Chronicles of Fairyland.

Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell, Mad Rablais of Pantagruel, A later third of Dowsabel, With such poor trifles playing: Others the like have labour’d at, Some of this thing, and some of that, And many of they know not what, But that they must be saying. Another sort there be, that will Be talking of the fairies still, Nor never can they have their fill, As they were wedded to them: No tales of them their thirst can slake, So much delight therein they take, And some strange thing they fain would make, Knew they the way to do them. Then since no muse hath been so bold, Or for the later, or the old, Those elvish secrets to unfold, Which be from others’ reading; My active muse to light shall bring The court of that proud Fairy King, And tell there of the revelling— Joy prosper my proceeding. And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay, Which, meeting me upon the way, These secrets didst to me bewray, Which now I am in telling: My pretty, light fantastic maid, I here invoke to thee my aid, That I may speak what thou hast said, In numbers smoothly swelling. This palace standeth in the air, By necromancy placèd there. That it no tempests needs to fear, Which way soe’er it blow it: And somewhat southward tow’rd the noon, Whence lies a way up to the moon, And thence the Fairy can as soon Pass to the earth below it. The walls of spiders’ legs are made, Well morticed and finely laid, He was the master of his trade, It curiously that builded: The windows of the eyes of cats, And for the roof, instead of flats, Is cover’d with the skins of bats, With moonshine that are gilded. Hence Oberon, him sport to make (Their rest when weary mortals take, And none but only Fairies wake), Descendeth for his pleasure; And Mab, his merry Queen, by night Bestrides young folks that lie upright (In elder times the Mare that hight), Which plagues them out of measure. Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes, Of little frisking elves and apes, To earth do make their wanton scapes, As hope of pastures hastes them: Which maids think on the hearth they see, When fires well-near consumèd be, There dancing hayes by two and three, Just as their fancy casts them. These make our girls their flutt’ry rue, By pinching them both black and blue, And put a penny in their shoe, The house for cleanly sweeping: And in their courses make that round, In meadows and in marshes found, Of them so call’d the Fairy ground, Of which they have the keeping. These, when a child haps to be got, Which after proves an idiot, When folk perceive it thriveth not, The fault therein to smother: Some silly, doating, brainless calf, That understands things by the half, Say, that the Fairy left this aulf, And took away the other. But listen, and I shall you tell A chance in Fairy that befel, Which certainly may please some well, In love and arms delighting: Of Oberon, that jealous grew Of one of his own Fairy crew, For well (he fear’d) his Queen that knew, His love but ill requiting. Pigwiggen was this Fairy Knight, One wondrous gracious in the sight Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night He amorously observed: Which made King Oberon suspect His service took too good effect, His sauciness and often checkt, And could have wish’d him starved. Pigwiggen gladly would commend Some token to Queen Mab to send, If sea or land him aught could lend, Were worthy of her wearing: At length this lover doth devise A bracelet made of emmets’ eyes, A thing he thought that she would prize, No whit her state impairing. And to the Queen a letter writes, Which he most curiously indites, Conjuring her by all the rites Of love, she would be pleased To meet him, her true servant, where They might, without suspect or fear, Themselves to one another clear, And have their poor hearts eased. “At midnight the appointed hour, And for the Queen a fitting bow’r, (Quoth he) is that fair cowslip flow’r, On Hipcut-hill that groweth: In all your train there’s not a Fay, That ever went to gather May, But she hath made it in her way, The tallest there that groweth.” When by Tom Thum, a Fairy page, He sent it, and doth him engage, By promise of a mighty wage, It secretly to carry; Which done, the Queen her maids doth call, And bids them to be ready all, She would go see her summer hall, She could no longer tarry. Her chariot ready strait is made, Each thing therein is fitting laid, That she by nothing might be stay’d, For naught must be her letting: Four nimble gnats the horses were, Their harnesses of gossamere, Fly Cranion, her charioteer, Upon the coach-box getting. Her chariot of a snail’s fine shell, Which for the colours did excel; The fair Queen Mab becoming well, So lively was the limning: The seat the soft woll of the bee, The cover (gallantly to see) The wing of a py’d butterflee, I trow, was simple trimming. The wheels composed of crickets’ bones, And daintily made for the nonce, For fear of rattling on the stones, With thistle-down they shod it: For all her maidens much did fear, If Oberon had chanc’d to hear, That Mab his Queen should have been there, He would not have abode it. She mounts her chariot with a trice, Nor would she stay for no advice, Until her maids, that were so nice, To wait on her were fitted; But ran herself away alone; Which, when they heard, there was not one But hasted after to be gone, As she had been diswitted. Hop, and Mop, and Drop so clear, Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were To Mab their sovereign dear, Her special maids of honour; Fib, and Tib, and Pinch, and Pin, Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin, Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win, The train that wait upon her. Upon a grasshopper they got, And what with amble and with trot, For hedge nor ditch they spared not, But after her they hie them. A cobweb over them they throw, To