Sit down and feast with us, 380
Be welcome guest with us,
Cheer you and rest with us.’—­
‘Thank you,’ said Lizzie:  ’But one waits
At home alone for me: 
So without further parleying,
If you will not sell me any
Of your fruits though much and many,
Give me back my silver penny
I tossed you for a fee.’—­
They began to scratch their pates, 390
No longer wagging, purring,
But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling. 
One called her proud,
Cross-grained, uncivil;
Their tones waxed loud,
Their looks were evil. 
Lashing their tails
They trod and hustled her,
Elbowed and jostled her, 400
Clawed with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched her hair out by the roots,
Stamped upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeezed their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood,
Like a lily in a flood,—­
Like a rock of blue-veined stone 410
Lashed by tides obstreperously,—­
Like a beacon left alone
In a hoary roaring sea,
Sending up a golden fire,—­
Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree
White with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore beset by wasp and bee,—­
Like a royal virgin town
Topped with gilded dome and spire
Close beleaguered by a fleet 420
Mad to tug her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink. 
Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,
Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
Kicked and knocked her,
Mauled and mocked her,
Lizzie uttered not a word; 430
Would not open lip from lip
Lest they should cram a mouthful in: 
But laughed in heart to feel the drip
Of juice that syrupped all her face,
And lodged in dimples of her chin,
And streaked her neck which quaked like curd. 
At last the evil people,
Worn out by her resistance,
Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit
Along whichever road they took, 440
Not leaving root or stone or shoot;
Some writhed into the ground,
Some dived into the brook
With ring and ripple,
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some vanished in the distance.

In a smart, ache, tingle,
Lizzie went her way;
Knew not was it night or day;
Sprang up the bank, tore thro’ the furze, 450
Threaded copse and dingle,
And heard her penny jingle
Bouncing in her purse,—­
Its bounce was music to her ear. 
She ran and ran
As if she feared some goblin man
Dogged her with gibe or curse
Or something worse: 
But not one goblin skurried after,
Nor was she pricked by fear; 460
The kind heart made her windy-paced
That urged her home quite out of breath with haste
And inward laughter.