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THE GOLD-SPINNER.
THE GOLD-SPINNER.A miller had a daughter, And lovely, too, she was; Her step was light, her smile was bright, Her eyes were gray as glass. (So Chaucer loved to write of eyes In which that nameless azure lies So like shoal-water in its hue, Though all too crystal clear for blue.) As you would suppose, the miller Was very proud of her, And would never fail to tell some tale As to what her graces were. On the powdery air of his own mill Floated the whispers of her skill; At the village inn the loungers knew All that the pretty girl could do. |
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Oft in his braggart way This foolish tale he told, That his daughter could spin from bits of straw Continuous threads of gold! So boastful had he grown, forsooth, That he cared but little for the truth: But since this was a curious thing It came to the knowledge of the king. He thought it an old wife’s fable, But senseless stuff at best; Yet, as he had greed, he cried, “Indeed! I will put her powers to test.” With a wave of his hand, he further said That to-morrow morning the clever maid Should come to the castle, and he would see What truth in the story there might be. |
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Next day, with a trembling step, She reached the palace door, And was shown into a chamber, where Was straw upon the floor. They brought her a chair and a spinning-wheel, A little can of oil, and a reel; And said that unless the work was done— All of the straw into the gold-thread spun— By the time that the sun was an hour high Next morning, she would have to die. |
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Down sat she in despair, Her tears falling like rain: She had never spun a thread in her life, Nor ever reeled a skein! Hark! the door creaked, and through a chink, With droll wise smile and funny wink, In stepped a little quaint old man, All humped, and crooked, and browned with tan. She looked in fear and amaze To see what he would do; He said, “Little maid, what will you give If I’ll spin the straw for you?” Ah, me, few gifts she had in store— A trinket or two, and nothing more! A necklace from her throat so slim She took, and timidly offered him. ’Twas enough, it seemed; for he sat At the wheel in front of her, And turned it three times round and round, Whirr, and whirr-rr, and whirr-rr-rr— One of the bobbins was full; and then, Whirr, and whirr-rr, and whirr-rr-rr again, Until all the straw that had been spread Had been deftly spun into golden thread. |
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At sunrise came the king To the chamber, and, behold, Instead of the ugly heaps of straw Were bobbins full of gold! |
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This made him greedier than before; And he led the maiden out at the door Into a new room, where she saw Still larger and larger heaps of straw, A chair to sit in, a spinning-wheel, A little can of oil, and a reel; And he said that straw, too, must be spun To gold before the next day’s sun Was an hour high in the morning sky, And if ’twas not done, she must die. |
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Down sank she in despair,
Her tears falling like rain;
She could not spin a single thread,
She could not reel a skein.
But the door swung back, and through the chink,
With the same droll smile and merry wink,
The dwarf peered, saying, “What will you do
If I’ll spin the straw once more for you?”
“Ah me, I can give not a single thing,”
She cried, “except my finger-ring.”
He took the slender toy,
And slipped it over his thumb;
Then down he sat and whirled the wheel,
Hum, and hum-m, and hum-m-m;
Round and round with a droning sound,
Many a yellow spool he wound,
Many a glistening skein he reeled;
And still, like bees in a clover-field,
The wheel went hum, and hum-m and hum-m-m.
Next morning the king came,
Almost before sunrise,
To the chamber where the maiden was,
And could scarce believe his eyes
To see the straw, to the smallest shreds,
Made into shining amber threads.
And he cried, “When once more I have tried
Your skill like this, you shall be my bride;
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For I might search through all my life |