Fairyland

Fairyland

Fairyland

Fairyland

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Overview

A highly sought-after collectible, Fairyland features the exquisite illustrations of Ida Rentoul Outhwaite, a noted artist of the early 20th century. Outhwaite excelled at the depiction of dainty sprites, and her whimsical visions are highlighted by images of kangaroos, koalas, kookaburras, and other creatures of her native Australia. Her art — with accompanying verses by her sister, Annie R. Rentoul, and stories by her husband, Grenbry Outhwaite — is populated by princesses, witches, pixies, and other folkloric creatures and abounds in timeless charm. This hardcover edition of Outhwaite's most lavish work features dozens of graceful and imaginative illustrations, including nineteen in full color.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781606601075
Publisher: Dover Publications
Publication date: 04/20/2016
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 176
Sales rank: 903,449
File size: 50 MB
Note: This product may take a few minutes to download.

About the Author

Australian illustrator Ida Rentoul Outhwaite (1888–1960), best known for her winsome depictions of fairies, collaborated with her husband, Grenbry Outhwaite, on The Enchanted Forest, The Little Fairy Sisters, and Fairyland. Her four children frequently served as models for her illustrations.

Read an Excerpt

Fairyland


By Grenbry Outhwaite, Annie R. Rentoul

Dover Publications, Inc.

Copyright © 2016 Annie R. Rentoul
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60660-107-5



CHAPTER 1

    The Gates of Fairyland

    O woodlands! O dreamlands!
        O voice of yearning sea,
    That sings its song on gleaming strands;
        Whence comes your mystery?

    And would that I had Shakespeare's wit,
      Or Kreisler's mystic art,
    That I might find the words that fit
      The songs within my heart!

    That I might tell some other soul
        The thoughts which stir within,
    And move me with the strange control
        Of that charmed violin!

    O hill and glen and babbling stream,
        Amid a world of wrong,
    Thanks to your sense-transcending dream,
        And mystic glow and song!

    I had two little daughters once,
        Who roamed by brook and glen,
    And found things never met with since
        On ways of mortal men.

    Ormond College, The University,
      1926.

    And by the trending ocean shore
        Heard tones of such sweet sound,
    As science-search with all its lore
        Is helpless to expound.

    O thanks for mystic pen and brush!
        Here, in still hours of eve,
    They come, convincing with the "Hush!"
        Of Art's strange make-believe

    O little folk of wood and hill,
        When I am quite alone,
    Ye steal and take me at your will
        And claim me as your own.

    And o'er these leaves I sit and dream,
        'Mid tones and glow of Art,
    Of things that never sound or seem
        Save to the pure of heart.

    And I am still a wond'ring child,
        'Mid Nature's mystery,
    By tarn and stream and billows wild,
        And sobbings of the sea.

        J. Laurence Rentoul


    The Nightingale

        Frontispiece

    So blue the night;
        The moon so silver-pale,
    The pool so bright,
        So still the few great stars —
    Could I not hear
        His sweet ethereal bars,
    There singeth near,
        I know, a nightingale.

    On such a night,
        So full of wonderland,
    Had I no sight,
        Yet should my spirit guess,
    Drinking for hours
        That music's loveliness,
    By the hushed flowers
        A Fairy is at hand.

    So in the night
        Of dim uncertain things,
    Some divine light
        Of lovely things that are
    Dull sense defeats,
        Giving us spirit-wings —
    Some moonlike Keats,
        Some Shelley like a star.


    The Peacock

    When I see a peacock
        With his jewelled tail,
    I think of Mistress Blanchelys
        In silken farthingale;
    Dainty little Blanchelys,
        With pretty, pointed toe,
    Dancing near the lilies
        In her garden long ago.

    Juniper and yew-tree,
        Clipp'd in quaintest way,
    Hedged the old-world garden
        Of this little maid at play.
    Here the sea-blue peacock
        Spread his bronzy tail,
    And Blanchelys came dancing by
        With fan and farthingale.

    Many another peacock,
        As it came to pass,
    Strutted up to Blanchelys
        On the garden grass;
    Blanchelys was proud and sweet,
        Blanchelys said "No,"
    Standing near the lilies
        In her garden long ago.

