Kindness and favour, often bringing home At night the straying lambs, and oftener still In springtime nicely spreading, in the wood, Brushwood, in noble bundles, in the way Of needy children gone to fetch home fuel. Many a good little girl, who well obeyed Her mother,--or, mayhap, a little boy,-- Has, with surprise, found lying on the hills Bright dazzling bowls of milk, and baskets too, Nice little baskets, full of berries, left By the kind hands of the wood-roaming Dwarfs. Now be attentive while I tell you one Out of a hundred and a hundred stories; 'Tis one, however, that concerns us more Than all the rest, because it was my own Great-great-grandfather that the thing befell, In the old time, in years long since agone. Where from the lofty rocks the boundary runs Down to the vale, Barthel, of herdsmen first In all the country round, was ploughing up A spacious field, where he designed to try The seed of corn; but with anxiety His heart was filled, lest by any chance His venture should miscarry, for his sheep In the contagion he had lost, now poor And without skill, he ventures on the plough. Deliberate and still, at the plough-tail, In furrows he cuts up the grassy soil, While with the goad his little boy drives on The panting ox. When, lo! along the tall Rocky hill-side, a smoke ascends in clouds Like snow-flakes, soaring from the summit up Into the sky. At this the hungry boy Began to think of food, for the poor child Had tasted nothing all the live-long day For lunch, and, looking up, he thus began: "Ah! there the little Dwarf-folk are so gay At their grand cooking, roasting, boiling now, For a fine banquet, while with hunger I Am dying. Had we here one little dish Of the nice savoury food, were it but as A sign that there's a blessing on our work!" 'Twas thus the boy spake, and his father ploughed Silently on, bent forwards o'er his work. They turn the plough; when huzza! lo! behold A miracle! there gleamed right from the midst Of the dark furrow, toward them, a bright Lustre, and there so charming! lay a plate Heaped up with roast meat; by the plate, a loaf Of bread upon the outspread table-cloth, At the disposal of the honest pair. Hurra! long live the friendly, generous Dwarfs! Barthel had now enough--so had the boy-- And laughing gratefully and loud, they praise And thank the givers; then, with strength restored, They quick return unto their idle plough. But when again their day's task they resume, To break more of the field, encouraged now To hope for a good crop, since the kind Dwarfs Had given them the sign of luck they asked--