In the bright homes where they dwell,
  And you softly smile that 't is so,
    As we sadly sing farewell.

  O plead with gentle words for us,
    And whisper tenderly
  Of generous love to that cold heart,
    And it will answer ye;
  And though you fade in a dreary home,
    Yet loving hearts will tell
  Of the joy and peace that you have given:
    Flowers, dear flowers, farewell!"

The morning sun looked softly down upon the broad green earth, 
which like a mighty altar was sending up clouds of perfume from its
breast, while flowers danced gayly in the summer wind, and birds sang
their morning hymn among the cool green leaves.  Then high above,
on shining wings, soared a little form.  The sunlight rested softly
on the silken hair, and the winds fanned lovingly the bright face,
and brought the sweetest odors to cheer her on.

Thus went Violet through the clear air, and the earth looked
smiling up to her, as, with the bright wreath folded in her
arms, she flew among the soft, white clouds.

On and on she went, over hill and valley, broad rivers and
rustling woods, till the warm sunlight passed away, the winds
grew cold, and the air thick with falling snow.  Then far below
she saw the Frost-King's home.  Pillars of hard, gray ice supported
the high, arched roof, hung with crystal icicles.  Dreary gardens
 lay around, filled with withered flowers and bare, drooping trees;
while heavy clouds hung low in the dark sky, and a cold wind
murmured sadly through the wintry air.

With a beating heart Violet folded her fading wreath more closely
to her breast, and with weary wings flew onward to the dreary palace.

Here, before the closed doors, stood many forms with dark faces and
harsh, discordant voices, who sternly asked the shivering little Fairy
why she came to them.

Gently she answered, telling them her errand, beseeching them
to let her pass ere the cold wind blighted her frail blossoms.
Then they flung wide the doors, and she passed in.

Walls of ice, carved with strange figures, were around her;
glittering icicles hung from the high roof, and soft, white snow
covered the hard floors.  On a throne hung with clouds sat
the Frost-King; a crown of crystals bound his white locks, and
a dark mantle wrought with delicate frost-work was folded over
his cold breast.

His stern face could not stay little Violet, and on through
the long hall she went, heedless of the snow that gathered on
her feet, and the bleak wind that blew around her; while the King
with wondering eyes looked on the golden light that played upon the
dark walls as she passed.

The flowers, as if they knew their part, unfolded their bright leaves,
and poured forth their sweetest perfume, as, kneeling at the throne,
the brave little Fairy said,--

"O King of blight and sorrow, send me not away till I have
brought back the light and joy that will make your dark home bright
and beautiful again.  Let me call back to the desolate gardens the
fair forms that are gone, and their soft voices blessing you will
bring to your breast a never failing joy.  Cast by your icy crown
and sceptre, and let the sunlight of love fall softly on your heart.

"Then will the earth bloom again in all its beauty, and your dim eyes
will rest only on fair forms, while music shall sound through these
dreary halls, and the love of grateful hearts be yours.  Have pity
on the gentle flower-spirits, and do not doom them to an early death,
when they might bloom in fadeless beauty, making us wiser by their
gentle teachings, and the earth brighter by their lovely forms.
These fair flowers, with the prayers of all Fairy Land, I lay
before you; O send me not away till they are answered."

And with tears falling thick and fast upon their tender leaves,
Violet laid the wreath at his feet, while the golden light grew ever
brighter as it fell upon the little form so humbly kneeling there.

The King's stern face grew milder as he gazed on the gentle Fairy,
and the flowers seemed to look beseechingly upon him; while their
fragrant voices sounded softly in his ear, telling of their dying
sisters, and of the joy it gives to bring happiness to the weak
and sorrowing.  But he drew the dark mantle closer over his breast
and answered coldly,--

"I cannot grant your prayer, little Fairy; it is my will
the flowers should die.  Go back to your Queen, and tell her
that I cannot yield my power to please these foolish flowers."

Then Violet hung the wreath above the throne, and with weary foot
went forth again, out into the cold, dark gardens, and still the
golden shadows followed her, and wherever they fell, flowers bloomed
and green leaves rustled.

Then came the Frost-Spirits, and beneath their cold wings the
flowers died, while the Spirits bore Violet to a low, dark cell,
saying as they left her, that their King was angry that she had dared
to stay when he had bid her go.

