Stories from the Ballads | Page 4

on the brown horse, shall I ride. Let them pass, and keep ye quiet. But as the milk-white steed goes by, seize ye the bridle, Janet, and pull me down, and keep your arms ever around me. For on the milk-white steed I ride.
'On my right hand ye will see a glove, my left will be uncovered. Now, by these signs, ye will know your own true knight.
'Hold me fast, Janet, hold me fast, as you pull me down from my milk-white steed. For while your arms are around me, the fairy folk will change me into fearful shapes.
'Into an adder, and into a snake they will change me. Yet, an ye love me, Janet, fear ye nought, but hold me fast.
'They will change me into a lion, and into a bear. Yet, as I love you, Janet, fear ye nought, but hold me fast.
'A toad, an eel I shall become, yet do not let me slide from your arms, Janet, but hold me fast.
'But, an the fairy folk change me into a blazing fagot, or a bar of hot iron, then throw me far from you, Janet, into the cold, clear well, throw me with all your speed.
'There will I change into your own true knight, Janet, and ye shall throw over me your mantle of green velvet.'
Dark was the night and full of gloom as the lady Janet hastened to the cross at Milestone, but her heart was glad and full of light. She would see her own true knight in mortal form before the dawn of Hallowday.
It was between the hours of twelve and one o'clock when Janet stood alone at the spot where the fairy train would pass.
Fearsome it was there alone in the gloom, but the lady Janet was heedful of nought. She had but to wait, to listen. Yet not a sound did she hear, save only the wind as it whistled through the long grass.
Not a sound save the wind did she hear? Ah yes, now strange noises were blown to her eager ears. The bells on fairy bridles tinkled, the music of the tiny fairy band piped each moment more clear.
Janet looked, and by the light of Will o' Wisp she could just catch sight of their little oaten pipes. Shrill were the notes they blew on these, but softer were the sounds they blew through tiny hemlock pipes. Then deeper came the tones of the bog-reeds and large hemlock, and Janet, looking, saw the little green folk draw nigh.
How merry the music was, how glad and good! Never was known a fairy yet who sang or played of aught but joy and mirth.
The first company of the little folk passed Janet as she stood patient, watchful by the cross; the second passed, and then there came the third.
'The black steed! Let it go,' said Janet to herself.
'The brown steed! It matters not to me, she whispered.
'The milk-white steed!' Ah, Janet had seized the bridle of the milk-white steed and pulled the little rider off into her strong young arms.
A cry of little elfs, of angry little elfs, rang out on the chill night air.
Then as he lay in Janet's arms the angry little imps changed their stolen elfin knight into an adder, a snake, a bear, a lion, a toad, an eel, and still, through all these changes, the lady Janet held him fast.
'A blazing fagot! Let him change into a blazing fagot!' cried the angry little folk. 'Then this foolish mortal will let our favorite knight alone.'
And as young Tamlane changed into a blazing fagot the little folk thought they had got their will. For now the lady Janet threw him from her, far into the clear, cold well.
But the little angry imps were soon shrieking in dismay. No sooner was the fagot in the well than the little elfin knight was restored to his own true mortal form.
Then over the tall, strong knight Janet threw her green mantle, and the power of the fairies over the young Tamlane was for ever gone. Their spell was broken.
Now, the Queen of the Fairies had hidden herself in a bush of broom to see what would happen. And when she saw her favourite knight change into his own true mortal shape, she was very cross, very cross indeed. The little fairy band was ordered to march home in silence, their pipes thrust into their tiny green girdles, and there were no more revels in the fairy court for many and many a long day to come.

HYNDE ETIN
May Margaret did not love to sew, yet here in the doorway of her bower she sat, her silk seam in her hand.
May Margaret sat with her seam in her hand, but she did not sew, she dreamed, and her dream was all of Elmond wood.
She