Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Fairies' Song
The Fairies' Song.
We dance on hills above the wind,
And leave our footsteps there behind,
Which shall to after-ages last,
When all our dancing days are past.
Sometimes we dance upon the shore,
To whistling winds and seas that roar;
Then we make the wind to blow,
And set the seas a-dancing too.
The thunder's noise is our delight,
And lightnings make us day by night;
And in the air we dance on high
To the loud music of the sky.
About the moon we make a ring,
And falling stars we wanton fling,
Like squibs and rockets, for a toy;
While what frights others is our joy.
But when we'd hunt away our cares,
We boldly mount the galloping spheres;
And riding so from east to west,
We chase each nimble zodiac beast.
Thus giddy grown, we make our beds,
With thick black clouds to rest our heads,
And flood the earth with our dark showers,
That did but sprinkle these our bowers.
Thus having done with orbs and sky,
Those mighty spaces vast and high,
Then down we come and take the shapes
Sometimes of cats, sometimes of apes.
Next turned to mites in cheese, forsooth,
We get into some hollow tooth;
Wherein, as in a Christmas hall,
We frisk and dance, the devil and all.
Then we change our wily features
Into yet far smaller creatures,
And dance in joints of gouty toes,
To painful tunes of groans and woes.