    Still the yew and juniper
        Hedge that garden fair;
    Still the peacock spreads his tail
        In his pleasance there;
    Still beside the lilies
        You may see her as you pass —
    The little ghost of Blanchelys,
        Dancing on the grass.


    Fairy Frolic

    By a silver fountain,
        In a magic hour,
    Once I saw a Fairy,
        Lovely as a flower;
    Rainbow morning-glories
        Watched her from above;
    Waterlilies peeped beneath,
        Just to show their love.

    Fast as almond petals
        On a windy day,
    Little white feet twinkled
        In her fairy play;
    Little starry white hands,
        Frail as snowdrops small,
    Tossed a coloured bubble up
        For a fairy ball.

    Never sheeny butterfly
        Had such wondrous grace;
    I could see her shimmering wings,
        See her rose-leaf face;
    Never golden sunbeam
        Danced with such delight;
    Never moonbeam shone so fair
        On a summer night.

    O that fairy frolic!
        Not a step I stirred,
    Only wished a tiny wish —
        But the Fairy heard.
    Heard my heart go pit-a-pat,
        Though I never spoke;
    Puff! the Fairy vanished,
        And the bubble broke.


    Good Advice

    Come, listen, while I speak,
    Big Bird with monstrous beak
    And wrinkles round your eyes!
    You look so grave and wise
    That it fills me with amaze
    Thinking on your clumsy ways.

    You ought to make yourself
    A Fairy or an Elf,
    And change your legs and wings
    To lovely fairy things;
    Follow, follow after me
    Whither Elves and Fairies be.

    We sleep in lily-cup,
    And when the sun is up
    We twinkle on the lake,
    And tickle waves awake;
    Chase the rainbow bubbles small,
    But big enough for Fairies' ball.

    On lily-leaf we float
    For our fairy boat;
    Our fairy feast we spread
    On a mushroom's head.
    Golden pollen, honey sweet,
    And red, wild raspberries we eat.

    We swing on slender rush
    That whispers "Hush, hush, hush!
    O little Fairy fair,
    The hawk's aloft in air,
    To snatch thee up and bear thee far
    Where his baby nestlings are!"

    We bathe in pale moonbeams,
    And flit in children's dreams;
    They wonder where we are,
    In what flower or star;
    Never guess the Fairies peep
    From their own eyes sweet and deep.

    It really seems absurd
    For such a wise old Bird
    So far away to fly
    Across the sea and sky;
    And never, never understand
    That where we are is Fairyland.

    Would you a Fairy be,
    Come follow, follow me!
    Fairy dust I have at need
    Hidden in a poppy-seed;
    Snuff a little, once, twice, thrice!
    You will find 'tis good advice.


    The Witch

    Dusk of the day, and the hour to ride
    Atop of my broom o'er the world so wide;
    Meggin, the Witch, am I, am I!
    Free of the earth and sea and sky.

    Witchery Crag is up in the air;
    Never a mortal foot falls there;
    Black bats circle and toadstools peep,
    And the ledge is high for a Witch's leap.

    I rock on the rim of a sailing cloud,
    The lightning laughs, and the wind sings loud;
    With my scarlet mantle I wave good-night —
    My peakety hat puts out the light.

    I swing on the horns of the crescent moon,
    I dance in my pointed poppy shoon
    In and out of the maze of dreams;
    I flit in the firelight's glooms and gleams,

    Murk of the midnight — time to creep
    In the ivied ruin, where grey owls sweep;
    Rust and mould and poison-dew
    I gather there for my magic brew.

    Rose of the Dawn, and the hour to glide
    Back to my ledge on the shadowy side;
    At the heels of the dark, I slip away —
    "A mist passed over the sun!" folks say.

    Witchery Crag is alone in the air,
    Never a mortal face comes there;
    Clouds float over it, shy stars peep,
    And the moss is soft for a Witch's sleep.


    The Lake

    Wind came singing
        To a little lake:
    Water, you are cold and gray,
    Not a laughing wave at play,
    All forgotten, all alone,
    Lilies shut and wild-birds flown,
        Water Fairy, wake!

    All the waves twinkled,
        Tossing plumes of snow;
    Green, silky rushes
        Curtseyed in a row.
    Dream-lilies opened
        Buds of rose and pearl,
    Showing secret hearts of gold
        Where the Fairies curl.

