User: Can you write me a poem about ark of the covenant in the style of James Russell Lowell?
Assistant: Sure, here's a poem about ark of the covenant in the style of James Russell Lowell:
  A Lark's Song
The walk was in itself a preparation, for the hill was long and
steep and at the mercy of the north-east wind; but at the top,
sheltered by a copse and a few tall trees, stood a small house,
reached by a flagged pathway skirting one side of a bright trim
garden.
sounds.  The two old ladies, sisters, both born in the last
listened as Mary read aloud a letter received that morning,
with its wings of silvery grey, hovering over my dear old ladies;
geraniums and yellow fever-few in the centre bed, I asked, awe-
struck, whether such glowing colours were approved; and Rebecca
wear His glories?" and Mary answered for her--"The change is not
yet; better beseems us the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.
Upstairs was the invalid daughter and niece.  For years she had
been compelled to lie on her face; and in that position she had
done wonderful drawings of the High Priest, the Ark of the
Covenant, and other Levitical figures.  She had a cageful of tame
occasionally defy his mistress from the secure fastness of a high
A city of Peace, this little house, for the same severely-gentle
decorum reigned in the kitchen as elsewhere:  and now, where is
such a haunt to be found?
In the earlier part of this century the Friends bore a most
important witness.  They were a standing rebuke to rough manners,
No one could fail to be impressed by the atmosphere of peace
they are as other men; and in a few short years the word Quaker
will sound as strange in our ears as the older appellation Shaker
"Come out from among them and be ye separate; touch not the
accursed thing!" he thundered; and out they came, obedient to his
vessels did they overlook in their terror of the curse!  The good
Fox refused to doff his hat to the Justice; the quaint old speech
generation are no longer 'disciplined' in matters of the common
social life; yet still they remain separate.
We of the outward and visible covenant need them, with their
inherited mysticism, ordered contemplation, and spiritual vision;
absence--and with the blinded eyes of their recognition, she is
because that unto them were committed the oracles of God."  What
advantage then has the Churchman? is the oft repeated question
today; and the answer is still the answer of St Paul.
visible signs, "that which we have heard, which we have seen with
fruits of the earth, sanctified by man's toil, a sufficiency for
his needs; and instinct with Divine life through the operation of
"In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread."
"Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood ye
"And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations."
spiritual grace:-
The sacrament of life, divine life, with the outward body of
humiliation, bread and wine, fruit of the accursed ground, but
eat this bread and drink this cup if they would live:-
The sacrament of healing, the restoring of the Image of God in
fallen man.
The Church is one society, nay, the world is one society, for man
Church and the world, are inextricably woven the most social
sacraments.
Herein is great purpose, we say, bending the knee; and with deep
consciousness of sins and shortcomings we stretch out longing
welcoming hands to our grey brethren with their inheritance of
faithfulness and steadfastness under persecution, and their many
gifts and graces; and we cry, in the words of the Song of Songs
which is Solomon's:  "O my dove, that art in the clefts of the
rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy
Lord, I am small, and yet so great,
The whole world stands to my estate,
And in Thine Image I create.
The sea is mine; and the broad sky
Is mine in its immensity:
The river and the river's gold;
The earth's hid treasures manifold;
The love of creatures small and great,
Save where I reap a precious hate;
The noon-tide sun with hot caress,
The night with quiet loneliness;
The wind that bends the pliant trees,
The whisper of the summer breeze;
The kiss of snow and rain; the star
That shines a greeting from afar;
All, all are mine; and yet so small
Am I, that lo, I needs must call,
Great King, upon the Babe in Thee,
And crave that Thou would'st give to me
The grace of Thy humility.
It was intensely cold; Father Rhine was frozen over, so he may
speak for it; and for days we had lived to the merry jangle and
clang of innumerable sleigh bells, in a white and frost-bound
world.  As I passed through the streets, crowded with stolidly
admiring peasants from the villages round, I caught the dear
observances.
