I noticed, as I passed to-night, A window with a broken light, And through the opening we'll pour Though bolts and bars be on the door." "And I," another Brownie cried, "Will find the plums and currants dried; I'll have some here in half an hour To sprinkle thickly through the flour; So stir yourselves, and bear in mind That some must spice and sugar find." |
"I know," cried one, "where hens have made
Their nest beneath the burdock shade—
I saw them stealing out with care
To lay their eggs in secret there.
The farmer's wife, through sun and rain,
Has sought to find that nest in vain:
They cackle by the wall of stones,
The hollow stump and pile of bones,
| And by the ditch that lies below, Where yellow weeds and nettles grow; And draw her after everywhere Until she quits them in despair. The task be mine to thither lead A band of comrades now with speed, To help me bear a tender load Along the rough and rugged road." Away, away, on every side, At once the lively Brownies glide; Some after plums, more 'round the hill— The shortest way to reach the mill— While some on wings and some on legs Go darting off to find the eggs. |
A few remained upon the spot
To build a fire beneath the pot;
Some gathered bark from trunks of trees,
While others, on their hands and knees,
Around the embers puffed and blew
Until the sparks to blazes grew;
And scarcely was the kindling burned
Before the absent ones returned.
All loaded down they came, in groups,
In couples, singly, and in troops.
Upon their shoulders, heads, and backs
They bore along the floury sacks;
With plums and currants others came,
Each bag and basket filled the same;
| While those who gave the hens a call Had taken nest-egg, nest, and all; And more, a pressing want to meet, |