User: Can you write me a poem about fairyland and glen in the style of Robert Green Ingersoll?
Assistant: Sure, here's a poem about fairyland and glen in the style of Robert Green Ingersoll:
  The _Guidman o' Inglismill_ was written, not to fill up "hours of
The superstition with which the tale is interwoven--
"Of fairy elves by moonlight shadows seen,
The silver token, and the circled green"--
"He wha tills the fairy green
Nae luck again sall hae,
And he wha spoils the fairy ring
Betide him want and wae,
For weirdless days and weary nichts
Are his till his deeing day."
The protector of the fairy ring was proportionally recompensed--
"He wha gaes by the fairy ring
Nae dule or pains sall dree,
And he wha cleans the fairy ring
An easy death sall dee."
The kingdom of Fairyland was supposed to be peculiarly beautiful,
description of this fair land is, perhaps, unequalled in Scottish
"Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew;
But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,
And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,
When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,
And a land where sin had never been;
A land of love, and a land of light,
Withouten sun, or moon, or night;
Where the river swa'd a living stream,
And the light a pure celestial beam:
The land of vision it would seem,
A still, an everlasting dream.
They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,
And she walked in the light of a sunless day:
The sky was a dome of crystal bright,
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light:
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow,
And the flowers of everlasting blow.
Then deep in the stream her body they laid,
That her youth and beauty never might fade;
And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie
In the stream of life that wandered bye.
She saw a sun on a summer sky,
And clouds of amber sailing bye;
A lovely land beneath her lay,
And that land had glens and mountains gray;
And that land had valleys and hoary piles,
And marled seas and a thousand isles;
Its fields were speckled, its forests green,
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen,
Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay
The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray;
Which heaved and trembled, and gently swung,
On every shore they seemed to be hung."
Nymphidia, the mother of the maids.
"An' I will gie to thee, luve Thomas,
My han', but an' my crown;
An' thou shalt reign o'er Fairylan'
In joy, an' gret renown.
"An' I will gie to thee, luve Thomas,
To live for evermair;
Thine arm sall never feckless grow,
Nor hoary wax thy hair.
"Nae clamorous grief we ever thole,
Nae wastin' pine we dree;
An endless life's afore thee placed
O' constant luve an' lee."
"'Busk thee, Thomas, for thou must be gane,
For here no longer may'st thou be;
Hie thee fast, with might and main;
I shall thee bring to the Eildon tree.'
"Thomas answered with heavy cheer,
'Lovely ladye, thou lat me be;
For certainly I have been here
Nought but the space of dayes three!'
"'For sooth, Thomas, as I thee tell,
Thou hast been here seven year and more;
But longer here thou may not dwell,
The skyl I will thee tell wherefore.
"'To-morrow, of hell the foul fiend
Among these folks shall choose his fee;
Thou art a fair man and a hend,
I trow full well he wil choose thee!
"'For all the gold that ever might be,
Frae heaven unto the worldes end,
Thou be'st never betray'd by me;
Therefore with me I rede thee wend.'
"She brought him again to the Eildon tree,
Underneath the greenwood spray;
In Huntly banks was fayr to be,
Where birds do sing both night and day."
"But we, that live in Fairyland,
No sickness know, nor pain;
I quit my body when I will,
And take to it again.
"I quit my body when I please,
Or unto it repair;
We can inhabit, at our ease,
In either earth or air.
"Our shapes and size we can convert
To either large or small;
An old nut-shell's the same to us
As is the lofty hall.
"We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,
We revel in the stream,
We wanton lightly on the wind,
Or glide on a sunbeam.
"And all our wants are well supplied
From every rich man's store,
Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,
And vainly grasps for more.
"And it is sic a bonnie place,
And I like it sae well,
That I wou'd never tire, Janet,
In Elfish land to dwell.
"But aye, at ilka seven years,
They pay the teind to hell;
And I'm sae fat and fair of flesh,
I fear 'twill be mysel'!"
"Meddle and mell
Wi' the fiends o' hell,
And a weirdless wicht ye'll be;
But tak' and len'
Wi' the fairy men,
Ye'll thrive until ye dee."
"Oh! Alva woods are bonnie,
Tillicoultry hills are fair;
But, when I think o' the bonnie braes o' Menstrie,
It mak's my heart aye sair."
chimney, the fairies, as they bore her off, singing--
"Deidle linkum doddie;
We've gotten drucken Davie's wife,
"There is Mab, the mistress fairy,
That doth nightly rob the dairy,
And can help or hurt the churning
As she please, without discerning;
She that pinches country wenches
If they rub not clean their benches,
And with sharper nails remembers
When they rake not up their embers;
But if so they chance to feast her,
In their shoe she drops a tester;
This is she that empties cradles,
Takes out children, puts in ladles,
Trains forth midwives in their slumber,
With a sieve the holes to number,
And then leads them from their boroughs
Thorough ponds and water furrows."
"If this glass do break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall."
"God prosper long from being broke
The luck of Edenhall;"
"Tells how the drudging goblin swet
To earn his cream-bowl duly set;
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flale hath threshed the corn
That ten day-lab'rers could not end;
Then lies him down, the lubbar fiend,
And stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings."
"_Sex etiam, aut septem loca vidi reddere voces.
Unam cum jaceres: ita colles collibus ipsis
Verba repulsantes iterabant dicta referre.
Haec loca capripedes Satyros, Nymphasque tenere
Finitimi fingunt, et Faunos esse loquuntur:
Quorum noctivago strepitu, ludoque jocanti
Adfirmant volgo taciturna silentia rumpi,
Chordarumque sonos fieri, dulceisque querelas,
Tibia quas fundit, digitis pulsata canentum:
Et genus agricolum late sentiscere, cum Pan
Pinea semiferi capitis velamina quassans,
Unco saepe labro calamos percurrit hianteis,
Fistula sylvestrem ne cesset fundere Musam.