"Gelobt sei Jesu Christ!" cried little Sister Hilarius, coming on
good red wine:  I fancy few refuse her.  She nursed me once, the
good little sister, with unceasing care and devotion, and all the
Jagdschloss the wild creatures, crying a common truce of hunger,
trooped each day to the clearing by the Jager's cottage for the
their common enemy--a millennial banquet truly.
The market-place was crowded, and there were Christmas trees
everywhere, crying aloud in bushy nakedness for their rightful
fruit.  The old peasant women, rolled in shawls, with large
Many of the stalls were entirely given over to Christmas-tree
splendours.  Long trails of gold and silver Engelshaar, piles of
snow, festoons of coloured beads, fishes with gleaming scales,
glass-winged birds, Santa Klaus in frost-bedecked mantle and
scarlet cap, angels with trumpets set to their waxen lips; and
Bethlehem, feast of never-ending keeping, which has its crowning
splendour on Christmas Day.
A Sister passed with a fat, rosy little girl in either hand; they
child to receive for Him.  They came back to the poor booth close
after much consultation a little white vest was chosen--the elder
The Creche stood without the chancel, between the High Altar and
that of Our Lady of Sorrows.  It was very simple.  A blue paper
background spangled with stars; a roughly thatched roof supported
guardian, leaning on his staff; Mary knelt with hands slightly
pointing and softly whispering.  My little friends trotted up,
"Guck! guck mal an," she cried, clapping her fat gloved hands,
"sieh mal an das Wickelkind!"
"Dass ist unser Jesu," said the elder, and the little one echoed
"Unser Jesu, unser Jesu!"
Then the vest was brought out and shown--why not, it was the
not wanted until the last moment chatted gaily to each other at
secure in the knowledge of a tree behind the parlour doors, and a
One little lad, with a pinched white face, and with only an empty
still air, "Zu Bethlehem geboren, ist uns ein Kindelein," as he
trimming to his coat and cap, into the half-fearful little hands.
refrained.  It was all his Christmas and he would keep it.  He
gazed and gazed, then a smile rippled across the wan little face
carefully, wandered away down the now brilliant streets:  he did
not know he was hungry any more; the angel had come with good
tidings.
As I passed along the streets I could see through the uncurtained
little ones.  Then the bells rang out deep-mouthed, carrying the
call of the eager Church to her children, far up the valley and
across the frozen river.  And they answered; the great church was
A blue-black sky ablaze with stars for His glory, a fresh white
robe for stained and tired earth; so we went to Bethlehem in the
And so in the stillness, with tapers within and stars alight
without, with a white-clad earth, and souls forgiven, the Christ
Child came to those who looked for His appearing.
The Child with the wondering eyes sat on the doorstep, on either
still, proudly virtuous, and conscious each of a large saucer of
warm milk within.
"What," said the Child, "is a symbol?"
The cats looked grave.
The Child rose, went into the house, and returned with a well-
thumbed brown book.  She turned the pages thoughtfully, and read
It was a cold, clear, bright day, a typical Christmas Eve.  There
temptation in the way of rabbits or frost-tamed birds, and the
Child lilted a quaint German hymn to a strange old tune:-
"Ein Kind gebor'n zu Bethlehem.
Dess freuet sich Jerusalem,
The Recluse was sitting on a bench outside his cave.  He was
"You have come to ask me a question, Child?"
"If you please," said the Child, "what is a symbol?"
"The Sage says," went on the Child, "that it is concealment yet
revelation."
The Recluse nodded.
"Just as a mystery that we cannot understand is the greatest
possible wisdom.  Go in and sit by my fire, Child; there are
chestnuts on the hearth, and you will find milk in the brown jug.
The Child and the two cats went into the cave and sat down by the
lent ear.  I wonder what it will be this time," she said to
herself.
The grateful warmth made the Child sleepy, and she gave a start
"Come, dear Child," he said; and leaving the sleeping cats she
followed him, her hand in his.
The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry
The Child wondered, and then remembered it was Christmas night.
"This is the front door of my house," said the Recluse, with a
little smile.
They stood on a white road, on one side a stretch of limestone
down, on the other steep terraces with gardens and vineyard.  The
followed by a flock of sheep.
"Let us go with them," said the Recluse; and hand in hand they
went.
