She no more swept the house,
Tended the fowls or cows,
Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought water from the brook: 
But sat down listless in the chimney-nook
And would not eat.

Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister’s cankerous care 300
Yet not to share. 
She night and morning
Caught the goblins’ cry: 
’Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:’—­
Beside the brook, along the glen,
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The voice and stir
Poor Laura could not hear;
Longed to buy fruit to comfort her, 310
But feared to pay too dear. 
She thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who should have been a bride;
But who for joys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died
In her gay prime,
In earliest Winter time
With the first glazing rime,
With the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time.

Till Laura dwindling 320
Seemed knocking at Death’s door: 
Then Lizzie weighed no more
Better and worse;
But put a silver penny in her purse,
Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze
At twilight, halted by the brook: 
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen and look.

Laughed every goblin
When they spied her peeping:  330
Came towards her hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like, 340
Ratel- and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter skelter, hurry skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes,—­
Hugged her and kissed her: 
Squeezed and caressed her: 
Stretched up their dishes, 350
Panniers, and plates: 
’Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob at our cherries,
Bite at our peaches,
Citrons and dates,
Grapes for the asking,
Pears red with basking
Out in the sun,
Plums on their twigs; 360
Pluck them and suck them,
Pomegranates, figs.’—­

‘Good folk,’ said Lizzie,
Mindful of Jeanie: 
’Give me much and many:’—­
Held out her apron,
Tossed them her penny. 
’Nay, take a seat with us,
Honour and eat with us,’
They answered grinning:  370
’Our feast is but beginning. 
Night yet is early,
Warm and dew-pearly,
Wakeful and starry: 
Such fruits as these
No man can carry;
Half their bloom would fly,
Half their dew would dry,
Half their flavour would pass by.