Ye fays and fairies, hasten here,
Robed in glittering gossamere;
With tapers bright, and music sweet,
And frolic dance, and twinkling feet.
II.
And, little Mable, let us view
Your acorn goblets fill’d with dew;
Nor warn us hence till we have seen
The nut-shell chariot of your queen:
III.
In which on nights of yore she sat,
Driven by her gray-coated gnat;
With spider spokes and cobweb traces,
And horses fit for fairy races.
IV.
And bid us join your revel ring,
And see you dance, and hear you sing:
Your fairy dainties let us taste,
And speed us home with fairy haste.
Little Boy. If there were really fairies, and if they would give me my wish, I know what I should ask.
Little Girl. And so do I—I would ask them to send father home before I could count ten.
Little Boy. And I would ask to hear his general say to him, in the face of the whole army, “This is a brave man!” And father should hold up his head as I do now, and march thus by the side of his general.