Caetera de genere hoc monstra, ac portenta loquuntur,
Ne loca deserta ab Divis quoque forte putentur
Sola tenere: ideo jactant miracula dictis:
Humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum._"
"I myself have known
Some Rocks and Hills return _six_ words for _one_:
The _dancing_ words from Hill to Hill rebound,
They all _receive_ and all _restore_ the sound.
The _Vulgar_ and the Neighbours think, and tell,
That there the _Nymphs_ and _Fauns_ and _Satyrs_ dwell;
And that _their_ wanton sport, _their loud_ delight
Breaks thro' the _quiet_ silence of the Night;
There _Music's_ softest Ayrs fill all the Plains,
And mighty _Pan_ delights the list'ning Swains.
The _Goat-faced Pan_, whilst Flocks securely feed,
With _long-hung lip_ he blows his Oaten Reed;
The horn'd, the half-beast God, when brisk and gay,
With Pine-leaves crown'd, provokes the Swains to play.
Ten thousand such _Romants_ the Vulgar tell,
Perhaps lest men should think the Gods will dwell
In _Towns_ alone, and scorn their _Plains_, and Cell:
Or somewhat; for Man, _credulous_ and _vain_,
Delights to _hear_ strange things--delights to _feign_."
Sir John Sinclair's "Statistical Account of Scotland, 1792,"
With the spread of education and increase of knowledge, the
minstrels within the mount.
At Martinmas, whan win's blew snell an' cauld,
An' beasts war' housed within their winter hauld,
An' stacks wi' thack an' rape war' happit ticht,
The taties up, an' a'thing snod an' richt,--
Then, by the wan licht o' the hint hairst moon,
The auld Guidman gaed roun' aboot the toun;
An' as he steppit o'er the stibble lan',--
"The wark," quo he, "is feckly a' byehan'.
Fair fa' oor folk! they've deen their very best;
We've a'thing safe an' soun'--sae Praise be blest!
This hairst, my certy! 's been a kittle lang ane,
Ae day nocht dein', an' the neist a thrang ane.
I sud be thankfu'; Gudeness kens I've rizzon!
A' thro', I haenae min' o' sic a sizzon;
Sic spates o' rain, syne mochy, dreepie weather,
I thocht wud surely waur us a'thegither;
Noo beast an' bodie will be brawly sair'd
An' something o'er, forbye what pays the laird.
It sets folk ill to be o'er crouse an' vaunty;
But, 'deed, I'm thankfu' an' sae unco canty
That, like the bairns, I'd like to get the play,
An' ware upo' mysel' ae idle day.
The morrow's morn' I'll early mak' me boun',
To see what's deein' i' the borrow's toun.
O'er muckle wark, withoot some little ploy,
Mak's auld or young a thowless donnart boy."
Whan Fortune, wi' her eident wheel aye rowin',
Gars a'thing canny tae oor han' come jowin',
Sma' thocht hae we what luck may be afore us,
Still less that ony trouble may come o'er us;
Oor joys, like flow'rs, may bloom at mornin'-tide,
At nicht, ae skinklin frost may lay their pride.
The sun had scarcely sent his first-born ray
To herald to the warld the comin' day,
An' scare the starns, afar in heavens blue,
Prinkin' themsel's in ilka drap o' dew,
Ere Inglis, raxin', rakit up his een,--
Quo he, "Guidwife! I had a thocht thestreen:
As at the wark I hae sae steady yarkit,
I'd step into the toun an' see the market;
Nae _ech_ nor _och_ ken I what nowt are feshin',
What aits are at, or gin they're worth the threshin'."
"Aweel, Guidman! I'm seer I sanna hinner;
But, losh, ye mith hae tauld a bodie seener.
There's mony things we're needin' unco sair--
What need I speak! the fient _ae_ singit hair
Care ye for what the hoose, or bairns, or me
Are needin'. _We_ maun just _oor_ wants lat be',
An' clout the auld the best way that we can.
Wow, sirs! gin ever I saw sic a man!
Had ye but mintit what ye had in view,
I mith hae moyens laid to win wi' you;
But there's the kirn to ca', chessels to fill,
An' steep a maskin' for the New Year's yill--
I canna gang! Wha ever saw the like!
Man, ye're a byous han' for breedin' fyke!--
But see that ye come hame in timeous hours
On your twa feet, an' nae upo' a' fours,
Like ony haulket hummledoddy stirk,
Tynin' yersel' an' wan'rin' i' the mirk.
Lundie an' you--I maist cu'd lay my lugs--
Hae set a tryst to meet at Luckie Mugs'.
Deil tak' her blinkin' een an' soople snout,
For wilin' men to drink waur than a brute.--
Yea, na!--ye're seer o' that? Weel noo, Guidman,
I wadna grudge a drappy noo an' than;
But ilka market thro' the year's the same,
Nae ance dae ye come freely sober hame.
Saul! gin ye dinna o'er a new leaf turn,
The deil may grip ye at the Collieburn;
Or, gin ye win as far's In'rugie Brig,
The kelpie there may beff ye ticht an' trig;
Or oor guid neebours o' the Castlehill
Rin aff wi' you hale buik, some post to fill
In Fairyland; or, aiblins, wi' you pay
That Kain to hell _they_ awe ilk seven years' day.
See there, min, to the nowt doun by the foord,
_They_ drink nae till their rizzon's fairly smoored--
In troth, they micht a serious lesson gie ye."
"A-h! but there's nane ayont to say, 'Here's tee you.'"
"Aweel, I'm seer I needna waste my breath;
But, tak' ye tent, or else, as seer as death,
Gin you an' Lundie gie nae o'er that drink,
Some nicht ye'll meet a sad an' sair begink.
Sae gang yer wa's; but, oh, my dear Guidman!
Come hame just ae nicht sober--_gin ye can_."
