Fairy Tales, Now First Collected/Tale 29

by Joseph Ritson

TALE XXIX.

KENSINGTON GARDEN

Campos, ubi Troja fuit. Virg. Where Kensington high o'er the neighb'ring lands,'Midst greens and sweets, a regal fabrick stands,And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers,A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers,The dames of Britain oft in crowds repairTo groves and lawns, and unpolluted air.Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies,They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies,Each walk, with robes of various dies bespread,Sees from afar a moving tulip-bed,Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow,And chints, the rival of the showery bow.Here Englands daughter, darling of the land,Sometimes, surrounded with her virgin band,Gleams through the shades. She, towering o'er the rest,Stands fairest of the fairer kind confess'd, Form'd to gain hearts, that Brunswicks cause deny'd,And charm a people to her fathers side. Long have these groves to royal guests been known,Nor Nassau first preferr'd them to a throne.Ere Norman banners waved in British air,Ere lordly Hubba with the golden hairPour'd in his Danes; ere elder Julius came;Or Dardan Brutus gave our isle a name;A prince of Albions lineage graced the wood,The scene of wars, and stain'd with lovers blood. You, who through gazing crowds, your captive throng,Throw pangs and passions, as you move along,Turn on the left, ye fair, your radiant eyes,Where all unlevel'd the gay garden lies:If generous anguish for anothers painsEre heaved your hearts, or shiver'd through your veins,Look down attentive on the pleasing dale,And listen to my melancholy tale. That hollow space, where, now, in living rows,Line above line the yews sad verdure grows,Was, ere the planters hand its beauty gave,A common pit, a rude, unfashion'd cave;The landscape, now so sweet, we well may praise,But far, far sweeter in its ancient days, Far sweeter was it, when its peopled groundWith fairy domes and dazzling towers were crown'd.Where, in the midst, those verdant pillars spring,Rose the proud palace of the elfin king.For every hedge of vegetable green,In happier years, a crowded street was seen,Not all those leaves, that now the prospect grace,Could match the numbers of its pigmy race.What urged this mighty empire to its fate,A tale of woe and wonder, I relate. When Albion ruled the land, whose lineage cameFrom Neptune mingling with a mortal dame,Their midnight pranks the sprightly fairies play'dOn every hill, and danced in every shade.But, foes to sun-shine, most they took delightIn dells and dales, conceal'd from human sight:There hew'd their houses in the arching rock;Or scoop'd the bosom of the blasted oak;Or heard, o'ershadow'd by some shelving hill,The distant murmurs of the falling rill.They, rich in pilfer'd spoils, indulged their mirth,And pitied the huge wretched sons of earth.Even now, 'tis said, the hinds o'erhear their strain,And strive to view their airy forms in vain;They to their cells at mans approach repair,Like the shy leveret, or the mother-hare, The whilst poor mortals startle at the soundOf unseen footsteps on the haunted ground. Amid this garden, then with woods o'ergrown,Stood the loved seat of royal Oberon.From every region to his palace-gateCame peers and princes of the fairy state,Who, rank'd in council round the sacred shade,Their monarchs will and great behests obey'd.From Thames fair banks, by lofty towers adorn'd,With loads of plunder oft his chiefs return'd:^[1]Hence in proud robes, and colours bright and gay,Shone every knight, and every lovely fay.Whoe'er on Powells dazzling stage display'dHath famed king Pepin and his court survey'd,May guess, if old by modern things we trace,The pomp and splendour of the fairy race. By magick fenced, by spells encompass'd round,No mortal touch'd this interdicted ground;No mortal entered, those alone who came.Stol'n from the couch of some terrestrial dame:For oft of babes they robb'd the matrons bed,And left some sickly changeling in their stead. It chanced a youth of Albions royal blood.Was foster'd here, the wonder of the wood. Milkah for wiles above her peers ronown'd,Deep-skill'd in charms, and many a mystick sound.As through the regal dome she sought for prey,Observed the infant Albion where he lay.In mantles broider'd o'er with gorgeous pride,And stole him from his sleeping mothers side. Who now but Milkah triumphs in her mind!Ah wretched nymph! to future evils blind.The time shall come when thou shalt dearly payThe theft, hard-hearted! of that guilty day:Thou in thy turn shall like the queen repine,And all her sorrows doubled shall be thine:He who adorns thy house, the lovely boyWho now adorns it, shall at length