The road curved to the right; round the bend, cut in the living
was filled with an overmastering longing, a desire so great that
the tears sprang hot to her eyes.  She dropped the Recluse's hand
The infinite, visible and attainable.
The mystery which is the greatest possible wisdom.
"Come, Child," said the Recluse.
He threw on a great dry pine log; it flared like a torch.  The
cats' stretched in the sudden blaze, and then settled to sleep
was light in spite of the great trees.  The air was full of
"In dieser heil'gen Weihnachtszeit,
Sei, Gott der Herr, gebenedeit,
and wondered when she would wake up.  They came to the old, old
church in the forest, and the pictured saints looked out at them
from the lighted window; through the open door they could see
little lamb had strayed in; and the wonderful figures of fire and
"Little one," said the Recluse softly, "here is a symbol--
concealment yet revelation--the King as servant--the strong
"You showed it me before," said the Child, "only we were out of
The Recluse bowed his head.
"Wait for me here with them, dear Child, I will fetch you after
service."
The church began to fill; old men in smock frocks and tall hats,
little children wrapped warm against the cold, lads, shining and
spruce, old women in crossed shawls and wonderful bonnets.  The
service was not very long; then the Recluse went up into the old
grey stone pulpit.  The villagers settled to listen--he did not
often preach.
"My brothers and sisters, to-night we keep the Birth of the Holy
Babe, and to-night you and I stand at the gate of the Kingdom of
"The Kingdom is a great one, nay, a limitless one; and many enter
this wonderful forest, all the wise and beautiful works that men
church on Sunday, a place to enter once a week in one's best:
worship and praise.
"'Except ye become as little children.'  How are we to be born
again, simple children with wondering eyes?
"We must learn to lie in helpless dependence, to open our mouth
wide that it may be filled, to speak with halting tongue the
language we think we know; we must learn above all our own
ignorance, and keep alight and cherish the flame of innocency in
our hearts.
The lights were out in the church when the Recluse came to fetch
the Child.  She was still kneeling by the creche, keeping watch
with the wonderful figures of fire and mist.
"Was THIS a dream or the other?" said the Child.
"Neither," said the Recluse, and he blessed her in the moonlit
dark.
The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry
God said; "Let there be light"; and in the East
A star rose flaming from night's purple sea -
The star of Truth, the star of Joy, the star
Seen by the prophets down the lonely years;
Set for a light to show the Perfect Way;
Set for a sign that wayfarers might find;
Set for a seal to mark the Godhead's home.
And three Kings in their palaces afar,
Who waited ardently for promised things,
Beheld, and read aright.  Straightway the road
Was hot with pad of camel, horse's hoof,
While night was quick as day with spurring men
And light with flaring torch.  "Haste, haste!" they cried,
"We seek the King, the King! for in the East
His star's alight."
Soft and slow, soft and slow,
With angels' wings of fire and snow,
To rock Him gently to and fro.
Fire to stay the chill at night,
Snow to cool the noonday bright;
And overhead His star's alight.
Pale and sweet, pale and sweet,
Maid Mary keeps her vigil meet,
While Joseph waits with patient feet.
Mary's love for soft embrace,
Joseph's strength to guard the place.
Lo! from the East Kings ride apace.
Gold and myrrh, gold and myrrh,
Frankincense for harbinger,
Myrrh to make His sepulchre.
Roses white and roses red,
Thorns arrayed for His dear Head.
Hail! hail! Wise Men who seek His bed
Born of the lily, the maid undefiled,
Little One, Little One, Master and LORD,
Kings of the Earth come, desiring Thy Face;
I, Thy poor servitor, lowly afford
All that my life holds, for all is Thy Grace.
Little One, Little One, GOD over all,
Earth is thy footstool, and Heav'n is Thy throne:
Joseph the carpenter, prostrate I fall;
Praise thee, adore Thee, and claim Thee mine own.
Babe, dear Babe!
Mine own, mine own, my heart's delight,
The myrrh between my breasts at night,
My little Rose, my Lily white,
My Babe for whom the star's alight.
Babe, dear Babe!