His breakfast o'er, auld Inglis tak's the road,
Frae tap to tae weel buskit an' fell snod;
His hardin sark as white's the driven snaw--
The lint was fernyear grown beside the shaw;
His coat an' breeks war' o' a lichtly blue,
Weel waukit, an' the pick o' hame-grown woo;
His hose war' rig an' fur, a guid grow grey;
His bonnet blue, an's shoon as black's a slae.
Oot ower the Cruives an' up the Ba'muir park
He linkit at it, like some blythesome spark
Stendin' alang to woo his winsome Jean,
An' beik his love in her bricht glancin' een.
The girss was saft an' springy, ilka blade
Glancin' wi' dew, wi' emerald-green inlaid;
The air was sharp, the lift was blue an' clear,
An' Inglis fussled as he cross'd the muir;
But noo an' than he mantit in his sang
An' thocht: "Saul! the Guidwife was nae far wrang.
Sin' we war' wed I've had nae cause o' grief;
Troth--it's o'er true--I maun turn o'er a leaf.
A couthie wife an' cantie she has been;
I _maun_ gie o'er sic rants, an' that's be seen.
She never heckles me but for my guid;
I sall gang sober hame--I will indeed.
Whan we war' wed, withoot ae word o' pride,
She was the bonniest lass on Ugie's side;
In a' the warld--she's bonniest aye to me,
In a' the warld--a better canna be."
Ah, stern resolve! thou art a glorious thing
But, ah! how oft our best resolves are vain;
We fall, resolve, fall and resolve again.
No hearts are adamant, no minds are steel;
Let none condemn poor Inglis who can feel
A woman's love, or tries to drown desires,--
"All tempers yield or soften in those fires."
The safest plan and best--as wise folks think--
Is ne'er to mell with rogues, or love, or drink.
By many a winding road, from far and nigh,
Came sheep and owsen, shelts, and stirks, and kye;
Goodwives and men, and lads and lasses fair,
Cracking their jokes, or courting pair and pair.
Below the Windmill Brae, the gazer's eye
Roams o'er a glorious sight of sea and sky;
The land throws forth its arms as if to press
The smiling ocean in a fond embrace;
Or when the wintry waves, with angry roar,
Dash in wild fury on the rock-bound shore,
That bars all entrance, save to driving foam,--
Guarding from harm or hurt the dear old home.
Thou dear old home! no mountains capped with snow,
No glorious oaks, no forest glades ye show;
No minster hoar, no pile of classic fame,
To lure the pilgrim by a world-wide name.
One boast is thine--that boast beyond compare--
"Men that are true, and maidens fairly fair."
Far have I roamed since first in early life
I left that home to face the world's sore strife,--
From Arctic shores to India's golden strand,
O'er many a country, many a classic land!
How dear the Geddle and the Pinkie Braes,
Where bloomed the buttercup! I knew the ways
Where meadow-queens, perfuming all the air,
Held gentle converse with sea-daisies fair;
Where first the laverock and the blackbird sang;
Where first the earliest, bonniest bluebells sprang;--
And, till the fight of life's last battle's fought,
Of thee I'll dream as I have dreamt and thought.
But to our tale--Whan Inglis reached the fair:
"Ay! Lundie, man, hoo's a'? Na! Mains; _you_ there?
Hoo's a' your folk?" "Oh! fine, man; hoo's your ain?"
"Brawly--meat-hale and hearty; whaur' ye gain?"
"Man, things are deein' gran'--horn, corn, an' woo--
Come roun' to Luckie's, an' we'll weet oor mou'."
"Na, Lundie, man! I think I'll need to try
An' haud by't _some_ the day." Quo Lundie, "Fye!
You're grown John Tamson's man--_a' in a fizz_,
Or else _your mither's milk is i' your nizz_."
"Aweel! we's hae _ae_ stoup--nae mair the nicht;
I promised to gang hame _for once_ a' richt--
Step ye your wa's, an' shortly I'll be roun';
I'm gain for tea an' troke doun thro' the toun,
To speak for beef, a Sunday's frock to Mari'n,
An' syne to Jamie Rhind's to buy some fairin'."
His erran's deen, as fast as he cu'd spang,
He hastes to Luckie's howf to join the thrang,
An' Luckie smirks her kin'liest welcome ben,
Prinkin' her feathers like a tappit hen.
"Hooray! there's Inglis, sirs; ye see he's true;"
An' doun sits Inglis 'mang the jovial crew.
An' syne the crack gaed on--wha bocht o'er dear;
What "Aikie Brae" gat for his muckle steer;
Hoo auld Tam Gray has buiket young May Mason;
An' "Bogie," wi' his quean maun stan' the Session;
Hoo "Brosie Tam" is heckled by his wife;
An' sic-like news aboot the country rife.
Ilk gies his tale while at the drinkin' thrang,
Till Lundie cries, "Come, Inglis, gie's a sang!
We'll drink your health till ye get into tune,--
Nae moulie draps, noo,--clean-cap-oot a' roun'."
"Hoot, Lundie, man! ye ken I hae the cauld,--
Nae han' at best, an' a' my sangs are auld;
But, gin I maun--an' ye're sae singin'-fain--
I'll try ane on a forbear o' mine ain:--
"Watt o' the Hill cam' doun the brae,
Trigly buskit frae tap to tae,
Ridin' fu' crouse on his dappled grey--
Wattie wis fidgin' fain;
Some canty bit lass I'll mak' my bride,
For winter is comin'--my bed's o'er wide--
I'll lie nae mair my lane.'
"Wattie gaed hoddlin' to the mill.
'Here's routh,' quo' he, 'to woo at will,
Lasses,--I'm here a wooer to woo,
Will ane o' ye come an' be my doo?
I've siller, an' lan', an' mony a coo--
I'm tired o' lyin' my lane.'
"The lasses skirled a loud 'tee hee!'
