  Under the yellow chestnut tree The children played right merrily. From leafy gold came pattering down The prickly burs with nuts of brown. "I do believe," said bright-eyed May, "We're pelted by some startled fay! For fairies love no tree so well As chestnut broad in which to dwell." "Tell us a fairy tale," they said, "A fairy tale," they eager pled, "About the fairies of to-day!" And circled round the wise-eyed May. With air of one who tells new truth, The gentle May, with touch of ruth, This tale of Elfland sweetly told, While all stood deep in autumn's gold: "Long, long ago the fairies found Their homes in flowers on the ground. The buttercups were full of them, And pansies sparkled like a gem. But fields by men were often mown, The flowers were plucked as soon as grown. Thus without tents to shed cold dews, The pixies lost their brilliant hues. Their kirtles green and mantles gold Were crushed and torn and smeared with mould. (You should have seen Mab's ermine cape, Draggled in muck till black as crape!) At last, his gossamer hammocks gone, Their daylight king, bright Oberon, (Who could not find two crimson heads Of clover strung with spider-webs) And Mab, the moonlight queen of elves Took solemn counsel with themselves. 'Twas in the early summer days They met at twilight all the fays, Under a grove with fronded plumes, Whose trees were white with spikes of blooms. With elfin lance of wild-bee sting Stood Oberon, at the outer ring. His knights each wore upon his breast A firefly lamp in beetle's vest. With glow-worm crown of greenish light, Sitting her fairy palfrey white, The queen, by wave of saffron brand, Hushed into silence fairyland. Then with her sandaled foot she pricked Her wasp-sting spur (and palfrey kicked!)— Her moonbeam bridle firm in grip, She plied the silken milkweed whip, And rode straight up the waiting tree, And out each branch its blooms to see. When Mab (her own and palfrey's wings Of gauzy blue outspread) the rings Of wistful pixies leapt into, Sitting erect her horse so true, In silvery laughter broke each fay, Like silvery tinkling brook in May. Waving her saffron brand, she said: 'Fairies! your future home and bed!' And pointed up the flower-lit tree,— Thither they swarmed as swarms the bee! In turn each bole and fronded roof Was trod by Elf-queen palfrey's hoof, Till fays who bore the flame-wood lamp, Swung in their peaceful airy camp. That was a chestnut grove they found! And as the sunny spring comes round, Queen Mab, when shines the silver moon, And elfin bugles blow in tune, Still rides high up each chestnut tree, That fays may know where safe they'll be, And golden-belted Oberon Swing in his hammock like a Don,— For palfrey prints his tiny shoe On every branch that's wet with dew. My story's told, now for our play!" "And is the story true, O May?" With air of one who knows the truth, The sweet-eyed May, tall for her youth, The overhanging branch down drew, And shewed the prints of palfrey's shoe— And laughing said: "Now you all see Why it is called Horse-Chestnut tree." |
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