Mine own, mine own, GOD'S only SON,
Foretold, foreseen, since earth begun;
Desire of nations, Promised One
When Eve was first by sin undone.
Babe, dear Babe!
Mine own, mine own, the whole world's Child!
Born of each heart that's undefiled,
Nursed at the breast of Mercy mild,
And in the arms of Love asiled.
Babe, dear Babe!
My crown of glory, sorrow's sword,
My Saviour and my great Reward;
My little Son, my Babe adored.
Hail!  Hail thou wondrous little King!
To Thy dear Feet
Our offerings meet
With bended knee we bring;
O mighty baby King,
Accept the offering.
LORD, I stoop low
My head of snow,
Thus I, the great, hail Thee, the Least!
And swing the censer for the Priest,
The Priest with hands upraised to bless,
The Priest of this world's bitterness.
As I stoop low
My head of snow,
Bless me, O Priest, before I go.
A man of might,
Who rules dominions infinite;
Strong in the harvest of the years,
And one who counts no kings as peers.
O little King,
Behold my crown!
I lay it down,
And bow before Thy lowly bed
My all unworthy uncrowned head,
For I am naught and Thou art All.
And Thou shalt climb a throne set high,
Between sad earth and silent sky,
Thereon to agonize and die;
And at Thy Feet the world shall fall.
Stretch out Thy little Hands, O King,
Behold the world's imagining!
Out of the shadow of the night
I come, led by the starshine bright,
With broken heart to bring to Thee
The fruit of Thine Epiphany,
The gift my fellows send by me,
The myrrh to bed Thine agony.
I set it here beneath Thy Feet,
In token of Death's great defeat;
And hail Thee Conqueror in the strife;
And hail Thee Lord of Light and Life.
All hail!  All hail the Virgin's Son!
All hail!  Thou little helpless One!
All hail!  Thou King upon the Tree!
All hail!  The Babe on Mary's knee,
The centre of all mystery!
The leaves fall softly:  a wind of sighs
Whispers the world's infirmities,
Whispers the tale of the waning years,
While slow mists gather in shrouding tears
On All Souls' Day; and the bells are slow
In steeple and tower.  Sad folk go
Away from the township, past the mill,
And mount the slope of a grassy hill
Carved into terraces broad and steep,
To the inn where wearied travellers sleep,
Where the sleepers lie in ordered rows,
And no man stirs in his long repose.
They wend their way past the haunts of life,
Father and daughter, grandmother, wife,
To deck with candle and deathless cross,
The house which holds their dearest loss.
I, who stand on the crest of the hill,
Watch how beneath me, busied still,
The sad folk wreathe each grave with flowers.
Awhile the veil of the twilight hours
Falls softly, softly, over the hill,
Shadows the cross:- creeps on until
Swiftly upon us is flung the dark.
Then, as if lit by a sudden spark,
Each grave is vivid with points of light,
Earth is as Heaven's mirror to-night;
The air is still as a spirit's breath,
The lights burn bright in the realm of Death.
Then silent the mourners mourning go,
Wending their way to the church below;
While the bells toll out to bid them speed,
With eager Pater and prayerful bead,
The souls of the dead, whose bodies still
Lie in the churchyard under the hill;
While they wait and wonder in Paradise,
And gaze on the dawning mysteries,
Praying for us in our hours of need;
For us, who with Pater and prayerful bead
Have bidden those waiting spirits speed.
When the strain of a working day has left me weary, perhaps
then I make fast to the old alder-stump where last year the reed-
The water laps against the keel as the boat rocks gently in the
current; the river flows past, strong and quiet.  There are side
eddies, of course, and little disturbing whirlpools near the big
stones, but they are all gathered into the broad sweep of the
There are long stretches of time for me when I must remain apart
the stream 'never hasting, never resting':  the grass that grows
beside it is always green, the flowers are fresh; it makes long
embracing curves--I could cross from point to point in a minute,
but to follow takes five.  The ways of the water are ways of
Presently I reach the silent pool, where the stream takes a wide
sweep.  Here the fair white water-lilies lie on their broad green
I think of the fathomless depths of the peace of God, fair with
flowers of hope; of still places wrought in man; of mirrors that
reflect, in light uncomprehended, the Image of the Holy Face.