But ilka ane cried, 'wull ye tak me?'
Better an' auld man's dawtie be,
Wi' walth o' gear, than nane.
'Wattie,' quo' they, 'just steek yer een,
Grip wha ye like, she'll ne'er compleen;
_Better a cuttie than wantin' a speen_--
Ye'se lie nae mair yer lane.'"
"Noo, my sang's deen," quo Inglis; "I've the ca'
To keep the pottie boilin'. Come awa,
Lundie, my man, an' gie's your winsome Jean;
Begin at ance--the seener ye'll be deen."
"Inglis, wha yokes wi' you's a gowk, atweel!
'He needs a lang speen that sups wi' the deil!'
But, troth, 'twere wrang to gar ye sup yer kail
A wee thocht hetter than I wud mysel':--
"In a wee thieket hoosie, far doon i' the glen,
There lived a young lassie, the plague o' the men.
Sae dainty, sae genty, sae canty an' keen,
The wale o' the parish was Tipperty's Jean.
The minister smiled till her braid i' the kirk,
The dominie winkit wi' mony a smirk,
An' douce-lookin' elders, on Saturday's e'en,
Could crack aboot naething but Tipperty's Jean.
"Auld Lowrie the laird, wi' his hat in his han',
Says, 'Will ye tak' _me_, wi' my siller an' lan';'
'Mony thanks to ye, laird, but it's sinfu' gin ane
Sud marry their grandad,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
The doctor grew dowie, and maist like to dee,
Sae wowf gat the lawyer he bade folks agree,
Maist tint their scant wits aboot Tipperty's Jean.
"The lasses gaed wand'ring their lanes i' the loan,
The auld folks were girnin' wi' mony a groan;
'The warld's seerly gyte, sirs, there's never been seen
Sic wark as they haud aboot Tipperty's Jean.'
Nae dellin' was deen, nae thrashin', nae ploughin',
The wark a' gaed wrang, sae thrang war they wooin';
Sic ridin', sic racin' there never was seen,
The chiels were sae daft aboot Tipperty's Jean.
"They happit aboot her like craws on a rig,
A' fechtin', or fleechin', or crackin' fell big;
'Gae 'wa', sirs, to Freuchie, for brawly it's seen
It's siller yer wooin',' quo Tipperty's Jean.
'Sin' auld uncle Davie cam' back owre the sea,
An' left sic a hantle o' siller to me,
I'm deaved wi' yer wooin' frae mornin' till e'en.
The deil tak sic wooers,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
"'Oh, wae on the siller! it's twined me an' Johnnie.
Though scanty o' wealth, yet he's kindly an' bonnie
Gin he wud but seek me this very gude e'en,
He'd no tine his errand,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
Peer Johnnie o'erheard her, his heart like to brak,
He cuist his arms roon' her an' gied her a smack.
'Wull ye be my dawtie?' she blinkit fu' keen;
'Yer welcome to tak' me,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
"An' there was a waddin'! sic vivers an' drinks,
Sic fiddlin' an' pipin', sic dancin' an' jinks;
The haggis e'en hotched to the piper it's lane;
'It's a' weel that ends weel,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
The minister danced i' the barn wi' the bride;
The elders cried 'Fiddlers, play up _Delvin Side_;'
The dominie sang like a mavis at e'en;
'Here's a health to quid lasses,' like Tipperty's Jean."
Thus ance begun, sang followed sang a' roun'--
_Auld Scour Abeen_, an' mony mair as fell--
Till Luckie brings the drucken bite hersel'--
Saut beef an' breid (she was a sleekit bodie)
To moyen ben anither bowl o' toddy;
Anither, an' anither yet, 'til a' war' glorious,
Some greetin'-fow, an' ithers clean uproarious.
To tak' the gate at lang an' last they're fain,
"Sorry to pairt, happy to meet again."
Though Inglis kent a bull's fit frae a B,
He had mair than a wee drap in his ee;
For length o' road he caredna half a bodle,
The breadth o't sairly fash'd his drummel'd nodle.
"It's dreich wark this," quo he; "I kenna, haith,
Gin I'd best gang or rin--I'se try them baith.
I wish I war' weel hame! na, what excuse
Can I mak' oot for haudin' sic a boose?
Weel was I warnised ere I cam' frae hame;
I canna say ae word--it _was_ a shame--
An', by my troth I sweer, if I get o'er
This dirdum richt, I'll ne'er haud sic a splore."
Alas! alas! what witchery constrains
Man's pleasures thus, to breed such racking pains?
'Tis retribution just: vice is the source
Of dread despair and harrowing remorse;
But, like the star that gems the darkest night,
Returning virtue brings back glorious light.
While Inglis, thus opprest wi' drink an' care,
Pyowtered alang, an' browdenin' unco sair
On's Tibbie dear,--whiles thinkin' upo' witches
That haunt the Collieburn--unholy wretches!--
His puir Guidwife set doun the evenin' meal,
An', by the fire, sat birrin' at her wheel.
The chaumer had a cozy look, an' clean;
For weel she likit it sud aye be seen.
While weary time beat on wi' measured speed,
Fu' mony a glance toward the knock she gied:
"I wunner oor Guidman's nae frae the fair;
He's past his ord'nar time four hoors an' mair.
See, Betty, lass! the nicht is growin' cauld,
Fesh twa-r-three peats to mak' the fire mair bauld;
An' bring me tidin's o' the kin' o' nicht--
Whether it's wet or dry, or mirk or licht."
"A bonnie nicht it is on hill an' howe,
The moon's just glintin' o'er the Castle knowe."
"Weel, lass, I'm glad o' that," her mistress cried;
An' to her task her eident hand applied.
"An' now gae to your bed, there's nocht to hinner--
Ye're sleepy like--aweel, I dinna wunner;
But see ye're up wi' morn's first glint o' grey,
For weel ye ken it is oor kirnin' day."
