Read Ebook: The chronicles of Fairy land by Hume Fergus Dunlop M Illustrator Kirk Maria Louise Illustrator

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Ebook has 1151 lines and 57391 words, and 24 pages

PAGE KING OBERON'S LIBRARY 11 THE RED ELF 25 SHADOWLAND 47 THE WATER-WITCH 63 MOON FANCIES 95 THE ROSE-PRINCESS 109 SORROW-SINGING 139 THE GOLDEN GOBLIN 157

THE ENCHANTED FOREST 183

PAGE

"Yes, It Is Faeryland," Piped a Shrill Voice 14

The Rude Giant Laughed Heartily at the Poor Elf's Plight 32

As Tom Picked It Up He Felt that It was Filled with Money 49

He Saw the Form of the Water-faery Glimmering Ghostly Under the Thin White Veil 71

On Seeing Ardram She Bounded Toward Him and Put Her Arms Round His Neck 134

One Bright Summer's Night a Number of Faeries Flew Into the Room 139

"I Am the Golden Goblin," He Cried in a Harsh Voice 165

A BALLAD OF FAERY TALES

O'ER weary earth the twilight falls The sunset fades from western skies, Dark shadows dance upon the walls, As from the hearth red flames arise. This hour is full of strange surprise, Of mystic stories sweet and grand; And children hear with shining eyes These Chronicles of Faeryland.

So, children, gather round my knee, And list to tales of old romance; With stories of the land and sea I'll make your eyes with pleasure dance. And if the fays are kind, perchance You'll see in dreams the elfish band, Whene'er you hear with wond'ring glance These Chronicles of Faeryland.

The rugged caves where giants dwell; The dragons guarding gems and gold; Fair ladies who by magic spell Are held enchained in castles old; The handsome princes, brave and bold, Who cross the moat by drawbridge spanned: Such tales and more will now unfold These Chronicles of Faeryland.

Then, children, leave your books and toys, And come to this enchanted strand; I tell for happy girls and boys These Chronicles of Faeryland.

KING OBERON'S LIBRARY.

IT was after dinner, I think, as I was seated in my arm-chair before the fire, tired out with hard work, and therefore half asleep. All day long it had been snowing hard, and even now, at seven o'clock in the evening, it was still coming down in great white flakes, making the earth look like a beautiful birthday cake. There was no light in the room, except the red glimmer of the fire that flickered and flared on the wide hearth, roaring up the great chimney, as if it was grumbling to itself at having to go out into the cold, cold night.

Now, I am very fond of the firelight in a dark room at such an hour, for it casts strange shadows, which put strange fancies into my head, and I tell these strange fancies to good children, which pleases them very much. For the children I tell them to are very wise, and believe in these strange fancies, calling them faery tales, as indeed they are. Grown-up people do not believe in faery tales, which is a great pity, because there are many good and beautiful stories told of the faeries, which make people who really understand them better and wiser. But all children understand them because all children know that Faeryland exists, and, therefore, the strange fancies called faery tales must necessarily be true.

Well, as I said before, I was seated half-asleep in my arm-chair in the dark, watching the fire burning merrily on the hearth, and sending out great shafts of red light to explore dark corners, where goblins are fond of lurking. On the roof and on the wall danced the firelight shadows in the most amusing manner; but they are foolish folk these same shadows, belonging to the strange Kingdom of Shadowland, which lies near the realm of Faery; yet not mingling with it in any way, for in Faeryland, as wise children know, there are no shadows at all.

I grew tired watching the shadow-dance, so, letting my chin sink on my breast, I stared into the red hollows and burning caverns made by the flames among the logs of wood. There I saw all kinds of curious things,--turreted castles, which held enchanted princesses, broad red plains, across which journeyed brave knights in armour, to deliver those same princesses, and huge rocky caverns wherein dwelt cruel magicians, who try to stop the brave knights from reaching the enchanted castles. I saw all these things in the fire, and you can see them also, if you look steadily into the flames at night-time, because then everything is under the spell of faery power. But you must believe very hard indeed, as you look, for the faeries will not let their country be seen by children who doubt that the beautiful land exists.

There were some twigs on the logs still bearing a few withered leaves, but, being out of reach of the fire, they were not burnt up; nevertheless the flames made them quiver with their hot breath, just as if they were still being shaken by the cool breeze of the forest.

