FAYS OF WATER, WOOD, AND MEADOW
Over hill, over dale,
Through bush, through briar,
Over park, over pale,
Through flood, through fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’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.
Shakespeare
KINTARO THE GOLDEN BOY
From Japan
Once upon a time a poor widow and her little boy lived in a cave in the midst of a great forest. The little one’s name was Kintaro the Golden Boy. He was a sturdy fellow with red cheeks and laughing eyes. He was different from other boys. When he fell down, he sang cheerily; if he wandered away from the cave, he could always find his way home again; and while he was yet very small, he could swing a heavy axe in circles round his head.
Kintaro grew to be ten years old, and a handsome, manly lad he was. Then his mother looked at him often and sighed deeply. “Must my child grow up in this lonely forest!” thought she sadly. “Will he never take his place in the world of men! Alas! Alas!”
But Kintaro was perfectly happy. The forest was full of his playmates. Every living thing loved him. When he lay on his bed of ferns, the birds flew nestling to his shoulder, and peeped into his eyes. The butterflies and moths settled on his face, and trod softly over his brown body. But his truest friends were the bears that dwelt in the forest. When he was tired of walking, a mother-bear carried him on her back. Her cubs ran to greet him, and romped and wrestled with him. Sometimes Kintaro would climb up the smooth-barked monkey-tree, and sit on the topmost bough, and laugh at the vain efforts of his shaggy cub-friends to follow him. Then came the bears’ supper-time, and the feast of golden liquid honey!
Now, it happened, one Summer, that there was to be a great day of sports for the forest creatures. Soon after dawn, a gentle-eyed stag came to waken Kintaro. The boy, with a farewell kiss to his mother, and a caress to the stag, leaped on his friend’s back, and wound his arms around his soft neck. And away they went with long, noiseless bounds through the forest.
Up hill, across valleys, through thickets they bounded, until they reached a leafy spot in a wide, green glade near a foaming cataract. There the stag set Kintaro down; and the boy seated himself on a mossy stone, and began to whistle sweetly.
Immediately the forest rustled with living things. The song-birds came swiftly to his call. The eagle and the hawk flew from distant heights. The crane and the heron stepped proudly from their hyacinth-pools and hastened to the glade. All Kintaro’s feathered friends flocked thither and rested in the cedar branches. Then through the undergrowth came running the wolf, the bear, the badger, the fox, and the martin, and seated themselves around Kintaro.
They all began to speak to him. He listened as they told their joys and sorrows, and he spoke graciously to each. For Kintaro had learned the languages of beasts, birds, and flowers.
And who had taught Kintaro all this? The Tengus, the Wood-Elves. And even while he was listening to the forest creatures, the Tengus themselves came tumbling out of the trees, or popping up from behind stones. Very strange little Elves they were! Each had the body of a man, the head of a hawk, powerful claws, and a long, long nose that usually trailed on the ground. And every little Tengu wore on his feet tiny stilt-like clogs.
All these queer Wood-Elves came toward Kintaro, walking very proudly with their arms crossed, heads well thrown back, and long noses held erect in the air. At their head was the Chief Tengu, very old, with a gray beard and a sharp beak.
The Chief Tengu seated himself beside Kintaro on the mossy stone, and waved a seven-feathered fan in the air. Immediately the sports began.
The young Tengus were fond of games. They found their long noses most useful. They now fenced with them, and balanced bowls full of goldfish on them. Then two of the Tengus straightened their noses, and joined them together, and so made a tight rope. On this a young Tengu, with a paper umbrella in one hand, and leading a little dog with the other, danced and jumped through a hoop. And all the time an old Tengu sang a dance-song, and another Tengu beat time with a fan.
Kintaro cheered loudly, and clapped his hands; and the beasts and birds barked, hissed, growled, or sang for pleasure. So the morning passed swiftly and delightfully, and the time came for the forest animals to take part in the sports. They did so running, leaping, tumbling, and flying.
Last of all stood up a great father-bear to wrestle with Kintaro. Now, the boy had been taught to fight by his friends the Tengus; and he had learned from them many skilful tricks. So he and the bear gripped each other, and began to wrestle very hard. The bear was powerful and strong, and his claws like iron, but Kintaro was not afraid. Backward and forward they swayed, and struggled, while the Tengus and the forest creatures sat watching.
