Poem by Mary Howitt Mary Howitt was at one
time the most popular foreign poetess in the United States, and is best
remembered for her poem, “The Spider and the Fly.”
Name and Composer of Music: Unknown
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“And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?” “I've been at the top of the Caldon-Low, The Midsummer night to see!” “And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Low?” “I saw the blithe sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow.” “And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Low?” “I heard the drops of the water made, And the green corn ears to fill.” “Oh, tell me all, my Mary— All, all that ever you know; For you must have seen the fairies, Last night on the Caldon-Low.” “Then take me on your knee, mother, And listen, mother of mine:— A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine. “And merry was the glee of the harp-strings, And their dancing feet so small; But, oh, the sound of their talking Was merrier far than all.” “And what were the words, my Mary, That you did hear them say?” “I'll tell you all, my mother— But let me have my way! “And some, they played with the water, And roll'd it down the hill; 'And this,' they said, ‘shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill; “ ‘For there has been no water Ever since the first of May; And a busy man shall the miller be By the dawning of the day! “ ‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh, When he sees the mill-dam rise; The jolly old miller, how he will laugh, Till the tears fill both his eyes!' “And some they seized the little winds, That sounded over the hill, And each put a horn into his mouth, And blew so sharp and shrill:— “ ‘And there,' said they, ‘the merry winds go, Away from every horn; And those shall clear the mildew dank, From the blind old widow's corn! “ ‘Oh, the poor, blind widow— Though she has been blind so long, She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands stiff and strong!' “And some they brought the brown lint-seed, And flung it down from the Low— ‘And this,' said they, ‘by the sun-rise, In the weaver's croft shall grow! “ ‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver, How will he laugh outright, When he sees his dwindling flax field All full of flowers by night!' “And then upspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin— ‘I have spun up all the tow,' said he, ‘And I want some more to spin. “ ‘I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another— A little sheet for Mary's bed, And an apron for her mother!' “And with that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon-Low There was no one left but me. “And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low, The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay. “But as I came down from the hill-top, I heard, afar below, How busy the jolly miller was, And how merry the wheel did go! “And I peep'd into the widow's field; And, sure enough, was seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stiff and green. “And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were high; But I saw the weaver at his gate With the good news in his eye! “Now, this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, pray thee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be!” |
