From a Father to His Son: Prologue

We’re sad, and we’re cold, and the night is black—
But let’s sit close by the fire.

Oh, Sonny Jim, though the wolves howl,
Though the weasels chatter,
Though the owls hoot ,
Though a troll scratches at the door,
And then gans awa’...

...I think we’ll be alright.
I’ve my crossbow, you your penknife,
And we’ve plenty of food to eat.

So, to pass the time, I’ll tell you some tales.

Strange tales, dark tales,
Mundane tales, light tales,
Tales to make you laugh—
Tales to make you cry!
Tales to comfort you,
Tales to frighten you out of your skin.

I speak of giant beanstalks
And bone violins,
Of elf-queens
And elf-kings,
And many other fancies.

So sit down in my lap,
My darling son,
While the night it passeth darkly,
And listen closely unto me,
While I tell to you some stories.