shield the wind if it should blow, Themselves they wisely could bestow, Lest any should espy them. But let us leave Queen Mab awhile, Through many a gate, o’er many a stile, That now had gotten by this wile, Her dear Pigwiggen kissing; And tell how Oberon doth fare, Who grew as mad as any hare, When he had sought each place with care, And found his Queen was missing. By grisly Pluto he doth swear, He rent his clothes, and tore his hair, And as he runneth here and there, An acorn cup he getteth; Which soon he taketh by the stalk, About his head he lets it walk, Nor doth he any creature baulk, But lays on all he meeteth. The Tuscan poet doth advance, The frantic Paladine of France, And those more ancient do inhance Alcides in his fury, And others Ajax Telamon: But to this time there hath been none So Bedlam as our Oberon, Of which I dare assure ye. And first encount’ring with a wasp, He in his arms the fly doth clasp, As though his breath he forth would grasp, Him for Pigwiggen taking: “Where is my wife, thou rogue? (quoth he) Pigwiggen, she is come to thee; Restore her, or thou dy’st by me.” Whereat the poor wasp quaking, Cries, “Oberon, great Fairy King, Content thee, I am no such thing; I am a wasp, behold my sting!” At which the Fairy started. When soon away the wasp doth go, Poor wretch was never frighted so, He thought his wings were much too slow, O’erjoy’d they so were parted. He next upon a glow-worm light (You must suppose it now was night), Which, for her hinder part was bright, He took to be a devil; And furiously doth her assail For carrying fire in her tail; He thrash’d her rough coat with his flail, The mad King fear’d no evil. “Oh! (quoth the glow-worm) hold thy hand, Thou puissant King of Fairyland, Thy mighty strokes who may withstand, Hold, or of life despair I!” Together then herself doth roll, And tumbling down into a hole, She seem’d as black as any coal, Which vext away the Fairy. From thence he ran into a hive, Amongst the bees he letteth drive, And down their combs begins to rive, All likely to have spoiled: Which with their wax his face besmear’d, And with their honey daubed his beard; It would have made a man affear’d To see how he was moiled. A new adventure him betides: He met an ant, which he bestrides, And post thereon away he rides Which with his haste doth stumble, And came full over on her snout, Her heels so threw the dirt about, For she by no means could get out, But over him doth tumble. And being in this piteous case, And all beflurried head and face, On runs he in this wild-goose chase, As here and there he rambles, Half blind against a mole-hill hit, And for a mountain taking it, For all he was out of his wit, Yet to the top he scrambles. And being gotten to the top, Yet there himself he could not stop, But down on th’ other side doth chop, And to the foot came rumbling: So that the grubs therein that bred, Hearing such turmoil overhead, Thought surely they had all been dead, So fearful was the jumbling. And falling down into a lake, Which him up to the neck doth take, His fury it doth somewhat slake, He calleth for a ferry. Where you may some recovery note, What was his club he made his boat, And in his oaken cup doth float, As safe as in a wherry. Men talk of the adventures strange Of Don Quishot, and of their change, Through which he armèd oft did range, Of Sancha Panza’s travel: But should a man tell everything Done by this frantic Fairy King, And them in lofty numbers sing, It well his wits might gravel. Scarce set on shore, but therewithal He meeteth Puck, which most men call Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall With words from phrenzy spoken: “Hoh, hoh,” quoth Hob, “God save thy grace, Who drest thee in this piteous case? He thus that spoil’d my sovereign’s face, I would his neck were broken.” This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt, Still walking like a ragged colt, And oft out of a bush doth bolt, Of purpose to deceive us; And leading us makes us to stray Long winter nights out of the way, And when we stroll in mire and clay, He doth with laughter leave us. “Dear Puck,” quoth he, “my wife is gone; As e’er thou lov’st King Oberon, Let everything but this alone, With vengeance and pursue her: Bring her home alive or dead; Or that vile thief Pigwiggen’s head; That villain hath defiled my bed, He to this folly drew her.” Quoth Puck, “My liege, I’ll never lin, But I will thorough thick and thin, Until at length I bring her in, My dearest lord, ne’er doubt it.” Thorough brake, thorough brier, Thorough mud, thorough mier, Thorough water, thorough fier, And thus Puck goes about it. This thing Nymphidia overheard, That on this mad king had a guard, Not doubting of a great reward, For first this bus’ness broaching: And through the air away doth go Swift as an arrow from the bow, To let her sovereign Mab to know What peril was approaching. The queen, bound with love’s powerful charm, Sate with Pigwiggen arm in arm; Her merry maids, that thought no harm, About the room were skipping: A humble-bee their minstrel, play’d Upon his haut-bois, every maid Fit for this revel was array’d, The hornpipe neatly tripping. In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry, “My sovereign, for your safety fly, For there is danger but too nigh, I posted to forewarn you: The king hath sent Hobgoblin out, To seek you all the fields about, And of your safety you may doubt, If he but once discern you.” When like an uproar in a town, Before them everything went down; Some tore a ruff, and some a gown, ’Gainst one another jostling: They flew about like chaff i’ th’ wind; For haste some left their masks behind, Some could not stay their gloves to find; There never was such bustling. Forth ran they by a secret way, Into a brake that near them lay, Yet much they doubted there to stay, Lest Hob should hap to find them: He had a sharp and piercing sight, All one