Pilot, how far from home?-- Not far, not far to-night, A flight of spray, a sea-bird's flight, A flight of tossing foam, And then the lights of home!--
And, yet again, how far? And seems the way so brief? Those lights beyond the roaring reef Were lights of moon and star, Far, far, none knows how far!
Pilot, how far from home?-- The great stars pass away Before Him as a flight of spray, Moons as a flight of foam! I see the lights of home.
"The Nine men's morrice is filled up with mud ... From our debate, from our dissension."
Fairies, come back! We have not seen Your dusky foot-prints on the green This many a year. No frolic now Shakes the dew from the hawthorn-bough. Never a man and never a maid Spies you in the blue-bell shade; Yet, where the nine men's morrice stood, Our spades are clearing out the mud.
_Chorus._--_Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land._
Fairies, come back! Our pomp of gold, Our blazing noon, grows grey and old; The scornful glittering ages wane: Forgive, forget, come back again. This is our England's Hallowe'en! Come, trip it, trip it o'er the green, Trip it, amidst the roaring mart, In the still meadows of the heart.
_Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land._
Fairies, come back! Once more the gleams Of your lost Eden haunt our dreams, Where Evil, at the touch of Good, Withers in the Enchanted Wood: Fairies, come back! Drive gaunt Despair And Famine to their ghoulish lair! Tap at each heart's bright window-pane Thro' merry England once again.
_Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land._
Fairies, come back! And, if you bring That long-expected song to sing, Ciss needs not, ere she welcomes you, To find a sixpence in her shoe! If, of the mud he clears away, Tom bears the ignoble stain to-day, Come back, and he will not forget The heavens that yearn beyond us yet.
_Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land._