It was the daughter of a fairy witch,—
A sweet, though wayward child.
"Go, naughty Elfinella, bring a switch
From yonder fruit tree wild!"
(It was the charming time of all the year,—
The darling month of May
And every bush and thicket, far and near,
With leaves and flowers was gay.)
Poor Elfinella heard, and off she went,
With lagging steps and slow,
To where, amidst the wild, a fruit tree bent,
Her branches spreading low.
With blossomy boughs the motherly old tree
The tearful child begirt:
"My twigs are clothed with flowers; and you will see
The switch will never hurt!"
She broke a branch, with blossoms thickly set,
And lightly homeward tripped,—
The switch was used—but little did she fret;
For she with flowers was whipped!