Inglis, wi' put an' row, still hauds the gait,
Fairies an' witches jumblin' in his pate,
Gain heels o'er head, like bumbees in a byke,
Wearied wi' travel, sair he tries to think,--
But that's clean o'er him, he's sae dazed wi' drink.
"I wish I war' but at oor plantin' beltie,
Or had atween my legs oor wee bit sheltie!"
Scarce had the words wun o'er his grievin' lips,
Whan, raxin' oot his han's, a shelt he grips.
"Na! sic a chance!" he cries; syne, in a crack,
He warstles up, an' on the creatur's back,
Grips fast the mane, whan, wi' an eldritch squeel,
Forrit it flees as fast as'ts legs could speel.
But nae alane; for, like birds i' the flichtir,
Rade roun' an' roun', wi' muckle mirth an' lauchter,
A fairy band; an', as they rade, they sang,
While siller bells upo' their bridles rang.
On ilka side o' Inglis rade a knicht
In Lincoln-green, wi' armour burnished bricht;
Like stars intil a frosty nicht, the sheen
Blinkit like siller in his dazzlet een.
Onward they rade--the knichts cried, "Forward!" still--
Till bye Ha'moss, syne up the Castlehill
At fire-flaucht speed, till on the very tap
They drew their reins an' aff their horses lap.
But sic a sicht as met puir Inglis een
Was ne'er by mortal in this wide warld seen;
The hillside, openin' oot, exposed to view
Yetts made o' silver, hung on sapphires blue.
Harpers stood roun'; an', as they harped, they sung
Lieds sweetly wild, but in some unco tongue;
An' wee, wee ladies fair beyond compare,
An' wee, wee lords in gorgeous garbs war' there.
One courteous knight, advancing from them all,
Come let us join the rest and see the sport,
And pay our duty to the Queen at court
Keep close by me until we pass yon den,--
There monsters entrance bar to mortal men,--
And take this ring, 'twill keep thee safe from all
Can hurt or harm within our Fairy Hall.
I but repay a debt I owe to thee
For leaving still unploughed upon the lea
That elfin ring, where oft, in days of yore,
My forebears danced, before they left this shore;
And other kindly things that I and mine
Have got from you and yours in 'auld langsyne.'
While here, ne'er eat nor drink; not for your life!
For, if ye do, ye'll ne'er see your Goodwife."
Forward they passed, and through the entrance hall,
Its roof upborne by pillars magical;
A line of silver columns flashing bright,
And flinging back the toying gleams of light;
No sun, no moon shone in the azure sky,
Yet there was light o'er all, afar and nigh,
Flowing from sources hid far, far beyond,
Like springs outgushing streams of diamond.
And there were gentle hills; and there above,
Crowning their tops, was many a lovely grove
Waving its leaves and branches to and fro,
O'er emerald moss that clustering lay below.
And there were valleys carpeted with flowers;
There sweet retreats and honeysuckled bowers;
And lakes with wavelets playing too and fro,
Waking soft music in their rippling flow.
And on their surface many a tiny sail--
Gently impelled by Zephyr's mildest gale--
Parting the elfin billows with a sheen
Like opals set upon an emerald-green.
And crimson corals lined the peaceful shore,
Disturbed by no wild surge's angry roar;
Close to the brink was many an elfin home--
Bow'rs built of amber--bathed in silver foam.
And there a cataract, in elfin glee,
Danced music, splashing to the elfin sea;
Now gently stealing, now in bursts, along
The tones came warbling low or loud in song.
'Twas sweet to see the waters leaping so,
Like bairns at play, that ne'er knew sin or woe.
Upon a gentle sward that lay beyond,
High on a solid rock of diamond,
Was placed a throne of yellow burnished gold
Of rarest work the elfin art could mould;
Its steps were gemmed with chrysolite and pearl,
Its canopy with topazes and beryl;
And on it sat the Queen, as spotless fair
As new fallen snow, pure as a child of air.
Could add no beauty to the hair beneath;
Those queenly tresses were of raven hue,
And sparkled bright with crystal-dropping dew;
While music, like a flood, broke round the throne
Whereon she sat like morning star alone,
Welcoming right royally each coming guest
From far or near, from south, north, east, or west.
To cheer the guests with music and with song,
With harp and pipe, the elfin minstrels throng.
The harpers sat--waiting the royal glance.
_That_, smiling given, the bardic chiefs advance
Sweeping the chords--the wires responsive rung--
And in harmonious concert thus they sung:--
"Come where the bright star of even is beaming;
Come where the moonlight o'er valley and hill,
O'er castle and cot in golden flakes streaming,
Shimmers on lake and leaf--glints on the rill.
Ever light, ever free,
Gay let our spirits be,
Roaming by burn and lea--roaming at will.
"Come where the mavis sings sweetest at gloamin';
Come where the woods wi' the wee birdies ring;
Come to the hill where the wild bee is roamin';
Come where the bonnie flow'rs bonniest spring;
Come to the trystin' tree,
Ever gay, ever free,
Sing our old songs with glee--cheerily sing.
"Come where the burn splashes down frae the mountain;
Come where the hazel nuts hang on the tree;
Come to the dell wi' its clear shining fountain,
Where lilies are listenin' the pipe o' the bee
There, by the whisp'ring stream,
Where the trouts golden gleam,
Tell that old tale--that brings joy to the ee.
"Come where Spring's bridal chimes blue bells are ringing;
Come where the yellow broom blooms on the brae;
Come where the lintie his love-sang is singing,
And wee birdies courtin' on ilka green spray.
Joyously let us sing,
Love awakes wi' the Spring,
Merrily let us roam--come, come away."
The trumpets sound; an' at the Queen's comman'
Rade forth o' knights an' lords a gallant ban';
Squadron on squadron pressed in close review,
Their presence markin' their allegiance true;
Ilk gallant tried, as gently ridin' bye,
To catch one meltin' glance frae one loved eye.