Now, it happened that the great Hero Raiko was just returning from slaying many horrible ogres and hags. His way lay through the forest, and at that moment he heard the noise of the wrestling. He stopped his horse and peered through the trees into the glade. There he saw the circle of animals and little Tengus, and Kintaro struggling with the powerful bear. Just at that moment the boy, with a skilful movement, threw the clumsy creature to the ground.
“I must have that boy for my son,” thought Raiko. “He will make a great hero! He must be mine!”
So he waited until Kintaro had mounted the stag and bounded away through the forest. Then Raiko followed him on his swift steed to the cave.
When Kintaro’s mother learned that Raiko was the mighty warrior who had slain the ogres and hags, she let him take her son to his castle. But before Kintaro went, he called together all his friends, the Tengus, the birds, and the beasts, and bade them farewell, in words that they remember to this day.
His mother did not follow her son to the land of men, for she loved the forest best; but Kintaro, when he became a great hero, often came to see her in her home. And all the people of Japan called him “Kintaro the Golden Boy.”
THE FLOWER FAIRIES
From China
Once upon a time, high on a mountain-side, there was a place where many beautiful flowers grew, mostly Peonies and Camellias. A young man named Hwang, who wished to study all alone, built himself a little house near by.
One day he noticed from his window a lovely young girl dressed in white, wandering about among the flowers. He hastened out of the house to see who she was, but she ran behind a tall white Peony, and vanished.
Hwang was very much astonished, and sat down to watch. Soon the girl slipped from behind the white Peony, bringing another girl with her who was dressed in red. They wandered about hand in hand until they came near Hwang, when the girl in red gave a scream, and together the two ran back among the flowers, their robes and long sleeves fluttering in the wind and scenting all the air. Hwang dashed after them, but they had vanished completely.
That evening, as Hwang was sitting over his books, he was astonished to see the white girl walk into his little room. With tears in her eyes she seemed to be pleading with him to help her. Hwang tried to comfort her, but she did not speak. Then, sobbing bitterly, she suddenly vanished.
This appeared to Hwang as very strange. However, the next day a visitor came to the mountain, who, after wandering among the flowers, dug up the tall white Peony, and carried it off. Hwang then knew that the white girl was a Flower Fairy; and he became very sad because he had permitted the Peony to be carried away. Later he heard that the flower had lived only a few days. At this he wept, and, going to the place where the Peony had stood, watered the spot with his tears.
While he was weeping, the girl in red suddenly stood before him, wringing her hands, and wiping her eyes.
“Alas!” cried she, “that my dear sister should have been torn from my side! But the tears, Hwang, that you have shed, may be the means of restoring her to us!”
Having said this, the red girl disappeared. But that very night Hwang dreamed that she came to him, and seemed to implore him to help her, just as the white girl had done. In the morning he found that a new house was to be erected close by, and that the builder had given orders to cut down a beautiful tall red Camellia.
Hwang prevented the destruction of the flower; and that same evening, as he sat watching the Camellia, from behind its tall stem came the white girl herself, hand in hand with her red sister.
“Hwang,” said the red girl, “the King of the Flower Fairies, touched by your tears, has restored my white sister to us. But as she is now only the ghost of a flower, she must dwell forever in a white Peony, and you will never see her again.”
At these words Hwang caught hold of the white girl’s hand, but it melted away in his; and both the sisters vanished forever from his sight. In despair he looked wildly around him, and all that he saw was a tall white Peony and a beautiful red Camellia.
After that Hwang pined, and fell ill, and died. He was buried at his own request, by the side of the white Peony; and before very long another white Peony grew up very straight and tall on Hwang’s grave; so that the two flowers stood lovingly side by side.
THE FAIRY ISLAND
From Cornwall
In ancient days, in the land of Wales, there was a blue lake on a high mountain. No one had ever seen a bird fly near it. And over its waves came faint strains of delicious music, that seemed to float from a dimly seen island in its centre. No one had ever ventured to sail on its water, for every one knew that it was the abode of the Tylwyth Teg, the Water Fairies.
It happened, one lovely Summer day, that a hunter was wandering along the margin of the lake, and found himself before an open door in a rock. He entered, and walked along a dark passage that led downward. He followed this for some time, and suddenly found himself passing through another door, that opened on the mysterious, lovely island, the home of the Tylwyth Teg.
All around him was a most enchanting garden, where grew every sort of delicious fruit and fragrant flower. The next moment a number of Fairies advanced toward him, and graciously welcomed him to their abode. They bade him eat as much fruit as he wished, and pick the flowers, but told him not to take anything away with him.