    Love came winging
        To a little lake:
    Kissed her eyes of misty blue,
    Whispered, "I remember you,
        Water Fairy, wake!"


    The Concert

    Mummy and Daddy went off to town
        To a concert of their own,
    And John was left to cuddle down
        In his little white cot alone.
    But the big round moon looked down from heaven,
        As soon as they were gone,
    And said, "There's a concert at half-past-seven —
        A fairy one — all for John!"

    Nobody knew that John went out,
        And nobody saw him go;
    But he found the place, and all about
        Were daisies white as snow;
    Little green Elves came hoppety-hop
        From the shadows of the gums;
    And Teddy Bear, from a messmate top,
        Swung down to join his chums.

    Then clear on a flute of the purest gold
        A sweet little Fairy played,
    And wonderful fairy tales she told,
        And marvellous music made.
    But Teddy Bear began to nod,
        And gave a very loud snore,
    And yet at the end — it's true, though odd —
        He grunted out "Encore!"

    Mummy and Daddy came home from town,
        And John was sleeping sound,
    In his little white cot all cuddled down,
        And the moon was bright and round;
    Nobody knows that John went out
        To a concert all alone,
    And only the moon can tell about
        The fairy one — all his own!

CHAPTER 2

The Princess and the Beggar Boy


"PARLEZ-VOUS?" That was the only thing Robin and Jessamy could remember to say to the old, old Frenchman, with his thin old nannygoat, at the old, old gate of the old-world French fairy-tale town that sunny morning in June.

The thin old goat had such a sad little face, but the old man had the twinkliest eyes, with crinkles all round them, and he smiled such a dear, pleasant smile all the 'time Robin was saying "Parlez-vous?" and trying so hard to remember some more of bis French.

Jessamy was much shyer than Robin, but she did not forget to say, "Bon jour, Monseigneur!" She said "Monseigneur," because she thought he looked as if perhaps he was a great Noble in the Revolution — a good Noble, who had given all his estates to his peasants, and become poor. And she said, too, "Savez-vous des contes de fees, s'il vous plait?" And the old man looked crinklier than ever and chuckled, and began to speak quite good English. So Jessamy said, "Please, do you know a fairy tale about this little town, Monseigneur?".

The old man invited them to come inside and sit on a bench in his little garden, and he told them a fairy story about the little old-world town of Félicité, long, long ago.

"You must know, my little ones, that long ago a little Princess lived in the gray-walled chateau with the towers. Ah, but she was like the Spring, her hair like yellow flowers, her eyes pervenches, and her footstep the wind on the grass. She had no playmates, this little one, for the sweet lady, her Mother, was dead, and her Father, though so proud of her beauty, shut her away in the chateau, till the time should come when he should give her in marriage to some lord of high degree. Very lonely was the little Princess Désirée Rosefleur Joyselle, until one day, working at her embroidery with stitches fairy-small, she heard a music, sweeter than lark or goldfinch, coming over the wall from the outer world.

"'Is it the Fairies?' she mused. For often the elfin people would come to cheer and comfort her little lonely heart.

"Every day, and often at night — always when she was alone — this heavenly music would come to her. So at last, seen by none, she slipped from her room and stole to the great gate of the chateau. There, playing on a small instrument that sang like a brown nightingale, was a slender little minstrel, a beggar boy, in tattered brown. His dark eyes were full of love and pity, and his face was beautiful and good, like a thoughtful, soft pansy.

"'Little Princess,' he said, 'I know thou art sad. I come, the maker of dreams, to charm away thy loneliness and sorrow. Joli-Coeur is my name. I never yet saw Princess so beautiful as thou. Wilt fly with me to my Golden Land overseas?'

"'Nay, then, Joli-Coeur,' she said, 'I love thee well, and trust thee all in all. But my Father groweth old, and though he be stern, yet he loveth me, and his heart would break without me.'

"'Hearken!' answered Joli-Coeur. 'In the Spring, full well I know, thy Father will hie home to the Heavenly Country; for his hour will come. And thou wilt be left desolate, with only thy wicked Uncle thy guardian, who will lay plots against thy life.'

"'If, then, all fall out as thou sayest, dear Joli-Coeur, in Spring I will go with thee.'

"Then they kissed farewell at the chateau gate, and Joli-Coeur went on his way.

"So now the months hastened on, and Désirée dreamed of Joli-Coeur, and Joli-Coeur sang always of Désirée. And all came to pass as he had foretold. The Vîcomte died, and the wicked Uncle ruled in his place. But Joli-Coeur was in the Northland of the Snows, and knew not that in the South the Spring had come so soon. Désirée waited in vain for his music, and her wicked Uncle imprisoned her close in the strongest tower of the chateau. So, when at last Joli-Coeur came, she heard his music, but could not answer, and that was heartbreaking.

"No stranger was allowed to visit Désirée, but sometimes Airelle, the little village goose-girl, was allowed to play with her for an hour, for no one guessed that Airelle's little loving heart would make her wise to save her Princess, though Airelle was but an unschooled peasant child.

"Airelle's neighbour, a year older than she, Friquet, the little goatherd, when she told him Désirée's sad story — for he, too, was trusty, and loved the Princess — knew just what to do. At the Witch's Hour he took Airelle to see the old Witch Grippeminaude and her black cat Ron-ron, under the windswept box-tree, away across the river, on the hill.

"Pit-a-pat beat their hearts as they drew near the place. The old Witch, with her feet all among the toadstools, bats hovering about, and blood-red anemones growing everywhere, said not a word, till the story was told in full. Then she tapped thrice on the ground with her stick and spoke: 'I will help, for 'tis a good deed and a sweet child, and ye are dear children, too! At midnight, when the moon shines, when the great gate is locked, and the banquet-hall lit up, see that Joli-Coeur passes by, and the Princess comes to the gate. Give Joli-Coeur this Magic Key. 'Tis fairy gold, and will open all locks and bars. Then, hist! Not a word! None could guess what you had done! But all will go well with the Princess and the Minstrel, and afterwards with ye twain. For payment I ask one golden curl of Désirée, and one sweet song of Joli-Coeur.'

"Quickly they thanked the Witch — for 'twas nine of the clock — and hastened to the chateau, on their way calling Joli-Coeur with the goatherd's call he knew so well. Then, in haste, they unlocked all the doors that parted the Princess and the Minstrel, and when his music came she went to him."

"And did they escape, Monseigneur ?" asked Jessamy.

"Of a truth, my little one, even as the Witch promised; and one may be assured that they lived happily ever after."

"And what of the Witch?" said Robin.

"Nay! 'Tis said that at the Witch's Hour she looks even to this day at her treasures — a curl of gold and a wild-bird song — and her face grows soft and her eyes tender."

"And the Goosegirl and the Goatherd?" asked Jessamy.

"They became man and wife," said the old man, "and their story is more beautiful than was ever told in all the fairy books. But that must wait for another day. Come, now, I will give you sweet milk and some little loaves, and pears from my own garden to help you on your way."

"Monseigneur, are you descended from the Princess and the Minstrel?" said Jessamy, as they were going.

"Nay, my little one!" the old man answered, gently; "from the Goosegirl and the Goatherd." And he smiled happily at his little goat.

[THE END]


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Fairyland by Grenbry Outhwaite, Annie R. Rentoul. Copyright © 2016 Annie R. Rentoul. Excerpted by permission of Dover Publications, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

The Gates of Fairyland, 13,
The Nightingale, 15,
The Peacock, 16,
Fairy Frolic, 18,
Good Advice, 21,
The Witch, 24,
The Lake, 28,
The Concert, 30,
The Princess and the Beggar Boy (A Short Story), 32,
The Three Bears, 40,
The Grave of Love, 44,
The Fairy Ring, 46,
The Captain, 49,
The First Sorrow, 52,
The Crystal Gazer, 54,
Serana — The Bush Fairy (A Story), 57,
Flower of the Foam, 137,
The Shingle in Fairyland, 140,
The Bird's Funeral, 143,
The Garden of Dreams, 146,
The Lost Playmate, 148,
The Rescue (A Short Story), 151,
The Revoke, 156,
The Disputed Bath, 159,
Breath of Spring, 162,
The Wave, 164,

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