In a Dream's Beguiling

Three and thirty birds there stood
In an elder in a wood;
Called Melmillo -- flew off three,
Leaving thirty in the tree;
Called Melmillo -- nine now gone,
And the boughs held twenty-one;
Called Melmillo -- and eighteen
Left but three to nod and preen;
Called Melmillo -- three -- two -- one --
Now of birds were feathers none.

Then stole slim Melmillo in
To that wood all dusk and green,
And with lean long palms outspread
Softly a strange dance did tread;
Not a note of music she
Had for echoing company;
All the birds were flown to rest
In the hollow of her breast;
In the wood -- thorn, elder willow --
Danced alone -- lone danced Melmillo.

    King David was a sorrowful man:
        No cause for his sorrow had he;
And he called for the music of a hundred harps,
       To ease his melancholy.

    They played till they all fell silent:
        Played and play sweet did they;
But the sorrow that haunted the heart of King David
        They could not charm away.

    He rose; and in his garden
        Walked by the moon alone,
A nightingale hidden in a cypress tree,
        Jargoned on and on.

    King David lifted his sad eyes
        Into the dark-boughed tree --
"Tell me, thou little bird that singest,
        Who taught my grief to thee?"

    But the bird in no-wise heeded;
        And the king in the cool of the moon
Hearkened to the nightingale's sorrowfulness,
        Till all his own was gone.

Hark! is that a horn I hear,
In cloudland winding sweet --
And bell-like clash of bridle-rein,
And silver-shod light feet?

Is it the elfin laughter
Of fairies riding faint and high,
Beneath the branches of the moon,
Straying through the starry sky?

Is it in the globed dew
Such sweet melodies may fall?
Wood and valley -- all are still,
Hushed the shepherd's call.

"Ahoy, and ahoy!"
  'Twixt mocking and merry --
"Ahoy and ahoy, there,
  Young man of the ferry!"

She stood on the steps
  In the watery gloom ---
That Changeling --"Ahoy, there!"
  She called him to come.
He came on the green wave,
  He came on the grey,
Where stooped that sweet lady
  That still summer's day.
He fell in a dream
  Of her beautiful face,
As she sat on the thwart
  And smiled in her place.

No echo his oar woke,
  Float silent did they,
Past low-grazing cattle
  In the sweet of the hay.
And still in a dream
  At her beauty sat he,
Drifting stern foremost
  Down -- down to the sea.

Come you, then: call,
  When the twilight apace
Brings shadow to brood
  On the loveliest face;
You shall hear o'er the water
  Ring faint in the grey ---
"Ahoy, and ahoy, there!"
  And tremble away;
"Ahoy, and ahoy!..."
  And tremble away.

Three jolly Farmers
Once bet a pound
Each dance the others would
Off the ground.

Out of their coats
They slipped right soon,
And neat and nicesome
Put each his shoon.

One -- Two -- Three!
And away they go,
Not too fast,
And not too slow;

Out from the elm-tree's
Noonday shadow,
Into the sun
And across the meadow.

Past the schoolroom,
With knees well bent,
Fingers a flicking,
They dancing went.

Up sides and over,
And round and round,
They crossed click-clacking
The Parish bound;

By Tupman's meadow
They did their mile,
Tee-to-tum
On a three-barred stile.

Then straight through Whipham,
Downhill to Week,
Footing it lightsome,
But not too quick,

Up fields to Watchet
And on through Wye,
Till seven fine churches
They'd seen slip by --

Seven fine churches,
And five old mills,
Farms in the valley,
And sheep on the hills;

Old Man's Acre
And Dead Man's Pool
All left behind,
As they danced through Wool.

And Wool gone by,
Like tops that seem
To spin in sleep
They danced in dream:

Withy -- Wellover --
Wassop -- Wo --
Like an old clock
Their heels did go.

A league and a league
And a league they went,
And not one weary,
And not one spent.

And log, and behold!
Past Willow-cum-Leigh
Stretched with its waters
The great green sea.

Says Farmer Bates,
"I puffs and I blows,
What's under the water,
Why, no man knows!"

Says Farmer Giles,
"My mind comes weak,
And a good man drownded
Is far to seek."

But Farmer Turvey,
On twirling toes,
Up's with his gaiters,
And in he goes:

Down where the mermaids
Pluck and play
On their twangling harps
In a sea-green day;

Down where the mermaids
Finned and fair,
Sleek with their combs
Their yellow hair. . . .

Bates and Giles --
On the shingle sat,
Gazing at Turvey's
Floating hat.

But never a ripple
Nor bubble told
Where he was supping
Off plates of gold.

Never an echo
Rilled through the sea
Of the feasting and dancing
And minstrelsy.

They called -- called -- called;
Came no reply:
Nought but the ripples'
Sandy sigh.

Then glum and silent
They sat instead,
Vacantly brooding
On home and bed,

Till both together stood up and said: -- 
"Us knows not, dreams not,
Where you be, Turvey, 
unless in the deep blue sea;

But axcusing silver --
And it comes most willing --
Here's us two paying 
our forty shilling;

For it's sartin sure, Turvey,
Safe and sound,
You danced us a square, Turvey,
Off the ground."

'Tis silence on the enchanted lake,
And silence in the air serene,
Save for the beating of her heart,
The lovely-eyed Evangeline.

She sings across the waters clear
And dark with trees and stars between,
The notes her fairy godmother
Taught her, the child Evangeline.

As might the unrippled pool reply,
Faltering an answer far and sweet,
Three swans as white as mountain snow
Swim mantling to her feet.

And still upon the lake they stay,
Their eyes black stars in all their snow,
And softly, in the glassy pool,
Their feet beat darkly to and fro.

She rides upon her little boat,
Her swans swim through the starry sheen,
Rowing her into Fairyland --
The lovely-eyed Evangeline.

'Tis silence on the enchanted lake,
And silence in the air serene;
Voices shall call in vain again
On earth the child Evangeline.

'Evangeline! Evangeline!'
Upstairs, downstairs, all in vain.
Her room is dim; her flowers faded;
She answers not again.