All day he remained on the island, listening to the most ravishing music, and feasting and dancing with the Fairies.
When it came time for him to leave, he hid a flower in his bosom, for he wished to show it to his friends at home. He then said farewell to the Fairies, and returned through the dark passage to the margin of the lake. But when he put his hand in his bosom to pull out the flower, he found to his amazement that it had vanished. At the same moment he fell insensible to the ground.
When he came to himself, the door in the rock had disappeared. And though he searched day after day, he never again found the passage to the Fairy Island.
THE FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER
From Cornwall
Some years ago, in Cornwall, there was a farmer who owned a fine red cow, named Rosy. She gave twice as much milk as any ordinary cow. Even in Winter, when other cows were reduced to skin and bone, Rosy kept in good condition, and yielded richer milk than ever.
One Spring, Rosy continued to give plenty of milk every morning, but at night, when Molly the maid tried to milk her, she kicked the bucket over and galloped away across the field. This happened night after night, and such behaviour was so strange, that Dame Pendar, the farmer’s wife, decided to see what she could do. But no sooner did she try to milk Rosy than the cow put up her foot, kicked the bucket to bits, and raced away, bellowing, tail-on-end.
During this Spring the farmer’s cattle and fields thrived wonderfully. And so things continued until May Day. Now, on May Day night, when Molly attempted, as usual, to milk Rosy, she was surprised to see the cow stand quietly and to hear her begin to moo gently; and, more wonderful still, the pail was soon full of foaming new milk. Molly rose from her stool, and, pulling a handful of grass, rolled it into a pad, and tucked it in her hat, so that she might the more easily carry the bucket on her head.
She put the hat on again, when what was her amazement to see whole swarms of little Fairies running around Rosy, while others were on her back, neck, and head, and still others were under her, holding up clover blossoms and buttercups in which to catch the streams of milk that flowed from her udder. The little Fairies moved around so swiftly that Molly’s head grew dizzy as she watched them. Rosy seemed pleased. She tried to lick the Little People. They tickled her behind the horns, ran up and down her back, smoothing each hair or chasing away the flies. And after all the Fairies had drunk their fill, they brought armfuls of clover and grass to Rosy; and she ate it all, and lowed for more.
Molly stood with her bucket on her head, like one spell-bound, watching the Little People; and she would have continued to stand there, but Dame Pendar, the farmer’s wife, called her loudly to know why she had not brought the milk, if there was any.
At the first sound of Dame Pendar’s voice, all the Fairies pointed their fingers at Molly, and made such wry faces that she was frightened almost to death. Then—whisk! and they were gone!
Molly hurried to the house, and told her mistress, and her master, too, all that she had seen.
“Surely,” said Dame Pendar, “you must have a Four-leaved Clover somewhere about you. Give me the wad of grass in your hat.”
Molly took it out, and gave it to her; and sure enough there was the Four-leaved Clover which had opened Molly’s eyes on that May Day.
As for Rosy, she kicked up her heels, and, bellowing like mad, galloped away. Over meadows and moors she went racing and roaring, and was never seen again.
THE GILLIE DHU
From Scotland
Once upon a time a little girl, named Jessie, was wandering in the wood, and lost her way. It was Summer time, and the air was warm. She wandered on and on, trying to find her way home, but she could not find the path out of the wood. Twilight came, and weary and footsore she sat down under a fir tree, and began to cry.
“Why are you crying, little girl?” said a voice behind her.
Jessie looked around, and saw a pretty little man dressed in moss and green leaves. His eyes were dark as dark, and his hair was black as black, and his mouth was large and showed a hundred white teeth as small as seed pearls. He was smiling merrily, and his cream-yellow cheeks were dimpled, and his eyes soft and kindly. Indeed, he seemed so friendly that Jessie quite forgot to be afraid.
“Why are you crying, little girl?” he asked again. “Your tear-drops are falling like dew on the blue flowers at your feet!”
“I’ve lost my way,” sobbed Jessie, “and the night is coming on.”
“Do not cry, little girl,” said he gently. “I will lead you through the wood. I know every path—the rabbit’s path, the hare’s path, the fox’s path, the goat’s path, the path of the deer, and the path of men.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” exclaimed Jessie, as she looked the tiny man up and down, and wondered to see his strange clothes.
“Where do you dwell, little girl?” asked he.
