The Fairy Mythology (Google eBook)

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H. G. Bohn, 1860 - Fairy tales - 560 pages
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Page 332 - Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back...
Page 328 - With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, And, for night tapers, crop their waxen thighs, And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes...
Page 333 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long : And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
Page 327 - These are the forgeries of jealousy : And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, Or on the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
Page 345 - This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt, Still walking like a ragged colt, And oft out of a bush doth bolt, Of purpose to deceive us ; And, leading us, makes us to stray, Long winters nights out of the way, And when we stick in mire and clay, He doth with laughter leave us.
Page 332 - Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid. Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut , Made by the joiner squirrel , or old grub , Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers...
Page 331 - O ! then. I see, queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the fore-finger of an alderman,* Drawn with a team of little atomies Over' men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
Page 23 - Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots. Their port was more than human, as they stood ; I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play in the plighted clouds.
Page 331 - Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams ; Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid ; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night...
Page 381 - And all their echoes mourn. The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.

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