to him the day and night, And therefore were resolv’d by flight To leave this place behind them. At length one chanc’d to find a nut, In th’ end of which a hole was cut, Which lay upon a hazel-root, There scatter’d by a squirrel, Which out the kernel gotten had: When quoth this Fay, “Dear queen, be glad, Let Oberon be ne’er so mad, I’ll set you safe from peril. “Come all into this hut (quoth she), Come closely in, be rul’d by me, Each one may here a chuser be, For room ye need not wrestle, Nor need ye be together heapt.” So one by one therein they crept, And lying down, they soundly slept, As safe as in a castle. Nymphidia, that this while doth watch, Perceiv’d if Puck the queen should catch, That he would be her over-match, Of which she well bethought her; Found it must be some pow’rful charm, The queen against him that must arm, Or surely he would do her harm, For throughly he had sought her. And list’ning if she aught could hear, That her might hinder, or might fear; But finding still the coast was clear, Nor creature had descry’d her: Each circumstance and having scann’d, She came thereby to understand, Puck would be with them out of hand, When to her charms she hy’d her. And first her fern seed doth bestow, The kernel of the mistletoe; And here and there as Puck should go, With terror to affright him, She night-shade straws to work him ill, Therewith her vervain and her dill, That hind’reth witches of their will, Of purpose to despight him. Then sprinkles she the juice of rue, That groweth underneath the yew, With wine drops of the midnight dew, From lunary distilling; The wolewarp’s brain mixt therewithal, And with the same the pismire’s gall: For she in nothing short would fall, The Fairy was so willing. Then thrice under a brier doth creep, Which at both ends was rooted deep, And over it three times did leap, Her magic much availing: Then on Proserpina doth call, And so upon her spell doth fall, Which here to you repeat I shall, Not in one tittle failing. “By the croaking of the frog; By the howling of the dog; By the crying of the hog Against the storm arising; By the evening curfew-bell; By the doleful dying knell; O let this my direful spell, Hob, hinder thy surprising. “By the Mandrake’s dreadful groans: By the Lubrican’s sad moans; By the noise of dead men’s bones In charnel houses rattling; By the hissing of the snake, The rustling of the fire-drake, I charge thee this place forsake, Nor of Queen Mab be prattling. “By the whirlwind’s hollow sound, By the thunder’s dreadful stound, Yells of spirits underground, I charge thee not to fear us: By the screech-owl’s dismal note, By the black night-raven’s throat, I charge thee, Hob, to tear thy coat With thorns, if thou come near us.” Her spell thus spoke, she stept aside, And in a chink herself doth hide, To see thereof what would betide, For she doth only mind him: When presently she Puck espies, And well she markt his gloating eyes, How under every leaf he pries, In seeking still to find them. But once the circle got within, The charms to work do straight begin, And he was caught as in a gin: For as he thus was busy, A pain he in his headpiece feels, Against a stubbed tree he reels, And up went poor Hobgoblin’s heels; Alas! his brain was dizzy. At length upon his feet he gets, Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets, And as again he forward sets, And through the bushes scrambles, A stump doth trip him in his pace, Down comes poor Hob upon his face, And lamentably tore his case Amongst the briars and brambles. “Plague upon Queen Mab (quoth he), And all her maids, where’er they be; I think the devil guided me, To seek her, so provoked.” When stumbling at a piece of wood, He fell into a ditch of mud, Where to the very chin he stood, In danger to be choaked. Now worse than e’er he was before, Poor Puck doth yell, poor Puck doth roar, That waked Queen Mab, who doubted sore Some treason had been wrought her: Until Nymphidia told the Queen What she had done, what she had seen, Who then had well-near crack’d her spleen With very extreme laughter. But leave we Hob to clamber out, Queen Mab and all her Fairy rout, And come again to have a bout With Oberon yet madding: And with Pigwiggen now distrought, Who much was troubled in his thought, That he so long the Queen had sought, And through the fields was gadding. And as he runs, he still doth cry, “King Oberon, I thee defy, And dare thee here in arms to try, For my dear lady’s honour: In that she is a queen right good, In whose defence I’ll shed my blood, And that thou in this jealous mood Hast laid this slander on her.” And quickly arms him for the field, A little cockle-shell his shield, Which he could very bravely wield, Yet could it not be pierced: His spear a bent both stiff and strong, And well near of two inches long; The pile was of a horse-fly’s tongue, Whose sharpness nought reversed. And puts him on a coat of mail, Which was of a fishe’s scale, That when his foe should him assail, No point should be prevailing. His rapier was a hornet’s sting, It was a very dangerous thing, For if he chanc’d to hurt the king, It would be long in healing. His helmet was a beetle’s head, Most horrible and full of dread, That able was to strike one dead, Yet it did well become him: And for a plume, a horse’s hair, Which being tossèd by the air, Had force to strike his foe with fear, And turn his weapon from him. Himself he on an earwig set, Yet scarce he on his back could get, So oft and high he did curvet, Ere he himself could settle: He made him turn, and step, and bound, To gallop, and to trot the round, He scarce could stand on any ground, He was so full of mettle. When soon he met with Tomalin, One that a valiant knight had been, And to great Oberon of kin: Quoth he, “Thou manly Fairy, Tell Oberon I come prepar’d, Then bid him stand upon his guard; This hand his baseness shall reward, Let him be ne’er