I go home across the common, comforted, towards the little town
passed through an industrious manufacturing world--but to me then
Where it had its source I never found out; it came from a little
Further down was our bridge, one flat stone dragged thither by
really herculean efforts.  It was unnecessary, but a triumph.  A
little below this outcome of our engineering skill the brook
widened again before disappearing under a flagged tunnel into the
restocking it.  Under one of the banks close by lived a fat frog
for whom I felt great respect.  We used to sit and gaze at each
But it was the brook itself that was my chief and dearest
moonlight nights, and scolding the pale lilac milk-maids on the
banks; and of a sad little old man dressed in brown, always sad
because his dear water-children ran away from him when they heard
It spoke to me of other more wonderful things, not even now to be
I have another friend--a Devonshire stream.  I found it in spring
tors, and doubtless in its beginning had a hard fight for
existence.  When it reaches the plain it is a good-sized stream,
although nowhere navigable.  I do not think it even turns a mill;
picture of blue sky, yellow bells, and clear rippling water--and
whispered secrets not forgotten.
All the Devonshire streams are full of life and strength.  They
waters; tales, too, of feud and warfare, of grave council and
water is clear, cool in the hottest summer--they rise under the
shadow of the everlasting hills, and their goal is the sea.
There are other times when I must leave the clean waters and the
brothers in strange lands; and the river speaks of citizenship in
have need.
things, too, are my concern, the river says.
Life is very grim in London:  it is not painted in the fair,
glowing colours of grass and sky and trees, and shining streams
that bring peace.  It is drawn in hard black and white; but the
voice of its dark waters must be heard all the same.
Hark how the merry daffodils,
Fling golden music to the hills!
And how the hills send echoing down,
Through wind-swept turf and moorland brown,
The murmurs of a thousand rills
That mock the song-birds' liquid trills!
The hedge released from Winter's frown
While all the earth with pleasure trills,
And 'dances with the daffodils.'
Out, out, ye flowers!  Up and shout!
Staid Winter's passed and Spring's about
To lead your ranks in joyous rout;
To string the hawthorn's milky pearls,
And gild the grass with celandine;
To dress the catkins' tasselled curls,
To twist the tendrils of the vine.
She wakes the wind-flower from her sleep,
And lights the woods with April's moon;
The violets lift their heads to peep,
The daisies brave the sun at noon.
The gentle wind from out the west
Toys with the lilac pretty maids;
Ruffles the meadow's verdant-vest,
And rings the bluebells in the glades;
The ash-buds change their sombre suit,
The orchards blossom white and red -
Promise of Autumn's riper fruit,
When Spring's voluptuousness has fled.
Awake! awake, O throstle sweet!
And haste with all your choir to greet
This Queen who comes with wakening feet.
Persephone with grateful eyes
Salutes the Sun--'tis Paradise:
Then hastens down the dewy meads,
Past where the herd contented feeds,
Past where the furrows hide the grain,
For harvesting of sun and rain;
To where Demeter patient stands
With longing lips and outstretched hands,
Until the dawning of one face
Across the void of time and space
Shall bring again her day of grace.
Rejoice, O Earth!  Rejoice and sing!
This is the promise of the Spring,
And this the world's remembering.
A Lark's Song
Sweet, sweet!
I rise to greet
The sapphire sky
The air slips by
On either side
As up I ride
On mounting wing,
And sing and sing -
Then reach my bliss,
The sun's great kiss;
And poise a space
To see his face,
Sweet, sweet,
In radiant grace,
Ah, sweet! ah, sweet!
Sweet, sweet!
Beneath my feet
My nestlings call:
And down I fall
Unerring, true,
Through heaven's blue;
And haste to fill
Each noisy bill.
My brooding breast
Stills their unrest.
Sweet, sweet,
Their quick hearts beat,
Safe in the nest:
Ah, sweet, sweet, sweet!
Ah, sweet!
