disastrous thumb
Groping discreet, and gradual,
Across the quiet room.

But scarce his nail had scraped the cot
Wherein these children lay,
As if his malice were forgot,
It suddenly did stay.

For faintly in the ingle-nook
He heard a cradle-song,
That rose into his thoughts and woke
Terror them among.

For she who in the kitchen sat
Darning by the fire,
Guileless of what he would be at,
Sang sweet as wind or wire:--

"Lullay, thou little tiny child,
By-by, lullay, lullie;
Jesu in glory, meek and mild,
This night remember thee!

"Fiend, witch, and goblin, foul and wild,
He deems them smoke to be;
Lullay, thou little tiny child,
By-by, lullay, lullie!"

The Ogre lifted up his eyes
Into the moon's pale ray,
And gazed upon her leopard-wise,
Cruel and clear as day;

He snarled in gluttony and fear--
"The wind blows dismally--
Jesu in storm my lambs be near,
By-by, lullay, lullie!"

And like a ravenous beast which sees
The hunter's icy eye,
So did this wretch in wrath confess
Sweet Jesu's mastery.

Lightly he drew his greedy thumb
From out that casement pale,
And strode, enormous, swiftly home,
Whinnying down the dale.

DAME HICKORY

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
Here's sticks for your fire,
Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs,
And beech-twigs, and briar!"
But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,
She found 'twas the voice of the False Faerie.

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
Here's meat for your broth,
Goose-flesh, and hare's flesh,
And pig's trotters both!"
But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,
She found 'twas the voice of the False Faerie.

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
Here's a wolf at your door,
His teeth grinning white,
And his tongue wagging sore!"
"Nay!" said Dame Hickory, "ye False Faerie!
But a wolf 'twas indeed, and famished was he.

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
Here's buds for your tomb,
Bramble, and lavender,
And rosemary bloom!"
"Wh-s-st!" said Dame Hickory, "ye False Faerie,
Ye cry like a wolf, ye do, and trouble poor me."

THE PILGRIM

"Shall we carry now your bundle,
You old grey man?
Over hill and dale and meadow
Lighter than an owlet's shadow
We will whirl it through the air,
Through blue regions shrill and bare,
So you may in comfort fare--
Shall we carry now your bundle,
You old grey man?"

The Pilgrim lifted up his eyes
And saw three fiends, in the skies,