so wary. “Say to him thus, ‘That I defy His slanders and his infamy, And as a mortal enemy Do publicly proclaim him: Withal, that if I had mine own, He should not wear the Fairy crown, But with a vengeance should come down; Not we a king should name him.’” This Tomalin could not abide, To hear his sovereign vilify’d; But to the Fairy court him hy’d, Full furiously he posted, With ev’rything Pigwiggen said; How title to the crown he laid, And in what arms he was array’d, And how himself he boasted. ’Twixt head and foot, from point to point, He told the arming of each joint, In every piece how neat and quaint; For Tomalin could do it: How fair he sat, how sure he rid; As of the courser he bestrid, How manag’d, and how well he did. The king, which listen’d to it, Quoth he, “Go, Tomalin, with speed, Provide me arms, provide my steed, And everything that I shall need, By thee I will be guided: To strait account call thou thy wit, See there be wanting not a whit, In everything see thou me fit, Just as my foe’s provided.” Soon flew this news through Fairy-land, Which gave Queen Mab to understand The combat that was then in hand Betwixt those men so mighty: Which greatly she began to rue, Perceiving that all Fairy knew, The first occasion from her grew, Of these affairs so weighty. Wherefore attended with her maids, Through fogs, and mists, and damps she wades, To Proserpine the Queen of Shades, To treat, that it would please her The cause into her hands to take, For ancient love and friendship’s sake, And soon thereof an end to make, Which of much care would ease her. Awhile there let we Mab alone, And come we to King Oberon, Who arm’d to meet his foe is gone, For proud Pigwiggen crying: Who sought the Fairy King as fast, And had so well his journies cast, That he arrivèd at the last, His puissant foe espying. Stout Tomalin came with the King, Tom Thumb doth on Pigwiggen bring, That perfect were in ev’rything To single fights belonging: And therefore they themselves engage, To see them exercise their rage, With fair and comely equipage, Not one the other wronging. So like in arms these champions were, As they had been a very pair, So that a man could almost swear That either had been either: Their furious steeds began to neigh, That they were heard a mighty way: Their staves upon their rests they lay; Yet ere they flew together, Their seconds minister an oath, Which was indifferent to them both, That on their knightly faith and troth, No magic them supplied; And sought them that they had no charms, Wherewith to work each other’s harms, But come with simple open arms, To have their causes tried. Together furiously they ran, That to the ground came horse and man; The blood out of their helmets span, So sharp were their encounters: And though they to the earth were thrown, Yet quickly they regain’d their own; Such nimbleness was never shewn, They were two gallant mounters. When in a second course again, They forward came with might and main, Yet which had better of the twain, The seconds could not judge yet: Their shields were into pieces cleft, Their helmets from their heads were ’reft, And to defend them nothing left, These champions would not budge yet. Away from them their staves they threw, Their cruel swords they quickly drew, And freshly they the fight renew, They every stroke redoubled: Which made Proserpina take heed, And make to them the greater speed, For fear lest they too much should bleed, Which wond’rously her troubled. When to th’ infernal Styx she goes, She take the fogs from thence that rose, And in a bag doth them enclose, When well she had them blended: She hies her then to Lethe spring, A bottle and thereof doth bring, Wherewith she meant to work the thing Which only she intended. Now Proserpine with Mab is gone Unto the place where Oberon And proud Pigwiggen, one to one, Both to be slain were likely: And there themselves they closely hide, Because they would not be espy’d; For Prosperpine meant to decide The matter very quickly. And suddenly unties the poke, Which out of it sent such a smoke, As ready was them all to choke, So grievous was the pother: So that the knights each other lost, And stood as still as any post, Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast Themselves of any other. But when the mist ’gan somewhat cease, Proserpina commandeth peace, And that a while they should release Each other of their peril: “Which here (quoth she) I do proclaim To all, in dreadful Pluto’s name, That as ye will eschew his blame, You let me hear the quarrel. “But here yourselves you must engage, Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage, Your grievous thirst and to assuage, That first you drink this liquor; Which shall your understandings clear, As plainly shall to you appear, Those things from me that you shall hear, Conceiving much the quicker.” This Lethe water, you must know, The memory destroyeth so, That of our weal, or of our woe, It all remembrance blotted, Of it nor can you ever think: For they no sooner took this drink, But nought into their brains could sink, Of what had them besotted. King Oberon forgotten had That he for jealousy ran mad; But of his queen was wond’rous glad, And ask’d how they came thither. Pigwiggen likewise doth forget That he Queen Mab had ever met, Or that they were so hard beset When they were found together. Nor either of ’em both had thought That e’er they had each other fought, Much less that they a combat sought, But such a dream were loathing. Tom Thumb had got a little sup, And Tomalin scarce kiss’d the cup, Yet had their brains so sure lockt up, That they remember’d nothing. Queen Mab and her light maids the while Amongst themselves do closely smile, To see the king caught with this wile, With one another jesting: And to the Fairy Court they went, With mickle joy and merriment, Which thing was done with good intent; And thus I left them feasting.