destroy. Two hundred moons in their pale course had seenThe gay-robed fairies glimmer on the green,And Albion now had reach'd in youthful primeTo nineteen years, as mortals measure time.Flush'd with resistless charms he fired to loveEach nymph and little dryad of the grove;For skilful Milkah spared not to employHer utmost art to rear the princely boy;Each supple limb she swath'd, and tender bone,And to the elfin standard kept him down;She robb'd dwarf elders of their fragrant fruit,And fed him early with the daisys root, Whence through his veins the powerful juices ran,And form'd in beauteous miniature the man.Yet still, two inches taller than the rest,His lofty port his human birth confess'd,A foot in height, how stately did he show!How look superior on the crowd below!What knight like him could toss the rushy lance?Who move so graceful in the mazy dance?A shape so nice, or features half so fair,What elf could boast? or such a flow of hair?Bright Kenna saw, a princess born to reign,And felt the charmer burn in every vein.She, heiress to this empires potent lord,Praised like the stars, and next the moon adored,She, whom at distance thrones and princedoms view'd,To whom proud Oriel and Azuriel sued,In her high palace languish'd, void of joy,And pined in secret for a mortal boy. He too was smitten, and discreetly stroveBy courtly deeds to gain the virgins love.For her he cull'd the fairest flowers that grew,Ere morning suns had drain'd their fragrant dew;He chased the hornet in his mid-day flightAnd brought her glow-worms in the noon of night;When on ripe fruits she cast a wishing eye,Did ever Albion think the tree too high! He show'd her where the pregnant goldfinch hung,And the wren-mother brooding o'er her young;To her th' inscription on their eggs he read:(Admire, ye clerks, the youth whom Milkah bred!)To her he show'd each herb of virtuous juice,Their powers distinguish'd, and described their use:All vain their powers, alas! to Kenna prove,And well sung Ovid, There's no herb for love. As when a ghost, enlarged from realms below,Seeks its old friend to tell some secret woe,The poor shade shivering stands, and must not breakHis painful silence, till the mortal speak;So fared it with the little love-sick maid,Forbid to utter what her eyes betray'd.He saw her anguish, and reveal'd his flame,And spared the blushes of the tongue-tyed dame.The day would fail me, should I reckon o'erThe sighs they lavish'd, and the oaths they swore;In words so melting, that compared with those,The nicest courtship of terrestrial beausWould sound like compliments from country clowns,To red-cheek'd sweet-hearts in their home-spun gowns.  All in a lawn of many a various hue,A bed of flowers (a fairy forest) grew;"Twas here, one noon, the gaudiest of the May,The still, the secret, silent, hour of day,Beneath a lofty tulips ample shadeSate the young lover, and th' immortal maid.They thought all fairies slept, ah luckless pair!Hid, but in vain, in the suns noon-tide glare!When Albion, leaning on his Kennas breast,Thus all the softness of his soul express'd:"All things are hush'd. The suns meridian raysVeil the horizon in one mighty blaze;Nor moon nor star in heavens blue arch is seen,With kindly rays to silver o'er the green,Grateful to fairy eyes; they secret takeTheir rest, and only wretched mortals wake.This dead of day I fly to thee alone,A world to ine, a multitude in one.Oh sweet as dew-drops on these flowery lawns,When the sky opens, and the evening dawns!Straight as the pink, that towers so high in air,Soft as the blue-bell, as the daisy, fair!Bless'd be the hour, when first I was convey'dAn infant captive to this blissful shade!And bless'd the hand that did my form refine,And shrunk my stature to a match with thine! Glad I for thee renounce my royal birth,And all the giant daughters of the earth.Thou, if thy breast with equal ardour burn,Renounce thy kind, and love for love return.So from us two, combined by nuptial ties,A race unknown of demi-gods shall rise.Oh speak, my love! my vows with vows repay,And sweetly swear my rising fears away." To whom (the shining azure of her eyesMore brighten'd) thus th' enamour'd maid replies: "By all the stars, and first the glorious moon,I swear, and by the head of Oberon,A dreadful oath! no prince of fairy lineShall e'er in wedlock plight his vows with mine.Where'er my footsteps in the dance are seen,May toadstools rise, and mildews blast the green,May the keen east-wind blight my fav'rite flowers,And snakes and spotted adders haunt my bowers.Confined whole ages in a hemlock shade,There rather pine I a neglected maid;Or worse, exiled from Cynthias gentle rays,Parch in the sun a thousand summer-days,Than any prince, a prince of fairy line,In sacred wedlock plight his vows with mine." She ended: and with lips of rosy hueDipp'd five times over in ambrosial dew, Stifled his words. When, from his covert rear'd,The frowning brow of Oberon appear'd.A sun-flowers trunk was near, whence (killing sight!)The monarch issued, half an ell in height:Full on the pair a furious look he cast,Nor spake; but gave his bugle-horn a blast,That through the woodland echo'd far and wide,And drew a swarm of subjects to his side.A hundred chosen knights, in war renown'd,Drive Albion banish'd from the sacred ground;And twice ten myriads guard the bright abodes,Where the proud king, amidst his demi-gods,For Kennas sudden bridal bids prepare,And to Azuriel gives the weeping fair. If fame in arms, with ancient birth combined,And faultless beauty, and a spotless mind,To love and praise can generous souls incline,That love, Azuriel, and that praise were thine.Blood, only less than royal, fill'd thy veins,Proud was thy roof, and large thy fair domains.Where now the skies high Holland-house invadesAnd short-lived Warwick sadden'd all the shades,Thy dwelling stood: nor did in him affordA nobler owner, or a lovelier lord.For thee a hundred fields produced their store,And by thy name ten thousand vassals swore, So loved thy name, that, at their monarchs choice,All Fairy shouted with a general voice. Oriel alone a secret rage suppress'd,That from his bosom heaved the golden vest.Along the banks of Thame his empire ran,Wide was his range, and populous his clan.When cleanly servants, if we trust old tales,Beside their wages had good fairy vails,Whole heaps of silver tokens, nightly paidThe careful wife or the neat dairy-maid,Sunk not his stores. With smiles and powerful bribesHe gain'd the leaders of his neighbour tribes,And ere the night the face of heaven had changed,Beneath his banners half the fairies ranged. Mean-while driven back to earth, a lonely wayThe cheerless Albion wander'd half the day,A long, long journey, choked with brakes and thorns,Ill-measured by ten thousand barley-corns.Tired out at length, a spreading stream he spy'dFed by old Thame, a daughter of the tide:"Twas then a spreading stream, though, now, its fameObscured, it bears the creeks inglorious name,And creeps, as through contracted bounds it strays,A leap for boys in these degenerate days.  On the clear crystals verdant bank he stood,And thrice look'd backward on the fatal wood,And thrice he groan'd, and thrice he beat his breast,And thus in tears his kindred gods address'd: "If true, ye watery powers, my lineage cameFrom Neptune mingling with a mortal dame;Down to his court, with coral garlands crown'd,Through all your grottos waft my plaintive sound,And urge the god, whose trident shakes the earth,To grace his offspring and assert my birth." He said. A gentle Naiad heard his prayer,And, touch'd with pity for a lovers care,Shoots to the sea, where low beneath the tidesOld Neptune in th' unfathom'd deep resides.Roused at the news the seas stern sultan sworeRevenge, and scarce from present arms forbore,But first the nymph his harbinger he sends,And to her care the fav'rite boy commends. As through the Thames her backward course she guides,Driven up his current by the refluent tides,Along his banks the pygmy legions spread,She spies, and haughty Oriel at their head.Soon with wrong'd Albions name the host she fires,And counts the oceans god among his sires; "The oceans god, by whom shall be o'erthrown(Styx heard his oath) the tyrant Oberon.See here, beneath a toadstools deadly gloomLies Albion him the fates your leader doom.Hear and obey; 'tis Neptunes powerful call,By him Azuriel and his king shall fall." She said. They bow'd: and on their shields upbore,With shouts, their new-saluted emperor.Even Oriel smiled at least to smile he strove,And hopes of vengeance triumph'd over love. See now the mourner of the lonely shadeBy gods protected, and by hosts obey'd,A slave, a chief, by fickle Fortunes play,In the short course of one revolving day.What wonder if the youth, so strangely bless'd,Felt his heart flutter in his little breast!His thick embattled troops, with secret pride,He views extended half an acre wide;More light he treads, more tall he seems to rise,And struts a straw-breadth nearer to the skies. O for thy muse, great bard,^[2] whose lofty strainsIn battle join'd the pygmies and the cranes!Each gaudy knight, had I that warmth divine,Each colour'd legion in my verse should shine.But simple I, and innocent of art,The tale, that soothed my infant years, impart, The tale I hear'd whole winter-eves, untired,And sing the battles that my nurse inspired. Now the shrill corn-pipes, echoing loud to arms,To rank and file reduce the straggling swarms.Thick rows of spears