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Goblin Market
MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come
buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked
peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots,
strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come
buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons
and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your
mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come buy, come buy."
Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie
veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With
tingling cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
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.
"O! 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,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice
like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.
Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
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
(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
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,
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 altogether:
"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,
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.
Lizzie met her at the gate
Full of wise upbraidings:
"Dear, you should not stay so late,
Twilight
is not good for maidens;
Should not loiter in the glen
In the haunts of goblin men.
Do you not remember Jeanie,
How
she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate their fruits and wore their flowers
Plucked
from bowers
Where summer ripens at all hours?
But ever in the moonlight
She pined and pined away;
Sought them
by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray;
Then fell with the first snow,
While to this day
no grass will grow
Where she lies low:
I planted daisies there a year ago
That never blow.
You should not loiter
so."
"Nay hush," said Laura.
"Nay hush, my sister:
I ate and ate my fill,
Yet my mouth waters still;
To-morrow
night I will
Buy more," and kissed her.
"Have done with sorrow;
I'll bring you plums to-morrow
Fresh on their
mother twigs,
Cherries worth getting;
You cannot think what figs
My teeth have met in,
What melons, icy-cold
Piled
on a dish of gold
Too huge for me to hold,
What peaches with a velvet nap,
Pellucid grapes without one seed:
Odorous
indeed must be the mead
Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink,
With lilies at the brink,
And sugar-sweet
their sap."
Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other's wings,
They
lay down, in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fallen snow,
Like two wands
of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars beamed in at them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering
owls forbore to fly,
Not a bat flapped to and fro
Round their rest:
Cheek to cheek and breast to breast
Locked
together in one nest.
Early in the morning
When the first cock crowed his warning,
Neat like bees, as sweet and
busy,
Laura rose with Lizzie:
Fetched in honey, milked the cows,
Aired and set to rights the house,
Kneaded cakes
of whitest wheat,
Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,
Next churned butter, whipped up cream,
Fed their poultry, sat and
sewed;
Talked as modest maidens should
Lizzie with an open heart,
Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one sick
in part;
One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing for the night.
At length slow evening came--
They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;
Lizzie most placid
in her look,
Laura most like a leaping flame.
They drew the gurgling water from its deep
Lizzie plucked purple and
rich golden flags,
Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes
Those furthest loftiest crags;
Come, Laura, not
another maiden lags,
No wilful squirrel wags,
The beasts and birds are fast asleep."
But Laura loitered still among
the rushes
And said the bank was steep.
And said the hour was early still,
The dew not fallen, the wind not chill:
Listening ever,
but not catching
The customary cry,
"Come buy, come buy,"
With its iterated jingle
Of sugar-baited words:
Not
for all her watching
Once discerning even one goblin
Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;
Let alone the herds
That
used to tramp along the glen,
In groups or single,
Of brisk fruit-merchant men.
Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come,
I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look:
You should
not loiter longer at this brook:
Come with me home.
The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,
Each glow-worm winks
her spark,
Let us get home before the night grows dark;
For clouds may gather even
Though this is summer weather,
Put
out the lights and drench us through;
Then if we lost our way what should we do?"
Laura turned cold as stone
To find her sister heard that cry alone,
That goblin cry,
"Come
buy our fruits, come buy."
Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?
Must she no more such succous pasture find,
Gone
deaf and blind?
Her tree of life drooped from the root:
She said not one word in her heart's sore ache;
But peering
thro' the dimness, naught discerning,
Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way;
So crept to bed, and lay
Silent
'til Lizzie slept;
Then sat up in a passionate yearning,
And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept
As if
her heart would break.
Day after day, night after night,
Laura kept watch in vain,
In sullen
silence of exceeding pain.
She never caught again the goblin cry:
"Come buy, come buy,"
She never spied the goblin
men
Hawking their fruits along the glen:
But when the noon waxed bright
Her hair grew thin and gray;
She dwindled,
as the fair full moon doth turn
To swift decay, and burn
Her fire away.
One day remembering her kernel-stone
She set it by a wall that faced
the south;
Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,
Watched for a waxing shoot,
But there came none;
It never saw
the sun,
It never felt the trickling moisture run:
While with sunk eyes and faded mouth
She dreamed of melons, as
a traveller sees
False waves in desert drouth
With shade of leaf-crowned trees,
And burns the thirstier in the sandful
breeze.
She no more swept the house,
Tended the fowls or cows,
Fetched honey,
kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought water from the brook:
But sat down listless in the chimney-nook
And would not eat.
Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister's cankerous care,
Yet
not to share.
She night and morning
Caught the goblins' cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy."
