Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Dancing in the twilight; Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, With your yellow hair, You shall have a couch of down, You shall have a golden crown, And a little gown of silver Sewn for you to wear. Little Lady, Little Lady, Stooping in the twilight; Little Lady, Little Lady, All so bonnie brown, Roses are a softer bed, Golden flowers crown my head, Finer than a robe o' silver Is a fairy gown. Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Dancing in the starlight; Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, With a bright penny You shall buy the sugar plums, And the honey when it comes, Very sweet, and golden-glowing As the honey bee. Little Lady, Little Lady, Sighing in the starlight; Little Lady, Little Lady, In the heather curled, Fairy fruit is full and clear, And the honey bee is here: Never need have we of money In a fairy world. Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Dancing in the moonlight; Thistle-Tassel, Thistle-Tassel, Queen of fairy ones, I will give you street and spire, Boat, and bridge, and beacon fire, And a sound of merry music Where the river runs. Little Lady, Little Lady, Kneeling in the moonlight; Little Lady, Little Lady, In your yellow shoon: Where the boats and bridges be, Naught have you to give to me Fairer than a twilit valley, Brighter than the moon. [G] From "Elfin Songs," by Florence Harrison; used by permission of the publishers, Blackie & Sons, Glasgow. SONG OF THE FAIRY BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through brier, Over park, over pale, Through flood, through fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green; The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see: These be rubies, fairy favors-- In those freckles live their savors. I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. [Illustration: _From a Thistle Print, copyright by Detroit Publishing Company_ LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE WOODS FROM A PAINTING BY IRVING R. BACON] THE FAIRIES BY WILLIAM ALLINGHAM Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together: Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.