An' then cam' racin', playin' at the ba',
An' arrow-shootin' at the waponschaw;
Some danced in glee--but nae quadrilles frae France,
But just the guid auld reel an' country dance--
An' mony anither pastime, whilk to tell
Wad weary even Davie Lindsay's sell'.
An' noo the Queen an' ilk attendin' lord
Tak' up their places at the festive board.
Amang the crowd, oor Inglis an' the knicht
Set themsel's doun, yet geylies oot o' sicht;
But a' the marvels that afore he'd seen
War' nocht to what noo met his dazzled een:
Dishes of gold, the drinking cups of gems,
And flowers of brilliant hues on slender stems,
Shedding delicious fragrance over all,
Blending their odours through the banquet hall;
While softest music, as if borne on wings,
Stole round and round in low, sweet whisperings.
Again the trumpets sound; the heralds call,
"The Queen a kindly welcome drinks to all!"
In meet response, the wine-cups soon are seen
Raised to the toast, "Her Majesty the Queen."
Cheer follows cheer through all the elfin ranks;
Right graciously she bows and smiles her thanks.
'Mid sic excitin' scenes, Inglis amaist
Forgat the frien'ly warnin' nae to taste;
An' raxin' oot his han', the wine-cup took,
But just in time was warnised by a look--
An' sic a look! it gealed his very heart,
An' pierced him thro' an' thro' as wi' a dart--
Upon a pedestal was placed upright
A weird-like form,--as if to hide from sight,
O'erstrewn with leaves,--and, draped in gory red,
It seemed the statue of some monster dread;
Around its head were tendrils of the vine;
To bind this chaplet two pale snakes entwine.
Silent and stern, in death-like rest it sate,
Waiting its certain prey from time or fate;
Nor life, nor motion did it show,--until
The call went forth the goblets all to fill,
Then, lifting up its head, it glared around,
As if rejoicing in the welcome sound.
All suddenly it seemed to spring to life,
As if to handle drink betokened strife;
Its eyes flashed vividly, it grimly smiled
To see poor Inglis thus almost beguiled.--
As thus its figure burst upon his view,
Inglis knew well _who_ waited for his due--
Sae saftly settin' doun the cup in fear
He stole a cautious glance to those war' near.
"Why don't you drink the toast?" his neebours cry.
Quo Inglis, "Sirs, I'm nae just byous dry."
"Treason! vile treason!" roars an elfin carl;
"Here's a base mortal from the outer warl'!"
Syne sic a rippet raise! sic yells an' cries!
While rage flashed furious in the elfin eyes,
Some rinnin' here, some there, whiles some pell-mell,
Roared oot wi' glee, "He'll pay our Kain to hell."
"Wae's me!" thocht Inglis, "I'll be en'it noo;
This comes o' gain frae hame an' getting fou."
Wi' that his frien', the knicht, spak' up an cried,
"Silence! the Queen shall this affair decide."
Strauchtway they harle him 'fore the royal chair
An' place him, like a culprit, tremblin' there.
Her Majesty exclaims, "How came _you_ here?"
Quo Inglis, "Gracious Queen, I'm vera seer
It wasna wi' my wull; an', gin ye'll tak'
My honest word for't, I sall ne'er come back;"
An' syne he tauld her a', baith crap an' root,
That drink was just the cause o't, oot an' oot.
"Well! all that may be true," the Queen replies;
"I fear you hear your doom in these wild cries."
"Nae doubt," quo Inglis, "sair eneuch's my case,
Unless I pity get at your sweet face.
It's nae just for mysel' I beg my life,
But for _her_ sake at hame--my dear Guidwife."
And syne the knicht spak' oot, "My Gracious Queen,
This culprit and his forebears all have been
Neighbours to us and ours for many a day,
And aye were kindly, and ne'er wrought us wae;
His pardon thus I crave upon my knee."
"Rise, sir; 'tis granted; but thus shall it be:
If e'er again he cheat his leal Goodwife,
And with such cantrips plague her very life;
Or with such spates of drink he daze himsel',
Some day he's sure to pay our Kain to hell."
All instant changed; but how, he never kenn'd.
Whaur was he? Paumerin' at his ain hoose-end.--
Frae that day forth a wiser man, atweel!
An' did his very best to cheat the Deil.
abounds.
spirits, more unamiable in their persons and practices, yet more
congenial to the habits of thought of the northern peoples.
beneficence--the fairest creatures of romantic fancy.
With the early troubadours and minstrels, those nymphs formed the
"Till lately, indeed," says Lord Lindsay, in his _Lives of the
Long, long ago in the mist of years,
Near the shores of a sunlit sea,
Hid in a nook of a forest old,
Rippled a burn in joyous glee,
Filling with crystal a basin clear,
Scooped from a bed of sparkling sand;
And there, on a moss-clad bank, there lay
The fairest maid of Fairyland.
Shading the water a birken tree
Arched its hoary branches above,
And the sun peep'd thro' the trembling leaves,
Smiling upon their silent love.
The well ne'er heeded the prying eye,
Brighter it beamed upon the tree;
And glance for glance, as in years gone by,
Back it shadowed in love and lee.
The maid gazed long on that water clear,
Mirroring back the bending tree,
And longed for one in whose spirit-deeps,
Imaged as fondly she should be.
And, though she sighed, she tremblingly hoped,
For, looking still on that mirror fair,
Her blue eyes flashed with a brighter glance
At the figure reflected there.
As on the grass lay the fair, fair May,
Dreaming away the fleeting hours,
Her curls seemed rillets of burnished gold,
Stealing among the springing flowers.
For seldom yet has the summer's sun,
Smiling o'er earth's bright drapery green,
Lit lovelier locks or form more fair
Than this child of the Fairy Queen.