at once, with sudden glare,A grove of needles, glitter in the air;Loose in the winds small ribbon streamers flow,Dipp'd in all colours of the heavenly bow,And the gay host, that now its march pursues,Gleams o'er the meadows in a thousand hues. Unseen and silent march the slow brigadesThrough pathless wilds, and unfrequented shades..In hope already vanquish'd by surprise,In Albions power the fairy empire lies;Already has he seized on Kennas charms,And the glad beauty trembles in his arms. The march concludes: and now in prospect near,But fenced with arms, the hostile towers appear,For Oberon, or druids falsely sing,Wore his prime visor in a magic ring.A subtle spright, that opening plots foretoldBy sudden dimness on the beamy gold.Hence, in a crescent form'd, his legions bright,With beating bosoms, waited for the fight;To charge their foes they march, a glittering band,And in their van doth bold Azuriel stand.  What rage that hour did Albions soul possess,Let chiefs imagine, and let lovers guess!Forth issuing from his ranks, that strove in vainTo check his course, athwart the dreadful plainHe strides indignant: and with haughty criesTo single fight the fairy prince defies. Forbear, rash youth, th' unequal war to try;Nor, sprung from mortals, with immortals vie.No god stands ready to avert thy doom,Nor yet thy grandsire of the waves is come.My words are vain—no words the wretch cau move,By beauty dazzled and bewitch'd by love:He longs, he burns, to win the glorious prize,And sees no danger, while he sees her eyes. Now from each host the eager warriors start,And furious Albion flings his hasty dart:"Twas feather'd from the bees transparent wing,And its shaft ended in a hornets sting;But toss'd in rage, it flew without a wound,High o'er the foe, and guiltless pierced the ground.Not so Azuriels: with unerring aimToo near the needle-pointed javelin came,Drove through the seven-fold shield and silken vest,And lightly rased the lovers ivory breast. Roused at the smart, and rising to the blow,With his keen sword he cleaves his fairy foe,Sheer from the shoulder to the waist he cleaves,And of one arm the tott'ring trunk bereaves. His useless steel brave Albion wields no more,But sternly smiles, and thinks the combat o'er.So had it been, had aught of mortal strain,Or less than fairy felt the deadly pain.But empyreal forms, howe'er in fightGash'd and dismember'd, easily unite.As some frail cup of Chinas purest mold,With azure varnish'd, and bedropp'd with gold,Though broke, if cured by some nice virgins hands,In its old strength and pristine beauty stands;The tumults of the boiling bohea braves,And holds secure the coffees sable waves:So did Azuriels arm, if fame say true,Rejoin the vital trunk whence first it grew;And, whilst in wonder fix'd poor Albion stood,Plunged the cursed sabre in his hearts warm blood.The golden broidery, tender Milhah wove,The breast to Kenna sacred and to love,Lie rent and mangled: and the gaping woundPours out a flood of purple on the ground.The jetty lustre sickens in his eyes:On his cold cheeks the bloomy freshness dies: "Oh Kenna, Kenna," thrice he try'd to say"Kenna, farewell:" and sigh'd his soul away. His fall the dryads with loud shrieks deplore,By sister naiads echo'd from the shore,Thence down to Neptunes secret realms convey'd,Through grots, and glooms, and many a coral shade.The seas great sire, with looks denouncing war,The trident shakes, and mounts the pearly car;With one stern frown the wide-spread deep deforms,And works the madding ocean into storms.O'er foaming mountains, and through bursting tides,Now high, now low, the bounding chariot rides,'Till through the Thames in a loud whirlwinds roarIt shoots, and lands him on the destined shore. Now fix'd on earth his towering stature stood,Hung o'er the mountains, and o'erlook'd the wood.To Bromptons grove one ample stride he took,(The valleys trembled, and the forests shook)The next huge step reach'd the devoted shade,Where choked in blood was wretched Albion laid:Where now the vanquish'd with the victors join'd,Beneath the regal banners stood combined. Th' embattled dwarfs with rage and scorn he pass'd,And on their town his eye vindictive cast. Its deep foundations his strong trident cleaves,And high in air th' uprooted empire heaves;On his broad engine the vast ruin hung,Which on the foe with force divine he flung;Aghast the legions, in th' approaching shade,Th' inverted spires and rocking domes survey'd,That downward tumbling on the host belowCrush'd the whole nation at one dreadful blow.Towers, arms, nymphs, warriors, are together lost,And a whole empire falls to sooth sad Albions ghost. Such was the period, long restrain'd by Fate,And such the downfall of the fairy state.This