Sweet, sweet
The calling sky
That bids me fly
Sweet, sweet
The claiming earth;
It holds my nest
And draws me down
To where Love's crown
Of priceless worth
Awaits my breast.
Sweet, sweet!
Ah, this is best
And this most meet,
Sweet, sweet! ah, sweet!
Brown, aged four, who was playing happily on the floor, unruffled
the mother.  Miss Brown was extinguished with the aid of a table-
I made Miss Brown's acquaintance a few days later.  She was lying
Miss Brown possessed one treasure, her 'luvly miss.'  I suppose I
consisted I dared not ask; Miss Brown would have deeply resented
the enquiry.  It was a very large potato with a large and a small
wood, the body and arms of 'luvly miss'; legs she had none.
How Miss Brown came by this treasure I never heard.  She had an
conversations with 'luvly miss' on all familiar subjects; and
apparently obtained much strange and rare information from her.
had a rooted belief that one day she and 'luvly miss' would be
this title.
Alas for little Miss Brown and her 'luvly miss'! their respective
Brown with a look of anguish on her poor little pinched face that
into the dying embers where--alas that I should have to say it!--
I came face to face with this state of things and I confess it
staggered me.  I knew Miss Brown too well to hope that any pink-
All at once I had an inspiration, and never in my life have I
imagination:  would I "yerely and twooly bwing" her "werry own
In a few minutes we returned with a pail of ashes, the ashes, of
Miss Brown's misplaced faith in me was strong.  Never shall I
forget the scream of joy which greeted the restored treasure, or
I saw them again next day.  Little Miss Brown was asleep in her
important to come to it quite fresh.
We will, therefore, endeavour to learn from this story:-
If we fly at all, to fly HIGH.
To be extremely polite.
To be kind and grateful to cats and all other animals.
the Guard, who was in attendance with a company of his troops,
seized the Princess, put her on his horse, galloped away followed
"Miss," he said, for he was so upset he forgot Court etiquette,
"Miss, your ball must have hit the Dreadful Griffin in the eye (I
Castle of the White Cats.  There are seventeen of these animals
sitting outside the door and twenty-seven more standing in the
courtyard, so you're as safe as safe can be, for the Dreadful
Having made this long speech the Captain suddenly remembered the
Court etiquette, became very hot and red, went out of the room
stairs and out into the court where the twenty-seven cats were
having rations of mouse-pie served out to them; and the Captain
rolled into the middle of the pie, scalded himself badly with the
The King was so pleased with his promptitude that he made him the
Superfluous Salamanders, whereat the Captain was overjoyed.
Now for the poor Princess.
was quite well next day and more anxious to eat the Princess than
Now next door to the Dreadful Griffin (that is, a hundred miles
more sense.
The Dreadful Griffin was so pleased with the Wicked Witch that he
licked their lips sadly.  When the Griffin saw the last of the
twelve hundred dozen mice disappearing down the road with never a
lived six doors away, that is, about a thousand miles, so he flew
The Dreadful Griffin at once flew away to the Sparrow Preserves,
says, "Honour is dearer to cats than mice or birds," and all the
thinnest clothes, although it was the middle of winter.  He flew
home puffing and snorting, and on the way he passed the house of
"I think, dear Mr Griffin, that green spectacles would meet your
But the Griffin was already half-way to a Watchmaker's where they
way out of the town he met thirteen white poodles taking a walk,
No, I am not going to tell you what the Dreadful Griffin said and
steam roller, and his nose greased with seven pounds of tallow
heard something croaking, and saw the Fat Frog sitting under a
tree.  Now the Dreadful Griffin was so low in his mind that he
wanted to tell someone his troubles, so he told the Fat Frog.
the moisture."
screaming along; and just as he was stopping to take breath he
heard someone roaring with laughter, and saw a little yellow man
sitting on the top bough of a tree.