Scene: A Forest in Fairyland. Dawn. First Fairy. Fairies and Elves! Shadows of night Pale and grow thin, Branches are stirr’d; Rouse up yourselves; Sing to the light, Fairies, begin,— Hark, there’s a bird! Second. For dreams are now fading, Old thoughts in new morning; Dull spectres and goblins To dungeon must fly. The starry night changeth, Its low stars are setting, Its lofty stars dwindle And hide in the sky. First. Fairies, awake! Light on the hills! Blossom and grass Tremble with dew; Gambols the snake, Merry bird shrills, Honey-bees pass, Morning is new. Second. Pure joy of the cloudlets, All rippled in crimson! Afar over world’s edge The night-fear is roll’d; O look how the Great One Uplifts himself kingly; At once the wide morning Is flooded with gold! First. Fairies, arouse! Mix with your song Harplet and pipe, Thrilling and clear. Swarm on the boughs! Chant in a throng! Morning is ripe, Waiting to hear. Second. The merle and the skylark Will hush for our chorus, Quick wavelets of music, Begin them anon! Good-luck comes to all things That hear us and hearken,— Our myriads of voices Commingling in one. General Chorus. Golden, golden Light unfolding, Busily, merrily, work and play, In flowery meadows, And forest-shadows, All the length of a summer day! All the length of a summer day! Sprightly, lightly, Sing we rightly! Moments brightly hurry away! Fruit-tree blossoms, And roses’ bosoms— Clear blue sky of a summer day! Dear blue sky of a summer day! Springlets, brooklets, Greeny nooklets, Hill and valley, and salt-sea spray! Comrade rovers, Fairy lovers,— All the length of a summer day! All the livelong summer day!

Forenoon. Enter two Fairies (Rosling and Another) separately. First. Greeting, brother! Second. Greet thee well! Hast thou any news to tell? How goes sunshine? First. Flowers of noon All their eyes will open soon, While ours are closing. What hast done Since the rising of the sun? Second. Four wild snails I’ve taught their paces, Pick’d the best ones for the races. Thou? First. Where luscious dewdrops lurk, I with fifty went to work, Catching delicious wine that wets The warm blue heart of violets; Last moon it was hawthorn-flower, Next moon ’twill be virgin’s bower, Moon by moon, the varied rose,— To seal in flasks for winter mirth, When frost and darkness wrap the earth. Which wine delights you, fay? Second. All those; But none is like the Wine of Rose. With Wine of Rose, In midst of snows The sunny season flows and glows! First. Elf, thou lovest best, I think, The time to sit in a cave and drink. Second. Is’t not well to have good reason, Thus, for loving every season? White-rose wine Is pure and fine, But red-rose dew, dear tipple of mine! The red flow’rs bud In our summery blood, And the nightingale sings in our brain like a wood. First. Some who came a-gathering dew, Tasting, sipping, fresh and new, Tumbled down, an idle crew, And there among the grass they lie, Under a toadstool; any fly May nip their foolish noses! Second. Soon We shall hear the Call of Noon. First. They cannot stir to any tune. No evening feast for them, be sure, But far-off sentry on the moor. Whence that sound of music?—hist! Second. Klingoling, chief lutanist, A hundred song-birds in a ring Is teaching all this morn to sing Together featly, so to fill The wedding-music,—loud and shrill, Soft and sweet, and high and low, Singled, mingled. He doth know The art to make a hundred heard Like one great surprising bird. First. Here comes Rosling! He’ll report All the doings of the Court. Enter a Third Fairy. Greeting, brothers! First. Greet thee well! Hast thou any news to tell? Our Princess dear, what shadow lies Drooping on her blissful eyes? Her suitors plague her?—is it so? Third. So in truth it is. But, lo! Who comes our way? Fairy, whence? Thou’rt a stranger. Enter a Fourth Fairy. No offence, I trust, altho’ my cap is blue, While yours are green as any leaf. Courteous fays! No spy or thief Is here, but one who longs to view Your famous Forest; chiefly there Your Princess fair, the praised in song Wheresoever fairies throng. Oft you see her? Third. Every day. Fourth. And is she lovely as they say? Third. Thou hast not seen her? Dost thou think Blue and golden, white and pink, Could paint the magic of her face? All common beauty’s highest place Being under hers how far!— Fourth. How far? Third. A glow-worm to the evening star. First. Scarce Klingoling could say so well! ’Tis true: so much she doth excel. Come, fairy, to our feast to-night, Two hours from sunset; then you may See the Forest-Realm’s Delight. Fourth. But were it not presumptuous? First. Nay, Thou art, I ween, a gentle fay, And sure of welcome. Fourth. It is said Her Highness shortly means to wed! Third. Next full moon, by fairy law, She must marry, no escape, Were it marsh-sprite, kobold, shape Creeping from earth-hole with horn and claw! Fourth. And hath she now a suitor? Third. Three; Bloatling, Rudling, Loftling; she Loathes them all impartially. The first is ugly, fat, and rich, Grandson of a miser witch; He sends her bossy peonies, Fat as himself, to please her eyes, And double poppies, mock flow’rs made In clumsy gold, for brag display’d; Ten of the broadest shoulder’d elves To carry one must strain themselves. First. Aye! so I’ve seen them. Second. This is more Than I ever heard before. Third. Field-marshal Rudling, soldier fay, His beard a broom to sweep away Opposition, with his frown Biddeth common fairies, “Down! Down on your knees!” and then his smile, Our lovely Lady’s heart to wile— Soft as a rat-trap! and his voice— Angry jay makes no such noise When bold marauders threat (as you, Little Jinkling, sometimes do) Her freckled eggs. Fourth. And Loftling? Third. True, Prince Loftling’s chin, so grand is he, Is where another’s nose would be; His proud backbone the wrong way bends With nobleness. He condescends To come in state to our poor wood; And then ’tis always understood We silence every prattling bird, Nor must one grasshopper be heard; Which tasks our people; she, meanwhile, Our Lady, half dead with his vile Ceremonial and precision,— “Madam, with your august permission, I have the honour to remark— Ah hum! ah haw!” from dawn to dark. Fourth. He will not win her! Third. No, no, no! Dreary the wood if that were so, Good stranger. But enough, I ween, Of gossip now. Fourth. Kind Caps o’ Green, I thank ye for your courtesies! Brightkin’s my name, my country lies Round that blue peak your scout espies From loftiest fir-tree on the skies Of sunset. So I take my leave Till the drawing-on of eve. First. They call me Rosling, gentle fay. Adieu! forget not; here I’ll stay To meet thee and to show the way. All. Adieu! adieu! till close of day.

