[THE WELSH FAIRIES.]

ONE D. Harding, about twenty years ago, in Lanbistan parish, saw a circle upon the snow, and in it, as it were, the track of hundreds of children in little pump-shoes. It was near a way, said to be haunted, or where people were usually disturbed, in going to and coming from Knightonmarket, or at other times at night*.

*From a Welsh MS.

TALE XXIX.

KENSINGTON GARDEN.

Campos, ubi Troja fuit. VIRG.

WHERE Kensington high o'er the neighb'ring lands,

'Midst

greens and sweets, a regal fabrick stands,
And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers,
A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers,
The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair
To groves and lawns, and unpolluted air.
Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies,
They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies,
Each walk, with robes of various dies bespread,
Sees from afar a moving tulip-bed,

Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow,
And chints, the rival of the showery bow.
Here Englands daughter, darling of the land,
Sometimes, surrounded with her virgin band,
Gleams through the shades. She, towering o'er the

rest,

Stands fairest of the fairer kind confess'd,

Form'd to gain hearts, that Brunswicks cause

deny'd,

And charm a people to her fathers side.

Long have these groves to royal guests been known, Nor Nassau first preferr'd them to a throne. Ere Norman banners waved in British air, Ere lordly Hubba with the golden hair, Pour'd in his Danes; ere elder Julius came; Or Dardan Brutus gave our isle a name; A prince of Albions lineage graced the wood, The scene of wars, and stain'd with lovers blood. You, who through gazing crowds, your captive

throng,

Throw pangs and passions, as you move along,
Turn on the left, ye fair, your radiant eyes,

Where all unlevel'd the gay garden lies :

If generous anguish for anothers pains

Ere heaved your hearts, or shiver'd through your

veins,

Look down attentive on the pleasing dale,

And listen to my melancholy tale.

That hollow space, where, now, in living rows, Line above line the yews sad verdure grows, Was, ere the planters hand its beauty gave, A common pit, a rude, unfashion'd cave; The landscape, now so sweet, we well may praise, But far, far sweeter in its ancient days,

Far sweeter was it, when its peopled ground
With fairy domes and dazzling towers were crown'd.
Where, in the midst, those verdant pillars spring,
Rose the proud palace of the elfin king.

For every hedge of vegetable green,

In happier years, a crowded street was seen,
Not all those leaves, that now the prospect grace,
Could match the numbers of its pigmy race.

What urged this mighty empire to its fate,
A tale of woe and wonder, I relate.

When Albion ruled the land, whose lineage came
From Neptune mingling with a mortal dame,
Their midnight pranks the sprightly fairies play'd
On every hill, and danced in every shade.
But, foes to sun-shine, most they took delight
In dells and dales, conceal'd from human sight:
There hew'd their houses in the arching rock;
Or scoop'd the bosom of the blasted oak;
Or heard, o'ershadow'd by some shelving hill,
The distant murmurs of the falling rill.
They, rich in pilfer'd spoils, indulged their mirth,
And pitied the huge wretched sons of earth.
Even now, 'tis said, the hinds o'erhear their strain,
And strive to view their airy forms in vain
They to their cells at mans approach repair,
Like the shy leveret, or the mother-hare,

The whilst poor mortals startle at the sound
Of unseen footsteps on the haunted ground.

Amid this garden, then with woods o'ergrown,
Stood the loved seat of royal Oberon.
From every region to his palace-gate

Came peers and princes of the fairy state,
Who, rank'd in council round the sacred shade,
Their monarchs will and great behests obey'd.
From Thames fair banks, by lofty towers adorn'd,
With loads of plunder oft his chiefs return'd*:
Hence in proud robes, and colours bright and gay,
Shone every knight, and every lovely fay.
Whoe'er on Powells dazzling stage display'd
Hath famed king Pepin and his court survey'd,
May guess, if old by modern things we trace,
The pomp and splendour of the fairy race.

By magick fenced, by spells encompass'd round,
No mortal touch'd this interdicted ground;
No mortal entered, those alone who came
Stol'n from the couch of some terrestrial dame :
For oft of babes they robb'd the matrons bed,
And left some sickly changeling in their stead.

It chanced a youth of Albions royal blood Was foster'd here, the wonder of the wood.

*This is calumny; the fairies were always liberal, never unjust the only things they ever stole were children, as represented below.