Beside
the brook, along the glen
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The voice and stir
Poor Laura could not hear;
Longed
to buy fruit to comfort her,
But feared to pay too dear.
She thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who should have been a bride;
But
who for joys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died
In her gay prime,
In earliest winter-time,
With the first
glazing rime,
With the first snow-fall of crisp winter-time.
Till Laura, dwindling,
Seemed knocking at Death's door:
Then Lizzie
weighed no more
Better and worse,
But put a silver penny in her purse,
Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps
of furze
At twilight, halted by the brook,
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen and look.
Laughed every goblin
When they spied her peeping:
Came towards her
hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping
and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like,
Ratel and wombat-like,
Snail-paced
in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like
pigeons,
Gliding like fishes, --
Hugged her and kissed her;
Squeezed and caressed her;
Stretched up their dishes,
Panniers
and plates:
"Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob at our cherries
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,
Honor 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 flavor 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,
Like a rock
of blue-veined stone
Lashed by tides obstreperously, --
Like a beacon left alone
In a hoary roaring sea,
Sending
up a golden fire, --
Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree
White with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore beset by wasp and bee,
--
Like a royal virgin town
Topped with gilded dome and spire
Close beleaguered by a fleet
Mad to tear her standard
down.
One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though
the goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,
Scratched her, pinched her black
as ink,
Kicked and knocked her,
Mauled and mocked her,
Lizzie uttered not a word;
Would not open lip from lip
Lest
they should cram a mouthful in;
But laughed in heart to feel the drip
Of juice that syruped all her face,
And lodged
in dimples of her chin,
And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.
At last the evil people,
Worn out by her resistance,
Flung
back her penny, kicked their fruit
Along whichever road they took,
Not leaving root or stone or shoot.
Some writhed
into the ground,
Some dived into the brook
With ring and ripple.
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some
vanished in the distance.
In a smart, ache, tingle,
Lizzie went her way;
Knew not was it night
or day;
Sprang up the bank, tore through the furze,
Threaded copse and dingle,
And heard her penny jingle
Bouncing
in her purse, --
Its bounce was music to her ear.
She ran and ran
As if she feared some goblin man
Dogged her
with gibe or curse
Or something worse:
But not one goblin skurried after,
Nor was she pricked by fear;
The kind
heart made her windy-paced
That urged her home quite out of breath with haste
And inward laughter.
She cried "Laura," up the garden,
"Did you miss me ?
Come and kiss
me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and
goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me:
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to
do with goblin merchant men."
Laura started from her chair,
Flung her arms up in the air,
Clutched
her hair:
"Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted
For my sake the fruit forbidden?
Must your light like mine be hidden,
Your
young life like mine be wasted,
Undone in mine undoing,
And ruined in my ruin;
Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?"
She
clung about her sister,
Kissed and kissed and kissed her:
Tears once again
Refreshed her shrunken eyes,
Dropping
like rain
After long sultry drouth;
Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,
She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.
Her lips began to scorch,
That juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She
loathed the feast:
Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung,
Rent all her robe, and wrung
Her hands in lamentable
haste,
And beat her breast.
Her locks streamed like the torch
Borne by a racer at full speed,
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.
Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart,
Met the fire
smouldering there
And overbore its lesser flame,
She gorged on bitterness without a name:
Ah! fool, to choose such
part
Of soul-consuming care!
Sense failed in the mortal strife:
Like the watch-tower of a town
Which an earthquake
shatters down,
Like a lightning-stricken mast,
Like a wind-uprooted tree
Spun about,
Like a foam-topped water-spout
Cast
down headlong in the sea,
She fell at last;
Pleasure past and anguish past,
Is it death or is it life ?
Life out of death.
That night long Lizzie watched by her,
Counted
her pulse's flagging stir,
Felt for her breath,
Held water to her lips, and cooled her face
With tears and fanning
leaves:
But when the first birds chirped about their eaves,
And early reapers plodded to the place
Of golden sheaves,
And
dew-wet grass
Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass,
And new buds with new day
Opened of cup-like lilies on
the stream,
Laura awoke as from a dream,
Laughed in the innocent old way,
Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice;
Her
gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray,
Her breath was sweet as May,
And light danced in her eyes.
Days, weeks, months,years
Afterwards, when both were wives
With children
of their own;
Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
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:
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
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery
antidote:
Then joining hands to little hands
Would bid them cling together,
"For there is no friend like a sister,
In
calm or stormy weather,
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters
down,
To strengthen whilst one stands."
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Laurence Housman, illustration from the 1893 London edition of "Goblin Market" published by Macmillan.
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