Maybe a windflower shows her shy white face, But I have seen anemones in snow, Hiding their eyes (false messengers of Spring), Justly ashamed of their own perfidy.

Therefore, sing softly.

QUEEN MAB _curls herself up among her emerald cushions, closes her azure eyes, and sleeps for several days_.

THE THRUSH (_his voice a degree sweeter and surer_):

Queen Mab! Queen Mab!

Awake! Awake!

A primrose blooms In the woodland brake.

From thy sleepy lips Has tumbled a smile Which lies a-blossoming Near the stile.

A primrose blooms In the woodland brake!

Queen Mab! Queen Mab!

Awake! Awake!

_A blue t.i.t from a neighbourly silver birch softly mimics the trills after the last line._

QUEEN MAB (_half opening her eyes_):

O tiresome bird, one primrose does not bring The warm sweet days for which I yearning wait.

Know, I have seen the hillside amber-pied With primroses, and yet a fierce gale swept Adown the dale. Primroses are brave, But, tho' they blossom, leave me to my dreams.

_Once more she nestles among the jade-green moss and sleeps for a week._

THE THRUSH (_louder and clearer_):

Queen Mab! Queen Mab!

From thy faerie dream Has sped a laugh Like a sunny gleam Which springs to earth A daffy-down-dill That merrily flouts At the purling rill, Thy laugh has sped O'er the hillside grey: Queen Mab! Queen Mab!

Listen my lay!

_The cuckoo calls wistfully from down-dale, but_ QUEEN MAB _does not hear him._

QUEEN MAB (_stretching her small white arms and yawning dreamily_):

Methinks the air feels warmer, and the sky Seems bluer, yet mine eyes are loath to ope.

I will not wake at once: How the birds sing!

I did not think the world held so much song.

That note's a blackbird's; that's a finch's call; A wren has whispered secrets to his mate; Two doves are cooing where green curtains hang, Half shyly, lest their love-songs should be heard; Yet, 'tis not spring until the cuckoo cries.

_The cuckoo's voice is heard nearer, coming from Bolton Abbey, and a second voice answers,_

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

From Barden Fell.

THE THRUSH (_his voice jubilantly strong_):

Queen Mab! Queen Mab!

Thy hyacinth eyes Have filled the coppice With azure sighs.

My loved little queen Of windflower feet, Of daffodil-laughter So primrose-sweet!

The rippling wood Is a bluey lake.

Queen Mab! Queen Mab!

Awake! Awake!

QUEEN MAB (_wide awake now, springs from her couch and curtsies to the World, north, south, east, and west, then raises her arms to the Sun_):

Gold Sun, I greet thee; do not hide thy face Too soon behind the wistful little hills.

Thou art my lover, faithless, fickle, fair, And leav'st me all too soon; my kingdom's naught Without thy splendid presence; stay awhile.

Old World, old wrinkled granddame, thee I greet; Thy loving smile renews thy youth once more.

For months I slept upon thy broad brown breast; I thank thee, granddame, for so good a rest.

Ye birds that whistle, hares that limping run, And little soft-eared rabbits, velvet shod, Great wayward mortals, with unseeing eyes, I greet you one and all, for Spring has come.

Laugh with the sun, muse with the silver showers; Laugh and make merry, Spring is all too fleet, And soon will dance away on flower-loved feet.

_Exit_ QUEEN MAB _in search of her court of b.u.t.terflies. Above the bird-music is heard the insistent cry of the cuckoo, till the fells re-echo with his calling._

BOLTON WOODS, WHARFEDALE.