Collected Folk Tales. Alan Garner
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so,” said the man in white, “get upon this horse, behind me.” And that Einion did, and looking around he could not see any appearance of the Lady of the Wood, the goblin, excepting the track of hoofs of marvellous and monstrous size, as if journeying towards the north.
“What delusion art thou under?” said the man in white.
Then Einion answered him and told everything how it occurred ’twixt him and the goblin.
“Take this white staff in thy hand,” said the man in white, and Einion took it. And the man in white told him to desire whatever he wished for.
The first thing he desired was to see the Lady of the Wood, for he was not yet completely delivered from the illusion. And then she appeared to him in size a hideous and monstrous witch, a thousand times more repulsive of aspect than the most frightful things seen on earth. And Einion uttered a cry of terror; and the man in white cast his cloak over Einion, and in less than a twinkling Einion alighted as he wished on the hill of Treveilir, by his own house, where he knew scarcely anyone, nor did anyone know him.
But the goblin, meantime, had gone to Einion’s wife, in the disguise of a richly apparelled knight, and wooed her, pretending that her husband was dead. And the illusion fell upon her; and seeing that she should become a noble lady, higher than any in that country, she named a day for her marriage with him. And there was a great preparation of every elegant and sumptuous apparel, and of meats and drinks, and of every honourable guest, and every excellence of song and string, and every preparation of banquet and festive entertainment.
Now there was a beautiful harp in Angharad’s room, which the goblin knight desired should be played on; and the harpers present, the best of their day, tried to put it in tune, and were not able.
But Einion presented himself at the house, and offered to play it. Angharad, being under an illusion, saw him as an old, decrepit, withered, grey-haired man, stooping with age, and dressed in rags. Einion tuned the harp, and played on it the air which Angharad loved. And she marvelled exceedingly, and asked him who he was. And he answered in song:
“Einion the golden-hearted.”
“Where hast thou been?”
“In Kent, in Gwent, in the wood, in Monmouth,
“In Maenol, Gorwenydd;
“And in the valley of Gwyn, the son of Nudd;
“See, the bright gold is the token.”
And he gave her the ring.
“Look not on the whitened hue of my hair,
“Where once my aspect was spirited and bold;
“Now grey, without disguise, where once it was yellow.
“Never was Angharad out of my remembrace,
“But Einion was by thee forgotten.”
But Angharad could not bring him to her recollection. Then said he to the guests:
“If I have lost her whom I loved, the fair one of polished mind,
“The daughter of Ednyfed Fychan,
“Still get you out! I have not lost
“Either my bed, or my house, or my fire.”
And upon that he placed the white staff in Angharad’s hand, and instantly the goblin which she had hitherto seen as a handsome and honourable nobleman, appeared to her as a monster, inconceivably hideous; and she fainted from fear, and Einion supported her until she revived.
And when she opened her eyes, she saw there neither the goblin, nor any of the guests, nor of the minstrels, nor anything whatever except Einion, and her son, and the harp, and the house in its domestic arrangement, and the dinner on the table, casting its savoury odour around. And they sat down to eat, and exceeding great was their enjoyment. And they saw the illusion which the goblin had cast over them. And thus it ends.
Gently dippe: but not too deepe;
For feare you make the goulden beard to weepe.
Faire maiden white and redde,
Combe me smoothe, and stroke my head:
And thou shalt have some cockell bread.
Gently dippe, but not too deepe,
For feare thou make the goulden beard to weepe.
Faire maide, white, and redde,
Combe me smoothe, and stroke my head;
And every haire, a sheave shall be,
And every sheave a goulden tree.
George Peele
He died, and shortly after the funeral there was a knocking at the palace gate, and a tearing of the air, and such disturbances of nature that the foundations of the palace quaked. Then came a voice.
“O princes, open the door!”
“Don’t open!” cried the eldest brother.
“Don’t!” said the second.
“I must open!” said the youngest. And he did so.
Something came in, but what it was the princes could not see, whether it was a fallen star or a coal of hell, and out of the dazzling brightness the voice spoke again.
“I have come for your eldest sister to take her for wife.”
“I will not give her,” said the first brother.
“I have no time to spare,” said the voice. “I must take her now.”
“I will not,” said the second brother. “How can I give my sister to one I can’t see, and whom I do not know, nor can guess?”
But the youngest brother said, “I will give her. Our father’s last words were that we should do just this.” He took his sister gently by the hand, and led her towards the light. “I hope that she will be a good wife.”
Lightning and thunder blinded and deafened the whole palace then, and when it had cleared, both the presence and the sister were gone.
And the next night a voice came again.
“O princes, open the door!”
They were too frightened to resist, and when the light stood on the floor it said, “Give me your second sister.”
“I will not!” said the eldest brother.
“I will not,” said the second brother.
“I will,” said the youngest brother. “It was our father’s last wish on earth.”
And on the third night, “O princes, open the door!”
“We will not give our sister by night,” said the first and second brothers together.
“I will,” said the youngest brother. “May you have joy and happiness together.”
The next dawn all three princes decided to go out into the world to find their sisters, to be sure that they were happy and well. They travelled for many days until they lost their way in a dark forest, and at nightfall they looked for a place to camp, and they built their fire by the side of a lake. After they had eaten, they settled down to sleep, while the eldest