The Noon Call. Hear the call! Fays, be still! Noon is deep On vale and hill. Stir no sound The Forest round! Let all things hush That fly or creep,— Tree and bush, Air and ground! Hear the call! Silence keep! One and all Hush and sleep!

Near Sunset. Two Fairies: Rosling and Jinkling. Ros. Little Jinkling! friend of mine! Where dost lurk when fairies dine? At the banquet round and round Searching, thee I never found. Comest thou late? The feast is done; Slowly sinks the mighty sun. Jink. Nay, fay! I was far away. Over the tree-tops did I soar Twenty leagues and twenty more. Swift and high goes the dragon-fly, And steady the death’s-head moth, But the little bird with his beak awry Is a better saddle than both! The lovely Lady of Elfin-Mere, I had a message for her ear. Ros. Of state? Jink. Of state: of import great, I must not even to thee relate. Ros. And is she fair? Jink. Thrice fair is she; The pearly moon less delicately Comes shining onward than this Lady From her water-palace shady Floats across the lucent lake, And all her starry lilies make Obeisance; every water-sprite Gazing after with delight, Only wishing he might dare Just to touch her streaming hair, Meanwhile, crowds of fairies glide Over, under, the crystal tide, Some on swimming-birds astride, Some with merry fishes at play, Darting round her rippling way. Ros. There was your banquet! Jink. There indeed, Among the lily and the reed. Wavy music, as we feasted, Floating round us while we floated, Soothed our pleasure and increased it; Mirth and jest more briskly glancing Than the water-diamonds dancing Down the lake where sunshine smote it. Bright and gay!—might not stay!— White the hand I kiss’d, O fay, Leap’d on my bird, and sped away. Hast any news to tell me? Ros. Much! Never didst thou hear of such. Jink. A fight with spiders?—hornets?—perils Teasing owls, or chasing squirrels? Or some little elf, poor soul, Lost in a winding rabbit-hole? Are the royal trees in danger? Ros. Dost thou mind the Blue-cap Stranger, Brightkin by his name, that we Met ere noontide lullaby? Jink. Came he to your Feast? Ros. My friend, Ask no more questions, but attend! To the Feast he came with me, The chamberlain most courteously Placing us nigh the upper end. Her Highness bow’d, and Brightkin gazed On her face like one amazed, While our Beauty’s tender eyes Rested with a sweet surprise Upon the stranger-fairy: round Went cates and wines, and Klingoling With five new birds began to sing. Then came a page on errand bound To ask the stranger’s name and realm: “Brightkin of the Purple Helm, From the Blue Mountain, fairy knight, Flown thence to view the Forest,—might It please her Highness.” It did please. So by and by we sat at ease In shadowy bow’r, a favour’d ring, Now talking, now with Klingoling Join’d in a waft of harmony; And evermore there seem’d to be ’Twixt Brightkin and our Princess dear A concord, more than string with string And voice with voice rejoice one’s ear. And then he took the lute and sung, With modest grace and skilfully, For tipt with honey seem’d his tongue; At first a murmuring melody, Like the far song of falling rills Amid the foldings of the hills, And ever nearer as it flew, Shaping its figure, like a bird, Till into Love’s own form it grew In every lovely note and word. So sweet a song we never heard! When, think what came? Jink. I cannot think. Ros. A trumpet-blast that made us wink! A hailstorm upon basking flowers! Quick, sharp!—we started to our feet, All save her Highness, mild and sweet, Who said, “See who invades our bowers.” Jink. Who was it, Rosling? quickly say! Ros. The King of the Blue Mountains, fay, Seeking audience, without delay. Fierce and frowning his look at first, Like that uncivil trumpet-burst; But all his blackness alter’d soon, Like clouds that melt upon the moon, Before the gentle dignity Of Her, Titania’s child, whom we Obey and love. Jink. Blest may she be! But wherefore came the haughty King? Ros. Hear briefly an unusual thing. His only Son, the prince and heir, Kept with too strict and jealous care Within the mountain boundaries, To-day o’erleaps them all, and flies, No elf knows whither: flies to-day— The Lord of Gnomes being on his way, Bringing to that mountain Court His gem-clad heiress. Here was sport! Then couriers told the angry king They saw the Prince on gray-dove’s wing Threading our forest; and again That he had join’d our Lady’s train. “Madam! is’t so?” “If this be so, Great sir, I nothing know.” When lo! Brightkin outspringing kneels. “My son!” Exclaims the king—“Ho! seize and bind him!” But swift her Highness—“Stay! let none Move hand or foot! Great King, you find him Here in the Forest-Realm, my rule Whereof no fairy power may school, Saving imperial Oberon. Free came he hither, free shall go.” Then says the Prince, “If you command, I leave you, Pride of Fairyland, Else never!” Briefly now to tell, As briefly all these things befell, ’Twas clear as new-born star they loved; The Mountain-King their love approved; And all were happy. Jink. Where are they, The King and Prince? Ros. They fly away On the sunset’s latest ray. To-morrow they will come again, With a countless noble train: And next full moon—the Wedding Feast! Jink. O joy! the greatest and the least Will join the revelry, and bring A marriage-gift of some fine thing. I know a present she will prize— A team of spot-wing’d butterflies, Right in flight, or else with ease Winding through the tops of trees, Or soaring in the summer sky. Ros. Well done, Jinkling!—Now, good-bye; Sleepy as a field-mouse I, When paws and snout coil’d he doth lie. Jink. Hark to Klingoling’s lute-playing! On the poplar-spire a-swaying Gently to the crescent moon. Ros. I cannot stay to hear the tune. Jink. I linger in the yellow light. Ros. And so, good-night! Jink. And so, good-night!

