THE DREAM FAIR.

(TO HELEN AND ROSIE.)

BEING an account of how three children, after becoming by enchantment much smaller than Tom Thumb, and having extraordinary adventures with various monsters in the Forest of Wild Thyme (where the children were seeking their little brother Peterkin, whom mere "grown-ups' grown-ups" were sorrowfully wont to say they had lost and would never see again), came to the City of Sleep, under the guidance of two fairies-PeaseBlossom and Mustard-Seed, and to their surprise found a strange Fair proceeding, which ended in a very mysterious and wonderful way.

So we came through a glittering crystal grot
By a path like a pale moonbeam,

And a broad blue bridge of Forget-me-not
Over a shimmering stream,

To where, through the deep blue dusk, a gleam
Rose like the soul of the setting sun,

A sunset breaking through the earth,

A crimson sea of the poppies of dream,
Deep as the sleep that gave them birth

In the night where all earthly dreams are done.

And then, like a pearl-pale porch of the moon,
Faint and sweet as a starlit shrine,
Over the gloom

Of the crimson bloom

We saw the Gates of Ivory shine;
And, lulled and lured by the lullaby tune
Of the cradling airs that drowsily creep
From blossom to blossom, and lazily croon
Through the heart of the midnight's mystic noon,
We came to the Gates of the City of Sleep.

Faint and sweet as a lily's repose

On the broad black breast of a midnight lake,
The City delighted the cradling night:
Like a straggling palace of cloud it rose;

The towers were crowned with a crystal light
Like the starry crown of a white snow-flake

L

As they pierced in a wild white pinnacled crowd, Through the dusky wreaths of enchanted cloud

That swirled all round like a witch's hair.

And we heard, as the sound of a great sea sighing,
The sigh of the sleepless world of care;

And we saw strange shadowy figures flying
Up to the Ivory Gates and beating

With pale hands, long and famished and thin;
Like blinded birds we saw them dash

Against the cruelly gleaming wall:
We heard them wearily moan and call
With sharp starved lips for ever entreating
The pale door-keeper to let them in.

And still, as they beat, again and again,
We saw on the moon-pale lintels a splash
Of crimson blood, like a poppy-stain,
Or a wild red rose from the gardens of pain
That sigh all night like a ghostly sea
From the City of Sleep to Gethsemane.

And lo, as we neared that mighty crowd
An old blind man came, crying aloud
To greet us, as once the blind man cried
In the Bible picture-you know we tried
To paint that print, with its Eastern sun;
But the reds and the yellows would mix and run,
And the blue of the sky made a horrible mess
Right over the edge of the Lord's white dress.

And the old blind man, just as though he had eyes, Came straight to meet us; and all the cries

Of the crowd were hushed; and a strange sweet calm
Stole through the air like a breath of the balm
That was wafted abroad from the Forest of Thyme
(For it rolled all round that curious clime
With its magical clouds of perfumed trees).
And the blind man cried, "Our help is at hand!
Oh, brothers, remember the old command,
Remember the frankincense and myrrh,-

Make way, make way for those little ones there;

Make way, make way, I have seen them afar
Under a great white Eastern star;

For I am the mad blind man who sees!"
Then he whispered, softly-Of such as these;
And through the hush of the cloven crowd
We passed to the Gates of the City, and there
Our fairy heralds cried aloud-

Open your Gates; don't stand and stare;

These are the Children for whom our King
Made all the star-worlds dance in a ring!

And lo, like a sorrow that melts from the heart
In tears, the slow gates melted apart,

And into the City we passed like a dream;
And then, in one splendid marching stream
The whole of that host came following through.

We were only children, just like you;
Children, ah, but we felt so grand

As we led them-although we could understand
Nothing at all of the wonderful song
That rose all round as we marched along.

SONG.

You that have seen how the world and its glory Change and grow old like the love of a friend; You that have come to the end of the story,

You that were tired ere you came to the end; You that are weary of laughter and sorrow, Pain and pleasure, labour and sin,

Sick of the midnight and dreading the morrow, Ah, come in; come in.

You that are bearing the load of the ages; You that have loved overmuch and too late; You that confute all the saws of the sages;

You that served only because you must wait, Knowing your work was a wasted endeavour;

You that have lost and yet triumphed therein, Add loss to your losses and triumph for ever; Ah, come in; come in.

And we knew as we went up that twisted street,
With its violet shadows and pearl-pale walls,
We were coming to Something strange and sweet,
For the dim air echoed with elfin calls;
And, far away, in the heart of the City,

A murmur of laughter and revelry rose,A sound that was faint as the smile of Pity, And sweet as a swan-song's golden close.

And then, once more, as we marched along,
There surged all round us that wonderful song,
And it swung to the tramp of our marching feet;
But ah, it was tenderer now and so sweet
That it made our eyes grow wet and blind,
And the whole wide world seem mother-kind,
Folding us round with a gentle embrace,
And pressing our souls to her soft sweet face.

SONG.

Dreams; dreams; ah, the memory blinding us,
Blinding our eyes to the way that we go;
Till the new sorrow come, once more reminding us
Blindly of kind hearts, ours long ago:

Mother-mine, whisper we, yours was the love for me!
Still, though our paths lie lone and apart,
Yours is the true love, shining above for me,
Yours are the kind eyes, hurting my heart.

Dreams; dreams; ah, how shall we sing of them,
Dreams that we loved with our head on her breast;
Dreams; dreams; and the cradle-sweet swing of them;
Ay; for her voice was the sound we loved best.
Can we remember at all or, forgetting it,

Can we recall for a moment the gleam

Of our childhood's delight and the wonder begetting it, Wonder awakened in dreams of a dream?

And, once again, from the heart of the City
A murmur of tenderer laughter rose,
A sound that was faint as the smile of Pity
And sweet as a swan-song's golden close;

And it seemed as if some wonderful Fair

Were charming the night of the City of Dreams,
For, over the mystical din out there,

The clouds were litten with flickering gleams,
And a roseate light like the day's first flush
Quivered and beat on the towers above,
And we heard through the curious crooning hush
An elfin song that we used to love.

Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn. . .
And the soft wind blew it the other way;
And all that we heard was-Cow's in the corn;
But we never heard anything half so gay!
And ever we seemed to be drawing nearer

That mystical roseate smoke-wreathed glare,
And the curious music grew louder and clearer,
Till Mustard-Seed said, "We are lucky, you see,
We've arrived at a time of festivity!"

And so to the end of the street we came

And turned a corner and there we were,
In a place that glowed like the dawn of day,
A crowded clamouring City square

Like the cloudy heart of an opal, aflame

With the lights of a great Dream-Fair:
Thousands of children were gathered there,
Thousands of old men, weary and grey,
And the shouts of the showmen filled the air-
This way! This way! This way!

And See-Saw; Margery Daw; we heard a rollicking shout As the swing-boats hurtled over our heads to the tune of the roundabout;

And Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, we heard the

showmen cry,

And Dickory Dock, I'm as good as a clock, we heard the swings reply.

This way, this way to your Heart's Desire,

Come, cast your burdens down;

And the pauper shall mount his throne in the skies,

And the king be rid of his crown: