Then her taper hands they place Then her snowy smock is wound, Oh, so tenderly, Both her tiny feet around Could her mother see! They wrap her in their mantles green, Covering at once and screen; Screen from glancing beams of light, Covering from dews of night, Closely, carefully. Bustle, bustle! Every one 'Tis the eve of good St. John, In between the aspens grey THE KORRIGAN. 'Of Fairy damsels met in Forests wide HE Korrigan of Brittany were the same as THE the Elle-maids of Scandinavia. There is reason, moreover, to believe that they were the same personages as the Fée Ladies of Middle-Age Romance, and the Damoiselles in the Lais of Marie de France. A Korrigan was careful only to be seen by night, for she had then the power of assuming every trait of beauty and grace of which the female form is susceptible, and also of changing the appearance of every surrounding thing; of making the meanest and most common objects in nature appear as works of art of the greatest rarity and value. Thus, when by her magic power she had created bower, château, or palace-had furnished it with everything that could give delight to eye, ear, or palate-and sat surrounded by her nine attendant nymphs, inferior to herself alone in beauty of person and grace of manner-ice-cold must have been the heart, or high and noble its purposes and resolves, that could resist her blandishments and charms. The constancy of lover to his affianced bride, or of soldier to his knightly devoir, could never be subjected to greater trial and temptation. But by night alone had she this power; on the first ray of morning light reaching the scene of her enchantments, the charm was dissolved; every object resumed its real and wonted shape and appearance, and the beautiful Korrigan herself became as unsightly as she had erewhile been fair. The Forest of Brézeliande was the scene of most of the Breton wonders; and it was there that Merlin, the mighty enchanter, was buried. THE KORRIGAN AND THE RED CROSS NIGHT. A Tale of Brittany. T is a Knight of Brittany And helm and morion, To join the chivalry of France His gallant band comes on. The wood is silent, dense and dark, And closing is the day, And scarcely can Sir Roland mark With armëd heel and hand His jaded charger urges he Through haunted Brézeliande. |