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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519502" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fairy Thorn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">“GET up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel’ <br> For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep; <br>Come up above the crags, and we ’ll dance a highland reel <br> Around the fairy thorn on the steep.” <br> <br>At Anna Grace’s door ’t was thus the maidens cried, <br> Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green; <br>And Anna laid the sock and the weary wheel aside, <br> The fairest of the four, I ween. <br> <br>They ’re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve, <br> Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare;<br>The heavy-sliding stream in its sleeply song they leave, <br> And the crags in the ghostly air; <br> <br>And linking hand in hand, and singing as they go, <br> The maids along the hill-side have ta’en their fearless way, <br>Till they come to where the rowan trees in lovely beauty grow<br> Beside the Fairy Hawthorn gray. <br> <br>The hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim, <br> Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee; <br>The rowan berries cluster o’er her low head gray and dim <br> In ruddy kisses sweet to see. <br> <br>The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row, <br> Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem, <br>And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go,— <br> Oh, never caroll’d bird like them! <br> <br>But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze <br> That drinks away their voices in echoless repose, <br>And dreamily the evening has still’d the haunted braes, <br> And dreamier the gloaming grows. <br> <br>And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky <br> When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw,<br>Are hush’d the maidens’ voices, as cowering down they lie <br> In the flutter of their sudden awe. <br> <br>For, from the air above and the grassy ground beneath, <br> And from the mountain-ashes and the old white thorn between, <br>A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe,<br> And they sink down together on the green. <br> <br>They sink together silent, and, stealing side by side, <br> They fling their lovely arms o’er their drooping necks so fair, <br>Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide, <br> For their shrinking necks again are bare. <br> <br>Thus clasp’d and prostrate all, with their heads together bow’d, <br> Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound— <br>They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd, <br> Like a river in the air, gliding round. <br> <br>Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say, <br> But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless three, <br>For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, <br> By whom they dare not look to see. <br> <br>They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold, <br> And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws; <br>They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold, <br> But they dare not look to see the cause: <br> <br>For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies <br> Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze; <br>And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes,<br> Or their limbs from the cold ground raise, <br> <br>Till out of night the earth has roll’d her dewy side, <br> With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below; <br>When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning-tide, <br> The maidens’ trance dissolveth so.<br> <br>Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may, <br> And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain: <br>They pin’d away and died within the year and day, <br> And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Samuel+Ferguson">Sir Samuel Ferguson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519502" data-title="The Fairy Thorn de Sir Samuel Ferguson" data-description="“GET up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel’ 
 For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep; 
Come up above the crags, and we ’ll dance a highland reel 
 Around the fairy thorn on the steep.” 
 
At Anna Grace’s do..."></div>
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