So Jessie told him, and he said: “You have been walking every way but the right way. Follow me, and you’ll reach home before the stars come out to peep at us through the trees.”
Then he turned around, and began to trip lightly in front of her, and she followed on. He went so fast that she feared she might lose sight of him, but he turned around again and again and smiled and beckoned. And when he saw that she was still far behind, he danced and twirled about until she came up. Then he scampered on as before.
At length Jessie reached the edge of the wood, and, oh, joy! there was her father’s house beside the blue lake. Then the little man, smiling, bade her good-bye.
“Have I not led you well?” said he. “Do not forget me. I am the Gillie Dhu from Fairyland. I love little girls and boys. If you are ever lost in the wood again, I will come and help you! Good-bye, little girl! Good-bye!”
And laughing merrily, he trotted away, and was soon lost to sight among the trees.
HOW KAHUKURA LEARNED TO MAKE NETS
From New Zealand
Once upon a time there lived a man named Kahukura. One evening, when he was on his way to a distant village, he came to a lonely spot on the seashore. As he was walking slowly along, he saw a large pile of the heads and tails of fishes lying on the beach. Now, in those days men had no nets and were obliged to catch fish with spears and hooks; and when Kahukura saw the pile he was very much astonished.
“Who has had such luck!” he exclaimed. “It is hard to catch one fish! Here must be the heads and tails of a thousand!”
Then he looked closely at the footprints in the sand. “No mortals have been fishing here!” he cried. “Fairies must have done this! I will watch to-night and see what they do.”
So when darkness came, he returned to the spot, and hid behind a rock. He waited a long time, and at last he saw a fleet of tiny canoes come spinning over the waves. They ranged themselves in a line at a distance from the shore, and Kahukura could see many little figures in them bending and pulling. He could even hear small voices shouting: “The net here! The net there!” Then the little figures dropped something overboard, and began to haul it toward the shore, singing very sweetly the while.
When the canoes drew near land, Kahukura saw that each was crowded with Fairies. They all sprang out upon the beach, and began to drag ashore a great net filled with fishes.
While the Fairies were struggling with the net Kahukura joined them, and hauled away at a rope. He was a very fair man, so that his skin seemed almost as white as the Fairies’, and they did not notice him. So he pulled away, and pulled away, and soon the net was landed.
The Fairies ran forward to divide the catch. It was just at the peep of dawn, and they hurried to take all the fish they could carry, each Fairy stringing his share by running a twig through the gills. And as they strung the fish they kept calling out to one another:—
“Hurry! hurry! We must finish before the sun rises.”
Kahukura had a short string with a knot in the end, and he strung his share on it, until it was filled. But when he lifted the string the knot gave way, and all the fish slid to the ground. Then some of the Fairies ran forward to help him, and tied the knot. Again he filled the string and all the fish slid off, and again the Fairies tied the knot.
Meanwhile day began to break over the sea, and the sun to rise. Then the Fairies saw Kahukura’s face, and knew that he was a man. They gave little cries of terror. They ran this way and that in confusion. They left their fish and canoes, they abandoned their net. And shrieking they all vanished over the sea.
Kahukura, seeing that he was alone, made haste to examine the canoes. They were only the stems of flax! He lifted the net. It was woven of rushes curiously tied. He carried it home, and made some like it for his neighbours. After that he taught his children how to weave nets. And so, say the Maori folk, they all learned to make nets. And from that day to this they have caught many fish.
ECHO, THE CAVE FAIRY
From the Island of Mangaia
In the very long ago, Rangi the Brave came from the Land-of-the-Bright-Parrot-Feathers to the Island of Mangaia. Swiftly over the blue waves sped his canoe. He stepped out upon the land, and lay down to rest in the shade of a broad-leaved tree covered with gorgeous blooms. And after he had slept and was refreshed, he arose and wandered about the island.
Beautiful was the place with cocoa palms waving their tall fronds in the air, and with banana trees heavy with golden fruit. But though Rangi walked all that day and the next, he saw no human being. He heard no sounds except the beat of the sea against the shore, and the whirring of hundreds of bright-winged birds that passed like flashes of blue, green, and crimson, from tree to tree, and from grove to grove. Softly the perfumed breezes fanned his cheek, and played in his hair.
“Like a lovely dream is this island!” thought he, “but as lonely as the sea on a moonlit night!”
Then to comfort himself he threw back his head and called: “Halloo! Halloo!”
And from a pile of rocks overhanging a deep gorge, a voice answered: “Halloo!”
