Flights of Fantasy ...
CUPID AND MY CAMPASPE PLAY'D
John Lyly
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses--Cupid paid:
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall (alas!) become of me?
ELF AND THE DORMOUSE
Oliver Herford. 1863–
UNDER a toadstool crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain to shelter himself.
Under the toadstool, sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap.
Trembled the wee Elf, frightened and yet
Fearing to fly away lest he get wet.
To the next shelter—maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf smiled a wee smile.
Tugged till the toadstool toppled in two.
Holding it over him, gaily he flew.
Soon he was safe home, dry as could be.
Soon woke the Dormouse—"Good gracious me!
"Where is my toadstool?" loud he lamented.
—And that's how umbrellas first were invented.
THE FAIRIES
William Allingham. 1824–1889
UP the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He 's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
THE
FAIRIES
Robert
Herrick
If
ye will with Mab find grace,
Set each platter in his place;
Rake
the fire up, and get
Water in, ere sun be set.
Wash
your pails and cleanse your dairies,
Sluts are loathsome to the fairies;
Sweep
your house; Who doth not so,
Mab will pinch her by the toe.
GRENDEL
Derek
William Dick
Midnight
sun bids moors farewell, retreats from charging dusk
Mountains
echo curfew's bell, signal ending tasks
They
place their faith in oaken doors, cower in candlelight
The
panic seeps through bloodstained floors as Grendel stalks the night
Earth-rim
walker seeks his meals, prepare the funeral pyres
The
shaper's songs no longer heal the fear within their eyes,
Their
eyes, their eyes, their eyes, their eyes
Wooden
figures, pagan gods stare blindly cross the sea
Appeal
for help from ocean fogs, for saviors born of dreams
They
know their lives are forfeit now, priestly heads they bow in shame
They
cannot face the trembling crowd that flinch in Grendel's name
Earth-rim
walker seeks his meals, prepare the funeral pyres
The
shaper's songs no longer heal the fear within their eyes,
Their
eyes, their eyes, their eyes, their eyes
As
Grendel leaves his mossy home beneath the stagnant air
Along
the forest path he roams to Hrothgar's hall so fair
He
knows that victory is secured, his charm will testify
His
claws will drip with mortal blood as moonbeams haunt the sky
As
Grendel leaves his mossy home beneath the stagnant air
Along
the forest path he roams to Hrothgar's house so fair
He
knows that victory is secured, his charm will testify
His
claws will drip with mortal blood as moonbeams haunt the sky
Earth-rim
walker seeks his meals, prepare the funeral pyres
The
shaper's songs no longer heal the fear within their eyes,
Within
their eyes, within their eyes, within their eyes
Silken
membranes, span his path, fingerprints in dew
Denizens
of twilight lands, humbly beg him through
Mother
Nature's bastard child, shunned by leaf and stream
An
alien in an alien land seeks solace within dreams
The
shaper's lies, his poison tongue maligned with mocking harp
Beguiling
queen, her innocence offends his icy heart
Hounds
freeze in silence, bewitched by the reptile's spell
Sulphurous
essence pervades round the grassy dell
Hero
awaits him like lamb to the butcher's knife
Stellular
heavens ignore even children's cries
Screams
are his music, lightning his guide
Raping
the darkness, d- d- d- d- death by his side
Chants
rise in terror, pray round the oaken beam
Flickering
firelight portraying the grisly scene
Warriors
advance, prepare for the nightmare foe
Futile
the sacrifices even the hearts must know
Heroes'
delusions with feet in the grave
Lurker
at the threshold, he cares not for the brave,
he
cares not for the brave
So
you thought that your bolts and your locks would keep me out
You
should have known better after all this time
You're
gonna pay in blood for all your viscious slander
With
your ugly pale skins and your putrid blue eyes
Why
should I feel pity when you kill your own and feel no shame?
God's
on my side, sure as hell I'm gonna take no blame,
I'm
gonna take no blame, I'm going to take no blame
So
you say you believe in all of Mother Nature's laws
You
lust for gold with your sharpened knives
Ooh,
when your hordes are gathered and your enemies left to rot
You
pray with your bloodstained hands at the feet of your pagan gods
And
you try to place the killer's blade in my hands
You
call for justice, distort the truth
Well
I've had enough of all your pretty, pretty speeches
Receive your punishment expose your throats to my righteous claws
and
let the blood flow
HYMN OF PAN
Percy
Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
From the forests and highlands
We
come, we come;
From
the river-girt islands
Where
loud waves are dumb
Listening
my sweet pipings.
The
wind in the reeds and the rushes,
The
bees on the bells of thyme,
The
birds on the myrtle bushes,
The
cicale above in the lime,
And
the lizards below in the grass,
Were
as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
Listening
my sweet pipings.