"Are you laughing at ME?" said the Dreadful Griffin (he was so
"Why?" said the Dreadful Griffin, still fearfully polite.
suppose the Princess flea wouldn't jump on to a tabby kitten, and
But the Griffin was gone.  He went to the Zoo, found a tabby
He waited half an hour and then swallowed the kitten at one gulp;
tickled his digestive organs so much that they cracked his sides
and he died; and the flea and the kitten came out quite unhurt,
only a little damp.
offended had changed him into an ugly yellow man, and had sworn
that he should only regain his shape if he was eaten by a Griffin
bleached and had their tails crimped and their whiskers starched;
after.
They had the very loveliest home you can imagine, with beautiful
soft moss and grass to grow in, trees to form a cosy shelter from
sunshine and gentle breezes, the greeting of the birds, and the
musical chatter of the brook; then when their brief visit to the
A little apart from the rest were four daffodils growing at the
change.
It was mainly the fault of the cuckoo, for he was a grumbling,
bird of fine imagination; and at last, as I have already said,
feathers only on their heads.  They could not fly, but they could
creatures, which the cuckoo called GIRLS.
Then there were sad times in that sweet little nook under the oak
The naughty daffodils cried and quarrelled and bewailed their lot
extremely wretched.  Their little sister shook her head at them,
and scolded and said that for her part she was not meant to have
legs; but it was all no use, the daffodils would not be quiet.
matter.  When she heard the story she told them they were very
foolish and discontented, and that the cuckoo was a most
mischievous bird and liked to get people into trouble; but the
With that she waved her wand over the three daffodils and in a
twinkle they were gone; in their places stood three tall pretty
"Well, little one, don't you want to be a pretty maiden, too?"
But the daffodil shook her head with great determination:-
"I don't want legs and I won't have legs.  I was meant to be a
And the fairy laughed and promised.
They went singing and dancing over the meadows in the soft
Presently they came to a house and stopped to ask whether they
very happy and quite content with the result of their experiment.
discovered that although they had the prettiest little legs and
feet and toes in the world, they were quite green, the colour of
daffodil leaves.
The first daffodil said she was a wicked old witch.  The second
Then they all set to work arguing and quarrelling and crying like
The cuckoo, being in some respects a philosopher, did not attempt
wish to see their feet, and they could always wear stockings.  He
king has decided to divide his kingdom into three equal parts and
study science.  Now these Silver princes desire to marry three
The three maidens were so much interested and excited that they
forgot their troubles and began to sing.
court.  The gorgeous tents were of cloth of silver fastened with
the door of the largest and most gorgeous tent stood three
beautiful princes dressed in silver.
When they saw the maidens approaching, hand in hand, they gave a
cry of joy and ran forward to greet them.
"Dear beautiful princesses," they cried, "welcome to our court!
May we ask your names and the country you come from?"
The cuckoo, perched on a tent-pole hard by, answered for them.
When the princes heard the cuckoo's words they were almost beside
daughters of the same age whom the Silver princes were anxious to
The king was out, but the queen received the daffodils very
graciously.
Then the young people visited all the beautiful tents, and the
great ballroom where there was to be a ball that night, and the
quite tired; so the princes put them into hammocks with little
monkeys to swing them, and the happy hours wore on until the
evening.
stockings to match, all ready for them.  They looked so beautiful
All that night they danced with the princes, and everyone was
charmed with their beauty and grace, especially the king, who had
When the princes came to meet their betrothed next morning the
maidens noticed that, although very affectionate, they were
downcast and somewhat silent.  At last, after a great deal of
they demanded to see the princesses' little feet with their own
When the princes with many blushes broke this news to their lady-
Imagine the grief of the poor princes!  The king had said quite
positively that not one of the princes should marry till he, the
queen, and the councillors of the kingdom, had seen the bride's
and now announced that he had a private message for the Golden
princesses, if they would take him to their tent.
"Green feet," he said, "are very uncommon and would no doubt be
welcomed as a great rarity."
But the maidens sobbed on.
But they would not listen.
"I heard the king and queen say that green was their favourite
colour," he remarked next.
This was pure invention on the cuckoo's part, but the daffodils
when the king found their toes were all right he would think the
present at the counting of the princesses' toes.
