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About this Poem 

From Ballads and Songs (London: Cassell and Company, 1896).

 

Fairy Days

  Beside the old hall-fire—upon my nurse's knee,
  Of happy fairy days—what tales were told to me!
  I thought the world was once—all peopled with princesses,
  And my heart would beat to hear—their loves and their distresses:
  And many a quiet night,—in slumber sweet and deep,
  The pretty fairy people—would visit me in sleep.

  I saw them in my dreams—come flying east and west,
  With wondrous fairy gifts—the newborn babe they bless'd;
  One has brought a jewel—and one a crown of gold,
  And one has brought a curse—but she is wrinkled and old.
  The gentle queen turns pale—to hear those words of sin,
  But the king he only laughs—and bids the dance begin.

  The babe has grown to be—the fairest of the land,
  And rides the forest green—a hawk upon her hand,
  An ambling palfrey white—a golden robe and crown:
  I've seen her in my dreams—riding up and down:
  And heard the ogre laugh—as she fell into his snare,
  At the little tender creature—who wept and tore her hair!

  But ever when it seemed—her need was at the sorest,
  A prince in shining mail—comes prancing through the forest,
  A waving ostrich-plume—a buckler burnished bright;
  I've seen him in my dreams—good sooth! a gallant knight.
  His lips are coral red—beneath a dark moustache;
  See how he waves his hand—and how his blue eyes flash!

  "Come forth, thou Paynim knight!"—he shouts in accents clear.
  The giant and the maid—both tremble his voice to hear.
  Saint Mary guard him well!—he draws his falchion keen,
  The giant and the knight—are fighting on the green.
  I see them in my dreams—his blade gives stroke on stroke,
  The giant pants and reels—and tumbles like an oak!

  With what a blushing grace—he falls upon his knee
  And takes the lady's hand—and whispers, "You are free!"
  Ah! happy childish tales—of knight and farie!
  I waken from my dreams—but there's ne'er a knight for me;
  I waken from my dreams—and wish that I could be
  A child by the old hall-fire—upon my nurse's knee!

This poem is in the public domain. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray, born July 18, 1811, was an English writer best known for his novels, particularly The History of Henry Esmond, Esq. (The Mershon Company Publishers, 1852) and Vanity Fair (Bradbury and Evans, 1848). While in school, Thackeray began writing poems, which he published in a number of magazines, chiefly Fraser and Punch. He died on December 24, 1863.

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  WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.

  "Coming from a gloomy court,
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  "An old lantern brought to me?
  Ugly, dingy, battered, black!"
  (Here a lady I suppose
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There was a king in Brentford,—of whom no legends tell, But who, without his glory,—could eat and sleep right well. His Polly's cotton nightcap,—it was his crown of state, He slept of evenings early,—and rose of mornings late. All in a fine mud palace,—each day he took four meals, And for a guard of honor,—
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  The night was stormy and dark,
  The town was shut up in sleep:
  Only those were abroad who were out on a lark,
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  I pass'd through the lonely street,
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  There stood a potato-man
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