Liquid
Peneus was flowing,
And
all dark Tempe lay
In
Pelion’s shadow, outgrowing
The
light of the dying day,
Speeded
by my sweet pipings,
The
Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And
the Nymphs of the woods and ther waves,
To
the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And
the brink of the dewy caves,
And
all that did then attend and follow,
Were
silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
With
envy of my sweet pipings.
I
sang of the dancing stars,
I
sang of the daedal Earth,
And
of Heaven, and the giant wars,
And
Love, and Death, and Birth—
And
then I chang’d my pipings,
Singing
how down the vale of Maenalus
I
pursu’d a maiden and clasp’d a reed.
Gods
and men, we are all deluded thus!
It
breaks in our bosom and then we bleed.
All
wept, as I think both ye now would,
If
envy or age had not frozen your blood,
At
the sorrow of my sweet pipings.
KING
HENRY
Let
never a man a wooing wend
That
lacketh things three
A
store of gold, an open heart
and
full of charity;
And
this was seen of King Henry
Though
he lay quite alone,
For
he's taken him to a haunted hall
Seven
miles from the town.
He's
chased the deer now him before
And
the doe down by the den
Till
the fattest buck in all the flock
King
Henry he has slain.
His
huntsman followed him to the hall
To
make them burly cheer,
When
loud the wind was heard to sound
And
an earthquake rocked the floor.
And
darkness covered all the hall
Where
they sat at their meat.
The
grey dogs, yowling, left their food
And
crept to Henry's feet.
And
louder howled the rising wind
And
burst the fastened door,
And
in there came a grisly ghost
Stamping
on the floor.
-Her
head hit the roof-tree of the house,
Her
middle you could not span,
Each
frightened huntsman fled the hall
And
left the king alone,
Her
teeth were like the tether stakes,
Her
nose like club or mell,
And
nothing less she seemed to be
Than
a fiend that comes from hell.
Some
meat, some meet you King Henry,
Some
meat you give to me,
Go
kill your horse you King Henry
And
bring him here to me;
He's
gone and slain his berry brown steed
Though
it made his heart full sore,
for
she's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left
nothing but hide and hair.
More
meat, more meet you King Henry,
More
meat you give to me,
Go
kill your grey-hounds King Henry
And
bring them here to me;
He's
gone and stain his good grey-hounds,
It
made his heart full sore,
She's
eaten up both skin and bone,
Left
nothing but hide and hair.
More
meat, more meet you King Henry,
More
meat you give to me,
Go
fell your goss-hawks King Henry
And
bring them here to me;
And
when he's slain his gay goss-hawks,
It
made his heart full sore,
She's
eaten them up both skin and bone,
Left
nothing but feathers bare.
Some
drink, some drink you King Henry,
Some
drink you give to me,
Oh
you sew up your horse's hide,
And
bring in a drink to me;
And
he's sewn up the bloody hide,
And
a pipe of wine put in,
And
she's drank it up all in one draught,
Left
never a drop therein.
A
bed, a bed now King Henry,
A
bed you'll make for me,
Oh
you must pull the heather green
And
make it soft for me;
And
pulled has he the heather green
And
made for her a bed,
and
taken has he his gay mantle
And
o'er it has spread.
Take
off your clothes now King Henry
And
lie down by my side,
Now
swear, now swear you King Henry,
To
take me for your bride.
Oh
God forbid, says King Henry,
That
ever the like betide,
That
ever a fiend that comes from hell
Should
stretch down by my side.
When
the night was gone and the day was come
And
the sun shone through the hall,
The
fairest lady that ever was seen
Lay
between him and the wall.
I’ve
met with many a gentle knight
That
gave me such a fill,
But
never before with a courteous knight
That
gave me all my will.
PAN
THE FALLEN
William
Wilfred Campbell
He
wandered into the market
With pipes and goatish hoof;
He
wandered in a grotesque shape,
And no one stood aloof.
For
the children crowded round him,
The wives and greybeards, too,
To
crack their jokes and have their mirth,
And see what Pan would do.
The
Pan he was they knew him,
Part man, but mostly beast,
Who
drank, and lied, and snatched what bones
Men threw him from their feast;
Who
seemed in sin so merry,
So careless in his woe,
That
men despised, scarce pitied him,
And still would have it so.
He
swelled his pipes and thrilled them,
And drew the silent tear;
He
made the gravest clack with mirth
By his sardonic leer.
He
blew his pipes full sweetly
At their amused demands,
And
caught the scornful, earth-flung pence
That fell from careless hands.
He
saw the mob's derision,
And took it kindly, too,
And
when an epithet was flung,
A coarser back he threw;
But
under all the masking
Of a brute, unseemly part,
I
looked, and saw a wounded soul,
And a god-like, breaking heart.
