Читать книгу Once Upon a Time and Other Child-Verses - Freeman Mary Eleanor Wilkins - Страница 13

CLING, clang, – "Whoa, my bonny gray

mare!

Whoa," – cling, clang, – "my bay!

But the black and the sorrel must stay unshod,

While my two fair sons are away."

While the blacksmith spake, his fair sons

came,

And stood in the smithy door —

"Now where have ye been, my two fair sons,

For your father has missed ye sore? "

Then pleasantly spake the younger son,

With the eyes of dreamy blue:

"O Father, we've been in a land as bright

As the glint o' the morning dew! "

Then his brother twinkled his gay black eyes,

And he spake up merry and bold:

"Hey, Father, we've been in the fairy land,

Where the horses are shod wi' gold!"

"An' what did ye there in Fairyland,

O my two fair sons, I pray?"

"We shod for them, Father, their fairy steeds,

All in a month an' a day.

"An', Father, we shod them wi' virgin gold;

Each nail had a diamond head;

All the steeds were as white as the clear moon-

light,

An' in fields o' lilies they fed."

"An' what was the sum o' the fairy hire,

O my two fair sons, I pray?"

"A seed of a wonderful fairy flower,

They gave to us each for pay! "

"An' what will ye do wi' the seeds, fair

sons?"

"We will sow i' the light, green spring,

An' maybe a golden rose will toss,

Or a silver lily will swing."

"Now," – cling, clang, – "whoa, my bonny

gray mare!

Whoa," – cling, clang, – "my bay!

An' the sorrel an' black, now my sons are

back,

Can be shod " – cling, clang, – "to-day."

Oh! the smith's sons planted the fairy seeds

When the light, green spring came round,

Through the sunlit hours, 'twixt the April

showers,

In the best of the garden ground.

Then the white rains wove with the long

light-beams,

Till a stalk, like a slim green flame,

Pierced the garden mould: a leaf unrolled;

And another beside it came.

Then the brothers tended their fairy plants

Till they shot up brave and tall,

And the leaves grew thick. "Now soon shall

we pick

A rose like a golden ball;

"Or else we shall see a lily, maybe,

With a bell o' bright silver cast,"

They thought; and they cried with joy and

When the blossom-buds shaped at last.

"Now, heyday!" shouted the elder son,

And he danced in the garden walk,

"A hat I will buy, as a steeple high,

An' the neighbors will stare an' talk.

"Heyday! I will buy me a brave gold chain,

An' a waistcoat o' satin fine,

A ruff o' lace, an' a pony an' chaise,

An' a bottle o' red old wine!"

But his brother looked up in the blue spring

sky,

And his yellow curls shone in the sun —

"O joy! If I hold but my fairy gold,

My father's toil is done!

"He shall hammer no more with his tired

old hands,

He shall shoe not the bay nor the gray;

But shall live as he please, an' sit at his ease,

A-resting the livelong day."

Alas, and alas! When it came to pass

That the bud to a flower was grown,

It was pallid and green, – no blossom so mean

In the country side was known.

Then angrily hurried the elder son,

And hustled his up by the root;

And it gave out a sound, as it left the ground,

Like the shriek of a fairy flute.

But he flung it over the garden wall;

And he cried, with a scowling brow:

"No waistcoat fine, an' no bottle o' wine —

I have labored for naught, I trow! "

"Now," – cling, clang, – "whoa,my bonny

gray mare!

Cling, clang, – "whoa, my bay!

But the sorrel an' white must wait to-night,

For one son sulks all day."

But the blue-eyed son till the summer was

done

Cared well for his fairy-flower;

He weeded and watered, and killed the

grub

Would its delicate leaves devour.

Then forth to his garden he went one day,

And the fairy plant was dead;

The leaves were black in the white frost-

light,

And the stalk was a shrivelled shred.

"Now, never a rose like a golden ball,

Nor a silver lily shall blow;

But never I'll mind, for I'm sure to find

More gold, if I work, I know."

Then he tenderly pulled up the fairy plant,

And lo, in the frosty mould,

Like a star from the skies to his dazzled eyes,

Was blazing a bulb of gold!

"Now," – cling, clang, – "whoa, my bonny

gray mare!

Or gallop or trot, as ye may!

This happy old smith will shoe ye no more,

For he sits at his ease, all day! "