“Why do you puff so hard?” cried the farmer from his hiding-place. “Your burden is not so great!”
“His burden is according to his strength, for he is but one night old,” answered one of the Tomts. “Hereafter you shall have less!”
And with that all the little men vanished, and the grain lay unthreshed on the barn floor.
And from that day all luck disappeared from the farmer’s house, and he was soon reduced to beggary.
Full merrily rings the millstone round, Full merrily rings the wheel, Full merrily gushes out the grist-- Come, taste my fragrant meal! As sends the lift its snowy drift, So the meal comes in a shower; Work, Fairies, fast, for time flies past-- I borrowed the mill an hour.
The miller he’s a worldly man, And maun hae double fee; So draw the sluice of the churl’s dam, And let the stream come free. Shout, Fairies, shout! see, gushing out, The meal comes like a river: The top of the grain on hill and plain Is ours, and shall be ever.
One Elf goes chasing the wild bat’s wing And one the white owl’s horn; One hunts the fox for the white o’ his tail, And we winna hae him till morn. One idle Fay, with the glow-worm’s ray, Runs glimmering ’mong the mosses: Another goes tramp wi’ the Will-o-wisps’ lamp, To light a lad to the lasses.
Oh, haste, my brown Elf, bring me corn From Bonnie Blackwood plains; Go, gentle Fairy, bring me grain From green Dalgona mains; But, pride of a’ at Closeburn ha’, Fair is the corn and fatter; Taste Fairies, taste, a gallanter grist Has never been wet with water.
Hilloah! my hopper is heaped high; Hark to the well-hung wheels! They sing for joy; the dusty roof It clatters and it reels. Haste, Elves, and turn yon mountain burn-- Bring streams that shine like siller; The dam is down, the moon sinks soon, And I maun grind my miller.
Ha! bravely done, my wanton Elves, That is a foaming stream: See how the dust from the mill flies, And chokes the cold moon-beam. Haste, Fairies, fleet come baptized feet, Come sack and sweep up clean, And meet me soon, ere sinks the moon, In thy green vale, Dalreen.
_Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through briar, Over park, over pale, Through flood, through fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon’s sphere; And I serve the Fairy Queen, To dew her orbs upon the green. The Cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, Fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours. I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every Cowslip’s ear._