“Who art thou?” cried Rangi in wonder. “What is thy name?”
And the voice answered more softly: “What is thy name?”
“Where art thou? Where art thou hidden?” he shouted.
And the voice answered mockingly: “Where art thou hidden?”
Then Rangi in anger shouted fiercely: “Accursed be thou, hide-and-seek spirit!”
And the voice screamed back as if in derision: “Accursed be thou!”
Thereupon Rangi grasped his spear tighter, and strode toward the rocks, determined to punish the insolent one. Leaping from boulder to boulder, he entered the gorge. And ever as he proceeded, he shouted threats; and ever the mocking voice answered from some distant spot.
The gorge grew darker and narrower, until Rangi suddenly found himself in a wide-mouthed cavern. Its walls and roof glittered with pendant crystals from which fell, drop by drop, clear water like dew. A white mist rose from the rocky floor, and through it Rangi saw dimly a lovely Fairy face gazing roguishly at him. It was wreathed in rippling hair, and crowned with flowers. Archly it smiled, then melted away in the mist.
“Who art thou?” whispered Rangi in awe. “Art thou Echo indeed?”
And from the glittering walls and roof came a thousand sweet answers:—
“Echo indeed!”
THE ISLES OF THE SEA FAIRIES
Among the Isles of the Golden Mist,
I lived for many a year;
And all that chanced unto me there
’Tis well that ye should hear.
I dwelt in a hall of silvery pearl,
With rainbow-light inlaid;
I sate on a throne, old as the sea,
Of the ruby coral made.
They made me King of the Fairy Isles,
That lie in the Golden Mist,
Where the coral rocks and the silvery sand
By singing waves are kissed.
Far off, in the ocean solitudes,
They lie, a glorious seven;
Like a beautiful group of sister stars,
In the untraced heights of heaven.
Oh, beautiful Isles! where the coral rocks
Like an ancient temple stand,
Like a temple of wondrous workmanship
For a lofty worship planned!
Oh, beautiful Isles! And a Fairy race,
As the dream of a poet, fair,
Now hold the place by a charmèd spell,
With power o’er sea and air.
Their boats are made of the large pearl-shell
That the waters cast to land;
With carvèd prows more richly wrought
Than works of mortal hand.
They skim along the silver waves
Without or sail or oar;
Whenever the Fairy voyager would,
The pearl-ship comes to shore.
I loved that idle life for a time;
But when that time was by,
I pined again for another change,
For the love in a human eye.
They brought me then a glorious form,
And gave her for my bride;
I looked on her, and straight forgot
That I was to earth allied.
For many a year and more, I dwelt
In those Isles of soft delight;
Where all was kind and beautiful,
With neither death nor night.
We danced on the sands when the silver moon
Through the coral arches gleamed,
And pathways broad of glittering light
O’er the azure waters streamed.
Then shot forth many a pearly boat,
Like stars, across the sea;
And songs were sung, and shells were blown
That set wild music free.
For many a year and more, I dwelt
With neither thought nor care,
Till I forgot almost my speech,
Forgot both creed and prayer.
At length it chanced that as my boat
Went on its charmèd way,
I came unto the veil of mist
Which round the Seven Isles lay.
Even then it was a Sabbath morn;
A ship was passing by,
And I heard a hundred voices raise
A sound of psalmody.
A mighty love came o’er my heart,
A yearning toward my kind,
And unwittingly I spoke aloud
The impulse of my mind.
“Oh, take me hence, ye Christian men!”
I cried in spiritual want;
Anon the Golden Mist gave way,
That had been like adamant.
The little boat wherein I sate
Seemed all to melt away;
And I was left upon the sea,
Like Peter, in dismay.
Those Christian mariners, amazed,
Looked on me in affright;
Some cried I was an evil Ghost,
And some a Water-Sprite.
But the chaplain seized the vessel’s boat,
With mercy prompt and boon,
And took me up into the ship
As I fell into a swoon.
In vain I told of what had happed;
No man to me would list;
They jested at the Fairy Isles,
And at the Golden Mist.
They swore I was a shipwrecked man,
Tossed on the dreary main;
And pitied me, because they thought
My woes had crazed my brain.
And soon a wondrous thing I saw;
I now was old and gray,
A man of threescore years and ten,—
A weak man in decay!
And yesterday, and I was young!
Time did not leave a trace
Upon my form, whilst I abode
Within the charmèd place!
Mary Howitt (Condensed)