So all alone she sat, and sad thoughts of her happy home came back
to her, and she wept bitterly.  But soon came visions of the gentle
flowers dying in their forest homes, and their voices ringing
in her ear, imploring her to save them.  Then she wept no longer,
but patiently awaited what might come.

Soon the golden light gleamed faintly through the cell, and she heard
little voices calling for help, and high up among the heavy cobwebs
hung poor little flies struggling to free themselves, while their
cruel enemies sat in their nets, watching their pain.

With her wand the Fairy broke the bands that held them, tenderly bound
up their broken wings, and healed their wounds; while they lay in the
warm light, and feebly hummed their thanks to their kind deliverer.

Then she went to the ugly brown spiders, and in gentle words
told them, how in Fairy Land their kindred spun all the elfin cloth,
and in return the Fairies gave them food, and then how happily they
lived among the green leaves, spinning garments for their neigbbors.
"And you too," said she, "shall spin for me, and I will give you
better food than helpless insects.  You shall live in peace,
and spin your delicate threads into a mantle for the stern King;
and I will weave golden threads amid the gray, that when folded over
his cold heart gentle thoughts may enter in and make it their home.

And while she gayly sung, the little weavers spun their silken
threads, the flies on glittering wings flew lovingly above her head,
and over all the golden light shone softly down.

When the Frost-Spirits told their King, he greatly wondered and
often stole to look at the sunny little room where friends and enemies
worked peacefully together.  Still the light grew brighter, and
floated out into the cold air, where it hung like bright clouds
above the dreary gardens, whence all the Spirits' power could not
drive it; and green leaves budded on the naked trees, and
flowers bloomed; but the Spirits heaped snow upon them, and
they bowed their heads and died.

At length the mantle was finished, and amid the gray threads
shone golden ones, making it bright; and she sent it to the King,
entreating him to wear it, for it would bring peace and love
to dwell within his breast.

But he scornfully threw it aside, and bade his Spirits take her
to a colder cell, deep in the earth; and there with harsh words
they left her.

Still she sang gayly on, and the falling drops kept time so musically,
that the King in his cold ice-halls wondered at the low, sweet sounds
that came stealing up to him.

Thus Violet dwelt, and each day the golden light grew stronger; and
from among the crevices of the rocky walls came troops of little
velvet-coated moles, praying that they might listen to the sweet
music, and lie in the warm light.

"We lead," said they, "a dreary life in the cold earth; the
flower-roots are dead, and no soft dews descend for us to drink,
no little seed or leaf can we find.  Ah, good Fairy, let us be
your servants: give us but a few crumbs of your daily bread, and we
will do all in our power to serve you."

And Violet said, Yes; so day after day they labored to make
a pathway through the frozen earth, that she might reach the roots
of the withered flowers; and soon, wherever through the dark galleries
she went, the soft light fell upon the roots of flowers, and they
with new life spread forth in the warm ground, and forced fresh sap
to the blossoms above.  Brightly they bloomed and danced in the
soft light, and the Frost-Spirits tried in vain to harm them, for when
they came beneath the bright clouds their power to do evil left them.

From his dark castle the King looked out on the happy flowers,
who nodded gayly to him, and in sweet colors strove to tell him
of the good little Spirit, who toiled so faithfully below,
that they might live.  And when he turned from the brightness without,
to his stately palace, it seemcd so cold and dreary, that he folded
Violet's mantle round him, and sat beneath the faded wreath upon his
ice-carved throne, wondering at the strange warmth that came from it;
till at length he bade his Spirits bring the little Fairy from
her dismal prison.

Soon they came hastening back, and prayed him to come and see
how lovely the dark cell had grown.  The rough floor was spread
with deep green moss, and over wall and roof grew flowery vines,
filling the air with their sweet breath; while above played the clear,
soft light, casting rosy shadows on the glittering drops that lay
among the fragrant leaves; and beneath the vines stood Violet,
casting crumbs to the downy little moles who ran fearlessly about
and listened as she sang to them.

When the old King saw how much fairer she had made the dreary cell
than his palace rooms, gentle thoughts within whispered him to grant
her prayer, and let the little Fairy go back to her friends and home;
but the Frost-Spirits breathed upon the flowers and bid him see how
frail they were, and useless to a King.  Then the stern, cold thoughts
came back again, and he harshly bid her follow him.