Phantastes, A Faerie Romance

"They would think," she added, "that you were making game of them; and

that is their peculiar privilege with regard to us." So we went together

into the little garden which sloped down towards a lower part of the

wood.

Here, to my great pleasure, all was life and bustle. There was still

light enough from the day to see a little; and the pale half-moon,

halfway to the zenith, was reviving every moment. The whole garden

was like a carnival, with tiny, gaily decorated forms, in groups,

assemblies, processions, pairs or trios, moving stately on, running

about wildly, or sauntering hither or thither. From the cups or bells of

tall flowers, as from balconies, some looked down on the masses below,

now bursting with laughter, now grave as owls; but even in their deepest

solemnity, seeming only to be waiting for the arrival of the next laugh.

Some were launched on a little marshy stream at the bottom, in boats

chosen from the heaps of last year's leaves that lay about, curled and

withered. These soon sank with them; whereupon they swam ashore and got

others. Those who took fresh rose-leaves for their boats floated the

longest; but for these they had to fight; for the fairy of the rose-tree

complained bitterly that they were stealing her clothes, and defended

her property bravely.

"You can't wear half you've got," said some.

"Never you mind; I don't choose you to have them: they are my property."

"All for the good of the community!" said one, and ran off with a great

hollow leaf. But the rose-fairy sprang after him (what a beauty she was!

only too like a drawing-room young lady), knocked him heels-over-head as

he ran, and recovered her great red leaf. But in the meantime twenty had

hurried off in different directions with others just as good; and the

little creature sat down and cried, and then, in a pet, sent a perfect

pink snowstorm of petals from her tree, leaping from branch to branch,

and stamping and shaking and pulling. At last, after another good cry,

she chose the biggest she could find, and ran away laughing, to launch

her boat amongst the rest.

But my attention was first and chiefly attracted by a group of fairies

near the cottage, who were talking together around what seemed a

last dying primrose. They talked singing, and their talk made a song,

something like this: "Sister Snowdrop died

Before we were born."

"She came like a bride

In a snowy morn."

"What's a bride?"

"What is snow?

"Never tried."

"Do not know."

"Who told you about her?"

"Little Primrose there

Cannot do without her."

"Oh, so sweetly fair!"

"Never fear,

She will come,

Primrose dear."

"Is she dumb?"