"Oh, sad is the fate," sighed Claribel,
"Of the maidens of Fairyland,
Who pine for the wedding-robes of love,
With the grasp of a wedding hand.
Oh, were I loved by some gentle knight,
Little I'd reck of royal birth;
Station and rank I would freely change
For that holiest joy of earth.
"No noble or knight of Elfinland
My dreaming fancy e'er shall move;
I'll seem a maiden of earth to be,
And light my life with stars of love.
I'll win me a lord of fame and worth,
Who'll love me fondly more and more;
While I learn him lear of Gramarye
He'll teach me all his earthly lore."
The maiden rose from her couch of moss,
Circled around with a mystic sheen;
Such beauty, I trow, earth never saw,
Such grace no living man hath seen.
Enswathed in the light of endless bloom,
Her brow outpaling falling snow,
Her cheeks like the blushing damask rose,
Her lips with budding love aglow.
Round her she wrapped a cramosie cloak,
To hide her robes of sun-wove air;
A veil of the moonlit mist she donned,
To shade her face so passing fair.
Gliding along through the forest green,
Brushing the dew with hasty feet,
Smiling a hope on her parted lips,
Thinking of him she longed to meet.
Proudly there stood by the rock-bound shore
A lordly home, with turrets gray;
But the knight afar in Paynim land
Had been many a year away.
Merrily dashed the sea-driven foam
High on the lofty castle wall;
But the henchmen moved them drowsily,
For lone, alas! were bower and hall.
'Twas the hour when wearied daylight sinks
In the arms of the waiting west,
And gloaming steals from her purple cave,
Bearing her lone star on her breast.
When the glades like minster windows gleam
With slanting rays of burnished gold,
And stealing shadows, in fond embrace,
Are creeping the forest to fold.
Through the dim and faint-lit forest aisles,
Flitting among the grey old trees,
The maiden sped on, each weary sigh
Mingling with the evening breeze.
"Oh, would he were come--the gallant Hay,
Quickly the night begins to fall;
Oh, would that his manly heart were mine,
And my home were his castle hall."
Brighter anon flashed her bright blue eye,
Rosier blushed her cheeks, I ween,
As, breathless, she heard a war-horse tramp
Through the glade of the forest green.
Then quickly came forth a youthful knight,
Straining his eyes that home to see,
He'd longed for many a watchful hour
By the waters of Galilee.
Suddenly halted the courteous knight,
Bright the glance of his martial eye
Flashed in the light of his manhood's bloom
'Neath the plume of his morion high.
Marvelled he much as the evening rays
Fell on a maid so wondrous rare;
"Art thou a form from the beauty world
Or the fairest of earthly fair?"
"List, warrior, list," the fair maid said;
"Pray thee list a lady's behest.
I've wandered far and lost my way,
And am wearied and fain would rest."
Full lowly he bent his waving plume,
Till it mixed with his horse's mane,
"Where is thy home, dear lady, I ask?
Let me carry thee thither again."
"Knowest thou, brave knight, where the elfin halls
Gleam under skies of purple light,
With their towering domes of chaste opal
Glowing in clouds of crimson bright;
With their waving trees of rarest kind,
Soft'ning sunlight cheering the gloom,
Catching the rays as they hasten by,
Wreathing their tops with golden bloom.
"Last eve, with my maids, I left my home,
Singing our songs in gay refrain;
Seeking wild flowers, I wandered alone
Over hill, over dale, and plain.
Laughingly trod we the dewy mead,
Lit by the rays of the evening star;
But sadly I've spent the weary day,
For, ah me! I have wandered far.'
"I know not thy home," the young knight said,
"Else in honour I'd bear thee there;
Tho' never below the glorious sky
Have I seen one so passing fair.
Much have I mingled in court and camp,
In revel, in tourney and strife,
But never, till now, have mine eyes beheld
A maid I could love as my wife."
Quickly the warrior lighted him down--
"Lady," he said, "my halls are near;
Come to my arms--I'll carry thee home,
And ye shall be my peerless fere."
"Gramercy, my lord," the maiden said;
"Willingly shall I go with thee;
And I'll be to thee a leal, true wife--
_Thou_ shalt be 'all the world to me.'"
Around her form his arms he flung,
To kiss her lips so cherry bright,
But nothing he held, for the sylph-like form
Ethereal prov'd as a stream of light.
"Lady," he said, "this is passing strange!
Thour't there!--I see thy curls of gold,
I see the flash of thy lustrous eyes,
But I cannot thy form enfold."
"My form is of air, so virgin pure
By mortal it cannot be press'd
Till by the cross of his sword he swear
Alone I shall dwell in his breast."
Then he bent him low before the cross,
And he vowed, by all he held dear,
That ever he'd prove her own true lord,
And _only_ she his much loved fere.
"_Now_, come to my arms, thou beauteous fair,"
And he grasped her fondly and fast,
Kissing her lips, grown woman again,
Fearing his joy too great to last.
"I'm thine, only thine, mine own dear lord,
Never again to roam apart;
Oh! let me nestle within thine arms,
Let me live in thine inmost heart."
He lifted her on the saddle-bow
Of his gallant roan, standing near,
And proudly it shook its stately head
As her voice fell soft on its ear.
In triumph it bore them fleetly home;
And the liegemen for years could tell
How the old halls rung with "welcomes home"
To Lord Hay and fair Claribel.
Revelry rang in that castle old,
And oft they pledged him deep and free;
And much they talked of his prowess bold,
And his truth and his braverie.
But more they spoke of his fair, fair bride,
And her beauty so wondrous bright;
Lighting his halls like the sun's first rays
Dispersing the shadows of night.
Long, long did they mourn in Fairyland
For the Princess, dear Claribel;
Long was she missed in revel and court,
In palace and bower and dell.
But oft, when hidden among the flowers,
Watching the lovers in dalliance gay,
The fairy maidens would whisper low,
"Would _we were_ but as Lady Hay!"