That night the daffodils never slept, for fear once more took
Next morning two of the court ushers came to escort them to the
Cabinet Council.  Poor daffodils!  Their eyes were red with
In the middle on a raised dais sat the king and queen, on their
right stood the three princes, on their left the councillors in
their robes of state.  Three chairs were placed for the maidens,
Blushing crimson the daffodils slowly and unwillingly took off
their shoes.  Then they cried a little and said they really truly
"They wear two pairs, I see," said the queen, who was a little
But the daffodils only hung their heads and wept.
Now the king was a shrewd old gentleman, and the true state of
fields; and when the people saw their little green feet a great
shout of laughter went up, in which the king and the princes
breath; and where do you think they were?  Why in their old home
stood the fairy.
But the daffodils were sobbing too bitterly to answer, and the
sweetly.
discontented daffodils!  They had to pay a heavy price for their
folly.
asleep in bed while Mamma dormouse nodded over her knitting and
big stick."
And then the babies would shake, for they were afraid of the big
stick; and naughty Fairy Fluffikins would dance off to find some
fresh piece of mischief.
One night she had fine fun.  She found a little dead mouse in a
field; and at first she was sorry for the mouse, and thought she
would bury it and plant a daisy on its grave; but then an idea
struck her.  She hunted about till she found a piece of long,
the Ancient Owl lived.  There was a little hole at the bottom of
the tree and into it Fairy Fluffikins crept, leaving the mouse
"I smell mouse, I smell mouse."  Then there was a swoop of wings,
"Where's that mouse gone?  I smelt mouse, I know I smelt mouse!"
She grew tired of this game after a few times, so she left the
mouse in the hole and crept away to a new one.  She really was a
away (I forgot to tell you that she had little, soft wings), and
the elderly cat jumped and said -
the bargain, till he thought he must have got the nightmare.
One day Fairy Fluffikins was well paid out for some of her
naughtiness.  She was flying away from a tree where she had just
takes to tell found herself in the nest of the Ancient Owl.
Now when Fairy Fluffikins saw five pairs of large round eyes
blinking and staring at her she lost her head and cried out--
Then the Ancient Owl was MOST DREADFULLY ANGRY and read Fairy
Even this sad adventure did not cure Fairy Fluffikins of getting
and bring her to be punished.
No one caught Fairy Fluffikins; but she caught herself, as you
shall hear.
She was poking about round a haystack one night, trying to find
something naughty to do, when she came upon a sweet little house
How she cried and stamped and pushed at the door, and promised to
There she remained, and in the morning one of the labourers found
I'm not sure it doesn't serve her quite right.
Once upon a time there lived a Tinkle-Tinkle.  I cannot tell you
sometimes in the water, sometimes in a cave; and I can't tell you
himself.
and found two small dormice sobbing under a tree because they had
when he got there he put the dormice to bed in his grandmother's
the dormice, appearing a most cheerful and contented creature.
Now it happened on a certain evening that the Tinkle-Tinkle was
travelling over the sea, when suddenly in the depths he caught
lovely voice you ever heard, like the sighing of the waves in the
Tinkle-Tinkle remember a dream he had once had of sunshine, and
forest trees, and the song of birds; and the Creature said, "Ah,
When the Tinkle-Tinkle heard this he was glad with a new strange
gladness, and he went back to his cave; but not alone, for the
spirit of hope went with him.
The Tinkle-Tinkle had one gift--he could sing--how, no man knew,
not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself; and this is how he discovered
The great stag's head drooped lower and lower till even the sun
melted in a mist of pity, and the trees sighed, and the breezes
hushed their voices.  Then suddenly the Tinkle-Tinkle crept close
Many were the adventures of the Tinkle-Tinkle, and countless the
creatures he cheered and helped, yet he never fancied himself any
crab without a claw, and the green bird and the dormice found a
Tinkle-Tinkle's front door.
So it went on till all the Tinkle-Tinkle's homes were full of
strange occupants, and he began to feel very old and worn and
weary.  Then he remembered the promise of the beautiful Creature,
The Tinkle-Tinkle could just see it from between the beautiful
Presently--and though the time had been one thousand years it had
beautiful place that was nothing but light, and the beautiful
Creature set the Tinkle-Tinkle down; he looked around him and saw