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THE SAD STORY OF A LITTLE GIRL.
No heaps of wild buds backward tossed,
To show what paths she crossed.
To show what paths she crossed.
"Did Fairies take her?" It may be.
For Fairies sometimes, I have read,
Will climb the moonshine, secretly,
To steal a baby from its bed,
And leave an imp instead.
For Fairies sometimes, I have read,
Will climb the moonshine, secretly,
To steal a baby from its bed,
And leave an imp instead.
This Changeling, German tales declare,
Makes trouble in the house full soon:
Cries at the tangles in its hair,
Beats the piano out of tune,
And—wants to sleep till noon.
Makes trouble in the house full soon:
Cries at the tangles in its hair,
Beats the piano out of tune,
And—wants to sleep till noon.
And, while it keeps the lost one's face,
It grows less lovely, year by year———
Yes, in that pretty baby's place
There was a Changeling left, I fear.
. . . My little maid, do you hear?
It grows less lovely, year by year———
Yes, in that pretty baby's place
There was a Changeling left, I fear.
. . . My little maid, do you hear?