A wee thocht, _a little_.
Aiblins, _perhaps_.
A'thegither, _altogether_.
Ayont, _on the other side_.
Bairns, _children_.
Beff, _to strike with a heavy blow_.
Begink, _a trick played on one_; _a misfortune_.
Birrin' at the wheel, _spinning busily_; birr, _to whirr_.
Boose, _a drinking bout_.
Brawly, _in good health_.
Breeks, _breeches_.
Browdenin' on, _thinking fondly of_.
Bumbees, _humble bees_.
Buskit, _dressed_.
But an' ben, _in every apartment_.
Byke, _the hive, or nest of the humble bee_.
Byous, _extraordinary_; _beyond or bye use_.
Cantrips, _wild actions_.
Canty, cantie, _cheerful and pleasant_.
Chaumer, _chamber_.
Chessel, _a cheese-vat_.
Cozy, _comfortable_.
Crack, _conversation_.
Crack, in a, _in an instant_.
Cuttie, _a short spoon made of horn_.
Dazed, _stupified_.
Deaved, _rendered deaf_.
Dirdum, _an uproar_; _a loud noise_.
Donnart, _stupid_.
Douce-lookin', _solemn-looking_.
Drappy, _a small quantity_.
Dreepie, _very rainy_.
Ech, och, _the smallest word or sound_.
Eident, _diligent_.
Eldricht, _wild_; _unearthly_.
Fairin', _a present from a fair_.
Fair fa', _may fortune attend_.
Feckly, _for the most part_.
Fernyear, _the past year_.
Fidgin', _moving in a fidgety manner_.
Fient, _not_; _a strong negation_. _Corrupted from fiend._
Fire-flaucht, _lightning_.
Fizz, _great hurry_.
Fleechin', _flattering_.
Flichter, _flutter_; _quiver_.
Forebear, _forefather_.
Forbye, _besides_.
Forrit, _forward_.
Freely, _wholly_.
Fussled, _whistled_.
Gaed on, _went on_.
Gaunted, _yawned_.
Geylies, _gaily_; _in good health_; _well_.
Girnin', _groaning_; _complaining peevishly_.
Grow-grey, _of the natural grey colour_; _applied to wool_.
Guid neebours, _fairies_.
Gyte, _out of one's senses_.
Haenae, _have not_.
Hairst, _harvest_.
Hantle, _a large quantity, sum, or number_.
Happit, _covered_.
Happit, _hopped_.
Hardin, _a kind of rough linen_.
Hauds the gait, _holds on the way_.
Haulket, _with a white face_; _applied to cattle_.
Hinner, _hinder_.
Hoddlin', _walking with a heaving motion_.
Hoosie, _small house_, ie _being the termination of diminutives_.
Humeldoddy, _without horns_.
Ithers, _others_.
Jowin', _rolling like a wave_.
Kelpie, _the water hobgoblin_.
Kenna, _do not know_.
Kirnin' day, _day for making butter_.
Kittle, _attended with constant difficulties_.
Link at, _to do anything with vigour, as walking_.
Losh, _Lord_; _an exclamation_.
Mant, _to hesitate_; _stutter_.
Meat-hale, _in sound health and with good appetite for food_.
Mint, _to give a hint_.
Moulie draps, _small drops_;
nae moulie draps, _not the smallest drop left in the glass_.
Moyen, _to draw forth_.
to lay moyens, _to form plans_; _to use means_.
My certy, _assuredly_; _by my faith_; _a strong assertion_.
My lane, _by myself_; _alone_.
Paumerin', _moving with heavy step in a very stupid manner_.
Pottie boilin', to keep the, _to keep anything a-going_.
Put an' row, _with the greatest difficulty_.
Pyowtered, _walked with slow, tottering step_.
Quean, _paramour_.
Raked up his een, _opened his eyes_.
Rants, _wild frolics_.
Raxin', _stretching_.
Rig an' fur, _ribbed_; _applied to stockings_.
Rippet, _wild tumult_; _boisterous fun_.
Rizzon, _reason_.
Routh, _plenty_; _a large number_.
Sair dung, _much overcome_.
Sanna, _shall not_.
Saul, _soul_; _an imprecation_.
Seerly, _surely_.
Siller, _silver_; _applied to money in general_.
Singit, _singed_.
Skail, _separate_.
Skinklin', _falling slightly_.
Skirled, _cried with a shrill voice_.
Smoored, _smothered_.
Sonsie, _plump, and having a pleasant look_.
Soople, _supple_; _flexible_.
Spang, _to walk with a long, quick step_.
Spates, _floods_.
Spates of drink, _drunken bouts_.
Splore, _a wild frolic_.
Squeel, _scream_.
Stan' the session, _appear before the kirk session to satisfy
discipline_.
Stendin', _walking with long strides at a quick pace_.
Stoup, _measure_.
Tap to tae, frae, _from top to foot_.
Tappit, _crested_.
Taties, _potatoes_.
Thestreen, _last night_.
Thieket, _thatched_.
Thowless, _without vigour_.
Thrang, _strongly bent_.
Toun, _farm buildings_.
Trigly, _neatly_.
Troke, _small ware_.
Twined, _separated_.
Unco sair, _very much_.
Vaunty, _given to boasting_.
Vivers, _victuals_.
Warnised, _warned_.
Warstles up, _mounts with difficulty_.
Wasna, _was not_.
Waukit, _fulled_.
Wee bit sheltie, _small pony_.
Win wi', _accompany_.
Win to, win as far as, _to reach_.
Wowf, _melancholy_.
Wunner, _wonder_.
Wun o'er his lips, _escaped from his lips_.
Yarkit at the wark, _wrought with vigour_.
Yestreen, _last night_.
Yokes wi', _engages in anything_.
 Lucretius Lib. IV., lin. 581 et seq.
 Halliwell's "Parnassus."