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THE LITTLE BROWN DWARF
- IT WAS the mother Margaret,
- To her daughter fair she said:
- “Come now, my child, and listen to me,
- Come stand beside my bed.
- “No father thou, nor brother hast,
- Thine uncle is hard and cruel,
- Though he have wealth and we be poor,
- Nor bread he gives nor fuel.
- “But go thou now and say to him
- That I am nigh to death;
- Make haste, my child, and soon return,
- For short am I of breath.”
- And it was Lisa, her little daughter,
- Out in the snow she went,
- The cold stung like a living thing,
- Hungry was she and spent.
- And it was Lisa, her little daughter,
- That sought the mountain‐path;
- She found her uncle, the wicked man,
- Beside his blazing hearth.
- Then did she weep and pray to him
- That to her mother now,
- Who lay so cold and near to death,
- Some kindness he would show.
- And it was her uncle, the cruel man,
- In wrath he rose and cried:
- “Sooner than give thee aught, my girl,
- I’d blast my own hill‐side—
- “Now get thee gone and come no more”;
- Then Lisa fled in tears,
- She took the downward path towards home,
- His hard words in her ears.
- And it was Kastler, the little brown dwarf,
- Who stood in Lisa’s way,
- And fast she would have fled from him,
- But “Soft,” he bade her, “Stay;—
- “I’ve heard yon bad man’s words,” said he;
- “Go to thy mother dear,
- These herbs will take her ills away,
- This cheese last many a year.”
- Then did he give her herbs and cheese,
- The little kind brown dwarf!
- He patted Lisa’s cold blue cheek,
- And skipped off with a laugh.
- And it was Lisa, her little daughter,
- Mother Margaret saw come in;
- Soon as she tasted of the herbs
- To heal she did begin.
- And then good mother Margaret
- She went to the cottage door,
- “Good lack,” she cried, “thine uncle’s fields
- On the hill‐side are no more.
- “Naught’s there but rubbish and blasted rock
- Where grass grew green anon!”
- And it was Kastler, the little brown dwarf,
- They fell a‐thinking on.
