By Susan Hartley
'Twas a good little lady fairy,
Who saddled her wee white mouse,
And rode away to the village,
Long miles from her snug, wee house;
She tied her steed to a flower stalk airy,
And left him there—this most careless fairy!
In Fairyland no dreadful pussies
Do prowl, and do growl and slay—
In Fairyland the mice have honor,
And draw the queen's carriage gay;
And the little lady ne'er thought of danger
Because on the fence sat a green-eyed stranger,
But hurried away in a twinkling
Down a dark and gloomy street,
Where daily the charm of her presence
Made the children's dreams more sweet;
Then Pussy Cat sprang as quick as magic!
One squeal (as I've heard the story tragic)
And down his throat went steed and saddle,
So swiftly; and O, dear me!
'Stead of her gallant mouse, the lady
Discovered, where he should be,
A monster with blood on his whiskers showing,
And dreadful looks in his eyes so knowing!
Back to Fairyland she must walk, then;
In winter no butterfly
Is sailing that way, nor a rose-leaf,
For fairies to travel by;
She reached there at length, but with feet aching
And her little heart with fear most breaking.
And the dreadful story, spreading
Through Elfland circles, may be
The reason why never a fairy
In these later years we see,
While children in all the old, old stories
Found them as plenty as morning glories!