Now, while I was looking at the shaking of the withered leaves, a cricket began to chirp, and, whether it was the magic of the darkness, or the influence of the faeries, I do not know, but I understood every word of the song the cricket sang. Oh, it was really a famous singer, that merry cricket, and the song it sang went something after this fashion.

THE CRICKET'S SONG.

You can only hear my voice; But you cannot see me. Oh, would not your heart rejoice, If you could but be me!

You don't understand my song, Tho' so bright and airy; For to mortals you belong, You are not a faery.

Living now the earth upon, Oft my life's imperilled; But at court of Oberon, I'm the faeries' herald.

If you caught me you would say, "In the fire stick it; In the house it shall not stay, Noisy, noisy cricket."

Therefore by the Faery King, I to hide am bidden, And you only hear me sing When I'm closely hidden

First of all, it sounded as if only one cricket was singing, then a second seemed to join in, afterwards a third and fourth, until the whole forest appeared to be full of crickets.

Forest?--yes!--I was now in an old, old forest, for, as I listened to the cricket's song, the twigs on the logs became fresh and green, then seemed to grow larger and larger, until they hid the red light of the fire, and branched out with great leafy boughs into the room. I looked up in surprise, and saw the green branches, high above my head, waving in the soft wind, and I could hear the singing of unseen birds sound through the chirping of the crickets. Under my feet, instead of a carpet, there was now fresh green turf covered with daisies, and my arm-chair was a chair no longer, but the mossy trunk of a fallen tree. The red light glimmered behind the leaves, as though the fire was still there, but I knew in some strange way that it was not the fire, but the crimson glare of the sunset. A great wave of phantasy seemed to roll through the forest, and I started to my feet, as the crickets finished singing, with a curious sense of wonderful knowledge and vague longings.

"Dear me!" I said to myself; "this must be Faeryland."

"Yes, it is Faeryland," piped a shrill voice, which seemed to come from the ground. "This is the Forest of Enchantment."

I looked down without astonishment, for in Faeryland no one is astonished at the strange things which take place, and saw an old, old little man, with a long white beard, sitting astride the stem of a flower, which kept swaying up and down like a rocking-horse. He was dressed in bright green, with the inverted purple cup of a Canterbury bell on his head, and if he had not spoken I would not have known he was there, so much did his clothes and cap resemble the surrounding green grass and coloured flowers.

"Goblin?" I asked quickly; for, you see, he looked so old and ugly that I thought he must be one of the underground faeries.

"I'm not a goblin," he replied in an angry, shrill voice, like the wind whistling through a keyhole. "It is very rude of you to call me a goblin--a nasty thing who lives under the earth, and only cares for gold and silver. I'm a faery--a very celebrated faery indeed."

"But you wear a beard," I said doubtfully; "faeries don't wear beards."

"Not all faeries," he answered, with dignity, jumping down from his swaying flower stem; "but I do, because I am the librarian of King Oberon."

"Dear me! I did not know he had a library. Do let me see it!"

"You see it now," said the librarian, waving his hand; "look at all the books."

I looked round, but saw nothing except a circle of trees, whose great boughs, meeting overhead, made a kind of leafy roof, through which could be seen the faint, rosy flush of the sunset sky. The ground, as I said before, was covered with daisy-sprinkled turf, and there was a still pool of shining water in the centre, upon the bosom of which floated large white lilies.

"I must say I don't see anything except leaves," I said, after a pause.

"Well--those are the books."

"Oh, are they! Well, I know books have leaves, but I didn't know leaves were books."

The faery looked puzzled.

"You must have some faery blood in you," he said at length, "or you would never have found your way into this forest; but you don't seem to have enough of the elfin nature to see all the wonders of Faeryland."

"Oh, do let me see the wonders of Faeryland!" I asked eagerly; "now that I am here, I want to see everything."

"No doubt you do," retorted the faery, with a provoking smile; "but I don't know if the King will let you--however, I'll ask him when he wakes."

"Is he asleep?" I said in astonishment; "why, it's day-time."

"It's day-time with you, not with us," answered the librarian; "the night is the day of the faeries--and see, there's the sun rising."

Looking up through the fretwork of boughs and leaves, I saw the great silver shield of the moon trembling in the dark blue sky, from whence all the sunset colours had died away.

"But that's the moon," I cried, laughing.

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