. The next day Mick went to Cork and sold some of them, and bought a horse and cart.
Weeks passed by, and the neighbours saw that Mick was making money; and, though he and his wife did all they could to keep the bottle a secret, their landlord soon found out about it. Then he took the bottle by force away from Mick, and carried it carefully home.
As for Mick and his wife, they had so much money left that the loss of the bottle did not worry them much at first; but they kept on spending their wealth as if there was no end to it. And to make a long story short, they became poorer and poorer, until they had to sell their last cow.
So one morning early, Mick once more drove his cow to the Fair of Cork. It was hardly daybreak when he left home, and he walked on until he reached the big hill; and just as he got to its top, and cast his eyes before and around him, up started the little man out of the hill.
“Well, Mick Purcell,” said he, “I told you that you would be a rich man!”
“Indeed, then, so I was, that is no lie for you, sir,” replied Mick. “But it’s not rich I am now! And if you happen to have another bottle, here is the cow for it.”
“And here is the bottle!” said the little man, smiling. “You know what to do with it.”
And with that both the cow and the stranger disappeared as they had done before.
Mick hurried away, anxious to get home with the bottle. He arrived with it safely enough, and called out to Molly to put the room to rights; and to lay a clean cloth on the table. Which she did.
Mick set the bottle on the ground, and cried out: “Bottle, do your duty!”
In a twinkling two great, stout men with two huge clubs, issued from the bottle, and belaboured poor Mick and his family until they lay groaning on the floor. Then the two men went into the bottle again.
Mick, as soon as he came to himself, got up and looked around him. He thought and he thought. He lifted up his wife and children, then leaving them to recover as best they could, he put the bottle under his arm, and went to visit his landlord.
The landlord was having a great feast, and when he saw that Mick had another bottle, he invited him heartily to come in.
“Show us your bottle, Mick,” said he.
So Mick set it on the floor, and spoke the proper words; and in a moment the landlord tumbled to the floor, and all his guests were running, and roaring, and sprawling, and kicking, and shrieking, while the two great, stout men belaboured them well.
“Stop those two scoundrels, Mick Purcell,” shouted the landlord, “or I’ll hang you!”
“They shall never stop,” said Mick, “till I get my own bottle that I see on top of yon shelf.”
“Give it to him! Give it to him, before we are killed!” cried the landlord.
Mick put his old bottle in his bosom. Then the two great, stout men jumped into the new one, and Mick carried both bottles safely home.
And to make my story short, from that time on Mick prospered. He got richer than ever, and his son married the landlord’s daughter. And both Mick and his wife lived to a great old age. They died on the same day, and at their wake the servants broke both bottles. But the hill has the name upon it; for so it will always be Bottle Hill to the end of the world, for this is a strange story.
THE BROWN DWARF
The pleasant isle of Rügen looks the Baltic water o’er,
To the silver-sanded beaches of the Pomeranian shore;
And in the town of Rambin a little boy and maid
Plucked the meadow-flowers together and in the sea-surf played.
Alike were they in beauty if not in their degree:
He was the Amptman’s first-born, the miller’s child was she.
Now of old the isle of Rügen was full of Dwarfs and Trolls,
The brown-faced little Earth-men, the people without souls;
And for every man and woman in Rügen’s island found
Walking in air and sunshine, a Troll was underground.
It chanced the little maiden, one morning, strolled away
Among the haunted Nine Hills, where the Elves and Goblins play.
That day, in barley fields below, the harvesters had known
Of evil voices in the air, and heard the small horns blown.
She came not back; the search for her in field and wood was vain:
They cried her east, they cried her west, but she came not again.
“She’s down among the Brown Dwarfs,” said the dream-wives wise and old,
And prayers were made, and masses said, and Rambin’s church bell tolled.
Five years her father mourned her; and then John Deitrich said:
“I will find my little playmate, be she alive or dead.”
He watched among the Nine Hills, he heard the Brown Dwarfs sing,
And saw them dance by moonlight merrily in a ring.
And when their gay-robed leader tossed up his cap of red,
Young Deitrich caught it as it fell, and thrust it on his head.
The Troll came crouching at his feet and wept for lack of it.
“Oh, give me back my magic cap, for your great head unfit!”
“Nay,” Deitrich said; “the Dwarf who throws his charmèd cap away,
Must serve its finder at his will, and for his folly pay.
“You stole my pretty Lisbeth, and hid her in the earth;
And you shall ope the door of glass and let me lead her forth.”
“She will not come; she’s one of us; she’s mine!” the Brown Dwarf said;
“The day is set, the cake is baked, to-morrow we shall wed.”
“The fell fiend fetch thee!” Deitrich cried, “and keep thy foul tongue still.
Quick! open, to thy evil world, the glass door of the hill!”
The Dwarf obeyed; and youth and Troll down the long stairway passed,
And saw in dim and sunless light a country strange and vast.
Weird, rich, and wonderful, he saw the Elfin under-land,—
Its palaces of precious stones, its streets of golden sand.
He came into a banquet-hall with tables richly spread,
Where a young maiden served to him the red wine and the bread.
How fair she seemed among the Trolls so ugly and so wild!
Yet pale and very sorrowful, like one who never smiled!
Her low, sweet voice, her gold-brown hair, her tender blue eyes seemed
Like something he had seen elsewhere or something he had dreamed.
He looked; he clasped her in his arms; he knew the long-lost one;
“O Lisbeth! See thy playmate—I am the Amptman’s son!”
She leaned her fair head on his breast, and through her sobs she spoke:
“Oh, take me from this evil place, and from the Elfin folk!
“And let me tread the grass-green fields and smell the flowers again,
And feel the soft wind on my cheek and hear the dropping rain!
“And Oh, to hear the singing bird, the rustling of the tree,
The lowing cows, the bleat of sheep, the voices of the sea;
“And Oh, upon my father’s knee to sit beside the door,
And hear the bell of vespers ring in Rambin church once more!”
He kissed her cheek, he kissed her lips; the Brown Dwarf groaned to see,
And tore his tangled hair and ground his long teeth angrily.
But Deitrich said: “For five long years this tender Christian maid
Has served you in your evil world, and well must she be paid!
“Haste!—hither bring me precious gems, the richest in your store;
Then when we pass the gate of glass, you’ll take your cap once more.”
No choice was left the baffled Troll, and, murmuring, he obeyed,
And filled the pockets of the youth and apron of the maid.
They left the dreadful under-land and passed the gate of glass;
They felt the sunshine’s warm caress, they trod the soft, green grass.
And when, beneath, they saw the Dwarf stretch up to them his brown
And crooked claw-like fingers, they tossed his red cap down.
Oh, never shone so bright a sun, was never sky so blue,
As hand in hand they homeward walked the pleasant meadows through!
And never sang the birds so sweet in Rambin’s woods before,
And never washed the waves so soft along the Baltic shore;
And when beneath his door-yard trees the father met his child,
The bells rung out their merriest peal, the folks with joy ran wild.
And soon from Rambin’s holy church the twain came forth as one,
The Amptman kissed a daughter, the miller blest a son.
John Deitrich’s fame went far and wide, and nurse and maid crooned o’er
Their cradle song: “Sleep on, sleep well, the Trolls shall come no more!”
For in the haunted Nine Hills he set a cross of stone;
And Elf and Brown Dwarf sought in vain a door where door was none.
The tower he built in Rambin, fair Rügen’s pride and boast,
Looked o’er the Baltic water to the Pomeranian coast;
And, for his worth ennobled, and rich beyond compare,
Count Deitrich and his lovely bride dwelt long and happy there.
John Greenleaf Whittier