'We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' 'Come buy,' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen.

'Oh,' cried Lizzie, 'Laura, Laura, You should not peep at goblin men.' Lizzie covered up her eyes,

Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
'Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,

Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,

One bears a plate,

One lugs a golden dish

Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes.'
'No,' said Lizzie: 'No, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us.
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,

One whisked a tail,

One tramped at a rat's pace,

One crawled like a snail,

Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,3
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen
Turned and trooped the goblin men,
With their shrill repeated cry,
'Come buy, come buy.'

When they reached where Laura was
They stood stock still upon the moss,

Leering at each other,
Brother with queer brother;
Signalling each other,
Brother with sly brother.
One set his basket down,
One reared his plate;

One began to weave a crown

Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown 50(Men sell not such in any town); One heaved the golden weight

Of dish and fruit to offer her:
'Come buy, come buy,' was still their cry.
Laura stared but did not stir,

Longed but had no money.

The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste
In tones as smooth as honey,

The cat-faced purr'd,

The rat-paced spoke a word

100

110

60 Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; One parrot-voiced and jolly

Cried 'Pretty Goblin' still for 'Pretty Polly';
One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: 'Good Folk, I have no coin;

To take were to purloin:

I have no copper in my purse,

I have no silver either,

70 And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather

Above the rusty heather.'

'You have much gold upon your head,'
They answered all together:

'Buy from us with a golden curl.'

She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red.
Sweeter than honey from the rock,

80 Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.

90 Lizzie met her at the gate

Full of wise upbraidings:
'Dear, you should not stay so late,
Should not loiter in the glen
Twilight is not good for maidens;

In the haunts of goblin men.

Do you not remember Jeanie,

120

130

14

Bite at our peaches,
Citrons and dates,

Grapes for the asking,

Pears red with basking
Out in the sun,

Plums on their twigs;

Pluck them and suck them,Pomegranates, figs.'

'Good folk,' said Lizzie,
Mindful of Jeanie:

'Give me much and many:'
Held out her apron,
Tossed them her penny.
'Nay, take a seat with us,
Honour and eat with us,'
They answered grinning:
'Our feast is but beginning.
Night yet is early,
Warm and dew-pearly,
Wakeful and starry:
Such fruits as these

No man can carry;

Half their bloom would fly,
Half their dew would dry,

Half their flavour would pass by.
Sit down and feast with us,
Be welcome guest with us,
Cheer you and rest with us.

'Thank you,' said Lizzie: 'But one waits At home alone for me:

So without further parleying,
If you will not sell me any

Of your fruits though much and many,
Give me back my silver penny

I tossed you for a fee.'

They began to scratch their pates,
No longer wagging, purring,

But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling.
One called her proud,
Cross-grained, uncivil;
Their tones waxed loud,
Their looks were evil.

Lashing their tails

They trod and hustled her,
Elbowed and jostled her,
Clawed with their nails,

Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched her hair out by the roots,
Stamped upon her tender feet,

Held her hands and squeezed their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood, Like a lily in a flood,

Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,

Her breath was sweet as May,

Her lips began to scorch,

Days, weeks, months, years

540

That juice was wormwood to her tongue,

She loathed the feast:

Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own;

Rent all her robe, and wrung

Their lives bound up in tender lives;
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone

Of not-returning time:

550

Or like the mane of horses in their flight,

Or like an eagle when she stems the light

Straight toward the sun,

Or like a caged thing freed,

Or like a flying flag when armies run.

Would talk about the haunted glen,

The wicked quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat

But poison in the blood

(Men sell not such in any town): Would tell them how her sister stood