And
back of the elfin music,
The burlesque, clownish play,
I
knew a wail that the weird pipes made,
A look that was far away,—
A
gaze into some far heaven
Whence a soul had fallen down;
But
the mob only saw the grotesque beast
And the antics of the clown.
For
scant-flung pence he paid them
With mirth and elfin play,
Till,
tired for a time of his antics queer,
They passed and went their way;
Then
there in the empty market
He ate his scanty crust,
And,
tired face turned to heaven, down
He laid him in the dust.
And
over his wild, strange features
A softer light there fell,
And
on his worn, earth-driven heart
A peace ineffable.
And
the moon rose over the market,
But Pan the beast was dead;
While
Pan the god lay silent there,
With his strange, distorted head.
And
the people, when they found him,
Stood still with awesome fear.
No
more they saw the beast's rude hoof,
The furtive, clownish leer;
But
the lightest in that audience
Went silent from the place,
For
they knew the look of a god released
That
shone from his dead face.
SONG
OF FAIRIES ROBBING AN ORCHARD
Leigh
Hunt (1830)
We,
the Fairies, blithe and antic,
Of
dimensions not gigantic,
Though
the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft
in orchards frisk and peep us.
Stolen
sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen
kisses much completer,
Stolen
looks are nice in chapels.
Stolen,
stolen, be your apples.
When
to bed the world are bobbing,
Then’s
the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet
the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were
it not for stealing, stealing.
SUMMER:
THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS (excerpt)
Alexander
Pope (1688-1744)
See
what delights in sylvan scenes appear!
Descending
gods have found Elysium here.
In
woods bright Venus with Adonis stray’d,
And
chaste Diana haunts the forest shade.
Come,
lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours,
When
swains from shearing seek their nightly bow’rs;
When
weary reapers quit the sultry field,
And
crown’d with corn their thanks to Ceres yield,
This
harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But
in my breast the serpent Love abides.
Here
bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew,
But
your Alexis knows no sweets but you.
Oh
deign to visit our forsaken seats,
The
mossy fountains, and the green retreats!
Where’er
you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees,
where you sit, shall crowd into a shade;
Where’er
you tread, the blushing flow’rs shall rise,
And
all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh!
How I long with you to pass my days,
Invoke
the Muses, and resound your praise!
Your
praise the birds shall chant in ev’ry grove,
And
winds shall waft it to the pow’rs above,
But
would you sing, and rival Orpheus’ strain,
The
wond’ring forests soon should dance again;
The
moving mountains hear the pow’rful call,
And
headlong streams hang list’ning in their fall!
ULYSSES AND THE SIREN
Samuel
Daniel (1605)
Siren:
Come
worthy Greek, Ulysses, come,
Possess
these shores with me;
The
winds and seas are troublesome,
And
here we may be free.
Here
may we sit and view their toil
That
travail in the deep,
And
joy the day in mirth the while,
And
spend the night in sleep.
Ulysses:
Fair
nymph, if fame or honour were
To
be attain’d with ease,
Then
would I come and rest me there,
And
leave such toils as these.
But
here it dwells, and here must I
With
danger seek it forth;
To
spend the time luxuriously
Becomes
not men of worth.
Siren:
Ulysses,
O be not deceiv’d
With
that unreal name;
This
honour is a thing conceiv’d
And
rests of others’ fame.
Begotten
only to molest
Our
peace, and to beguile
The
best thing of our life, our rest,
And
give us up to toil.
Ulysses:
Delicious
nymph, suppose there were
Nor
honour nor report,
Yet
manliness would scorn to wear
The
time in idle sport.
For
toil doth give a better touch
To
make us feel our joy;
And
ease finds tediousness as much
As
labour yields annoy.
Siren:
Then
pleasure likewise seems the shore
Whereto
tends all your toil,
Which
you forgo to make it more,
And
perish oft the while.
Who
may disport them diversly,
Find
never tedious day,
And
ease may have variety
As
well as action may.
Ulysses:
But
natures of the noblest frame
These
toils and dangers please,
And
they take comfort in the same
As
much as you in ease,
And
with the thoughts of actions past
And
recreated still;
When
pleasure leave a touch at last
To
show that it was ill.
Siren:
That
doth opinion only cause
That’s
out of custom bred,
Which
makes us many other laws
Than
ever nature did.
No
widows wail for our delights,
Our
sports are without blood;
The
world we see by warlike wights
Receives
more hurt than good.
Ulysses:
But
yet the state of things require
These
motions of unrest,
And
these great spirits of high desire
Seem
born to turn them best,
To
purge the mischiefs that increase
And
all good order mar;
For
oft we see a wicked peace
To
be well chang’d for war.
Siren:
Well,
well, Ulysses, then I see
I
shall not have thee here,
And
therefore I will come to thee
And
take my fortunes there.
I
must be won that cannot win,
Yet
lost were I not won;
For
beauty hath created been
T’
undo, or be undone.