dale, a pleasing region, not unbless'd,This dale possess'd they; and had still possess'dHad not their monarch, with a fathers pride,Rent from her lord th' inviolable bride,Rash to dissolve the contract seal'd above,The solemn vows, and sacred bonds of love.Now, where his elves so brightly danced the round,No violet breathes, nor daisy paints the ground,His towers and people fill one common grave,A shapeless ruin, and a barren cave. Beneath huge hills of smoking piles he layStunn'd and confounded a whole summers day.At length awaked (for what can long restrainUnbody'd spirits?) but awaked in pain: And as he saw the desolated wood,And the dark den where once his empire stood,Grief chill'd his heart: to his half-open'd eyesIn every oak a Neptune seem'd to rise:He fled and left, with all his trembling peers,The long possession of a thousand years. Through bush, through brake, through groves, and gloomy dales,Through dank and dry, o'er streams and flowery vales,Direct they fled; but often look'd behind,And stopp'd and started at each rustling wind.Wing'd with like fear his abdicated bands,Disperse and wander into different lands,Part did beneath the Peaks deep caverns lie,In silent glooms impervious to the sky;Part on fair Avons margin seek repose,^[3]Whose stream o'er Britains midinost region flows,Where formidable Neptune never came,And seas and oceans are but known by fame:Some to dark woods and secret shades retreat,And some on mountains choose their airy seat. There haply by the ruddy damsel seen,Or shepherd-boy, they featly foot the green,While from their steps a circling verdure springs;But fly from towns, and dread the courts of kings. Mean-while sad Kenna loth to quit the grove,Hung o'er the body of her breathless love,Try'd every art (vain arts!) to change his doom,And vow'd (vain vows!) to join him in the tomb.What could she do? the Fates alike denyThe dead to live, or fairy forms to die. An herb there grows (the same old Homer tellsUlysses bore to rival Circes spells):^[4]Its root is ebon-black, but sends to light,A stem that bends with flowerets milky white,Holy the plant, which gods and fairies know,But secret kept from mortal men below.On his pale limbs its virtuous juice she shed,And murmur'd mystic numbers o'er the dead,When lo! the little shape by magic powerGrew less and less, contracted to a flower,A flower, that first in this sweet garden smiled,To virgins sacred, and the snow-drop stiled. The new-born plant with sweet regret she view'd,Warm'd with her sighs, and with her tears bedew'd, Its ripen'd seeds from bank to bank convey'd,And with her lover whiten'd half the shade.Thus won from death each spring she sees him growAnd glories in the vegetable snow,Which now increased through wide Britannias plains,Its parents warmth and spotless name retains;First leader of the flowery race aspires,And foremost catches the suns genial fires,'Mid frosts and snows triumphant dares appear,Mingles the seasons, and leads on the year. Deserted now of all the pygmy race,Nor man nor fairy touch'd this guilty place.In heaps on heaps, for many a rolling age,It lay accursed the mark of Neptunes rage;"Till great Nassau recloth'd the desert shadeThence sacred to Britannias monarchs made."Twas then the green-robed nymph, fair Kenna, came,(Kenna that gave the neighbouring town its name).Proud when she saw th' ennobled garden shineWith nymphs and heros of her lovers line.She vow'd to grace the mansions once her own,And picture out in plants the fairy town. To far-famed Wise her flight unseen she sped,And with gay prospects fill'd the craftsmans head,Soft in his fancy drew a pleasing scheme,And plann'd that landskip in a morning dream. With the sweet view the sire of gardens fired,Attempts the labour by the nymph inspired,The walls and streets in rows of yew designs,And forms the town in all its ancient lines;The corner trees he lifts more high in air,And girds the palace with a verdant square. With a sad pleasure the aërial maidThis image of her ancient realm survey'd;How changed, how fall'n from its primæval pride!Yet here each moon, the hour her lover died,Each moon his solemn obsequies she pays,And leads the dance beneath pale Cynthias rays;Pleased in these shades to head her fairy train,And grace the groves where Albions kinsmen reign.^[5]

1. This is calumny; the fairies were always liberal, never unjust the only things they ever stole were children, as represented below.
2. Mr. Addison.
3. "Thou soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver streamOf things more than mortal thy Shakspeare would dream:The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed,For hallow'd the turf is which pillow'd his head."Garrick.
   
4. Odys. B. 10.
5. By Thomas Tickell.