After Sunset. Klingoling and a Faint Chorus. Moon soon sets now; Elves cradled on the bough. Day’s fays drop asleep; Dreams through the forest creep. Chorus. When broadens the moonlight, we frolic and jest; When darkles the forest, we sink into rest. Shine, fine star above! Love’s come, happy love! Haste, happy wedding-night, Full moon, round and bright! Chorus. And not till her circle is low in the west We’ll cease from our dancing, or couch us to rest! Lute, mute fall thy strings! Hush, every voice that sings! Fade away, drowsy song, Dim forest-aisles along! Chorus. Of all thy dear music a love-song is best! Thou hushest—we’re silent—we sink into rest.

I. ’Tis the middle watch of a summer’s night— The earth is dark but the heavens are bright; Nought is seen in the vault on high But the stars, and the moon, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cronest, She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below; His sides are broken by spots of shade, By the walnut bough and the cedar made, And through their clustering branches dark Glimmers and dies the firefly’s spark— Like starry twinkles that momently break Through the rifts of the gathering tempest’s rack. II. The stars are on the moving stream, And fling, as its ripples gently flow, A burnished length of wavy beam In an eel-like spiral line below; The winds are whist, and the owl is still, The bat in the shelvy rock is hid, And nought is heard on the lonely hill But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged Katy-did; And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and wo, Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow. III. ’Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell, The wood-tick has kept the minutes well, He has counted them all with click and stroke, Deep in the heart of the mountain oak, And he has awakened the sentry elve Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, To bid him ring the hour of twelve, And call the fays to their revelry; Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell— (’Twas made of the white snail’s pearly shell:)— “Midnight comes, and all is well! Hither, hither, wing your way! ’Tis the dawn of the fairy day.” IV. They come from beds of lichen green, They creep from the mullen’s velvet screen; Some on the backs of beetles fly From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, And rocked about in the evening breeze; Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest— And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, With glittering ising-stars inlaid, And some had opened the four-o’-clock, And stole within its purple shade. And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above—below—on every side, Their little minim forms arrayed In the tricksey pomp of fairy pride! V. They come not now to print the lea, In freak and dance around the tree, Or at the mushroom board to sup, And drink the dew from the buttercup;— A scene of sorrow waits them now, For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow; He has loved an earthly maid, And left for her his woodland shade; He has lain upon her lip of dew, And sunned him in her eye of blue, Fanned her cheek with his wing of air, Played in the ringlets of her hair, And, nestling on her snowy breast, Forgot the lily-king’s behest. For this the shadowy tribes of air To the elfin court must haste away:— And now they stand expectant there, To hear the doom of the Culprit Fay. VI. The throne was reared upon the grass Of spice-wood and of sassafras; On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell Hung the burnished canopy— And o’er it gorgeous curtains fell Of the tulip’s crimson drapery. The monarch sat on his judgment-seat, On his brow the crown imperial shone, The prisoner Fay was at his feet, And his peers were ranged around the throne. He waved his sceptre in the air, He looked around and calmly spoke; His brow was grave and his eye severe, But his voice in a softened accent broke:— VII. “Fairy! Fairy! list and mark, Thou has broke thine elfin chain, Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain— Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity In the glance of a mortal maiden’s eye; Thou hast scorned our dread decree, And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high, But well I know her sinless mind Is pure as the angel forms above, Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, Such as a spirit well might love; Fairy! had she spot or taint, Bitter had been thy punishment. Tied to the hornet’s shardy wings; Tossed on the pricks of nettles’ stings; Or seven long ages doomed to dwell With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell; Or every night to writhe and bleed Beneath the tread of the centipede; Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim, Your jailer a spider huge and grim, Amid the carrion bodies to lie, Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly: These it had been your lot to bear, Had a stain been found on the earthly fair. Now list, and mark our mild decree— Fairy, this your doom must be:— VIII. “Thou shalt seek the beach of sand Where the water bounds the elfin land, Thou shalt watch the oozy brine Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, Then dart the glistening arch below, And catch a drop from his glistening bow. The water-sprites will wield their arms, And dash around, with roar and rave, And vain are the woodland spirits’ charms, They are the imps that rule the wave. Yet trust thee in thy single might, If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, Thou shalt win the warlock fight. IX. “If the spray-bead gem be won, The stain of thy wing is washed away, But another errand must be done Ere thy crime be lost for aye; Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, Thou must reillume its spark. Mount thy steed and spur him high To the heaven’s blue canopy; And when thou seest a shooting star, Follow it fast, and follow it far—The last faint spark of its burning train Shall light the elfin lamp again. Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay; Hence! to the water-side, away!” X. The goblin marked his monarch well; He spake not, but he bowed him low, Then plucked a crimson colen bell, And turned him round in act to go. The way is long, he cannot fly, His soiled wing has lost its power, And he winds adown the mountain high, For many a sore and weary hour. Through dreary beds of tangled fern, Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, Over the grass and through the brake, Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake; Now o’er the violet’s azure flush He skips along in lightsome mood: And now he thrids the bramble-bush, Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the briar, He has swam the brook, and waded the mire, Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. He had fallen to the ground outright, For rugged and dim was his onward track, But there came a spotted toad in sight, And he laughed as he jumped upon her back; He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist, He lashed her sides with an osier thong; And now through evening’s dewy mist With leap and spring they bound along, Till the mountain’s magic verge is past, And the beach of sand is reached at last. XI. Soft and pale is the moony beam, Moveless still the glassy stream, The wave is clear, the beach is bright With snowy shells and sparkling stones; The shore-surge comes in ripples light, In murmurings faint and distant moans; And ever afar in the silence deep Is heard the splash of the sturgeon’s leap, And the bend of his graceful bow is seen— A glittering arch of silver sheen, Spanning the wave of burnished blue, And dripping with gems of the river dew. XII. The elfin cast a glance around, As he lighted down from his courser toad, Then round his breast his wings he wound, And close to the river’s brink he strode; He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Above his head his arms he threw, Then tossed a tiny curve in air, And headlong plunged in the waters blue. XIII. Up sprung the spirits of the waves, From sea-silk beds in their coral caves, With snail-plate armour snatched in haste, They speed their way through the liquid waste; Some are rapidly borne along On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong, Some on the blood-red leeches glide, Some on the stony star-fish ride, Some on the back of the lancing squab, Some on the sideling soldier-crab; And some on the jellied quarl, that flings At once a thousand streamy stings; They cut the wave with the living oar, And hurry on to the moonlight shore, To guard their realms and chase away The footsteps of the invading Fay. XIV. Fearlessly he skims along, His hope is high, and his limbs are strong, He spreads his arms like the swallow’s wing, And throws his feet with a frog-like fling; His locks of gold on the water shine, At his breast the tiny foam-beds rise, His back gleams bright above the brine, And the wake-line foam behind him lies. But the water-sprites are gathering near To check his course along the tide; Their warriors come in swift career And hem him round on every side; On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold, The quarl’s long arms are round him rolled, The prickly prong has pierced his skin, And the squab has thrown his javelin, The gritty star has rubbed him raw, And the crab has struck with his giant claw; He howls with rage and he shrieks with pain, He strikes around, but his blows are vain; Hopeless is the unequal fight, Fairy! nought is left but flight. XV. He turned him round and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beach again, He twisted over from side to side, And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide. The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And with all his might he flings his feet, But the water-sprites are round him still, To cross his path and work him ill. They bade the wave before him rise; They flung the sea-fire in his eyes, And they stunned his ears with the scallop stroke, With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak. Oh! but a weary wight was he When he reached the foot of the dogwood tree —Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, He laid him down on the sandy shore; He blessed the force of the charmed line, And he banned the water-goblins’ spite, For he saw around in the sweet moonshine Their little wee faces above the brine, Giggling and laughing with all their might At the piteous hap of the fairy wight. XVI. Soon he gathered the balsam dew From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud; Over each wound the balm he drew, And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood. The mild west wind was soft and low, It cooled the heat of his burning brow, And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, As he drank the juice of the cal’mus root; And now he treads the fatal shore As fresh and vigorous as before. XVII. Wrapped in musing stands the sprite: ’Tis the middle wane of night, His task is hard, his way is far, But he must do his errand right Ere dawning mounts her beamy car, And rolls her chariot wheels of light; And vain are the spells of fairy-land, He must work with a human hand. XVIII. He cast a saddened look around, But he felt new joy his bosom swell, When, glittering on the shadowed ground, He saw a purple mussel shell; Thither he ran, and he bent him low, He heaved at the stern, and he heaved at the bow, And he pushed her over the yielding sand, Till he came to the verge of the haunted land. She was as lovely a pleasure-boat As ever fairy had paddled in, For she glowed with purple paint without, And shone with silver pearl within; A sculler’s notch in the stern he made, An oar he shaped of the bootle-blade; Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap, And launched afar on the calm blue deep. XIX. The imps of the river yell and rave; They had no power above the wave, But they heaved the billow before the prow, And they dashed the surge against her side, And they struck her keel with jerk and blow, Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide. She wimpled about in the pale moonbeam, Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed stream; And momently athwart her track The quarl upreared his island back, And the fluttering scallop behind would float, And spatter the water about the boat; But he bailed her out with his colen-bell, And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread, While on every side like lightning fell The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. XX. Onward still he held his way, Till he came where the column of moonshine lay, And saw beneath the surface dim The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim: Around him were the goblin train— But he sculled with all his might and main, And followed wherever the sturgeon led, Till he saw him upward point his head; Then he dropped his paddle blade, And held his colen-goblet up To catch the drop in its crimson cup. XXI. With sweeping tail and quivering fin, Through the wave the sturgeon flew, And, like the heaven-shot javelin, He sprang above the waters blue. Instant as the star-fall light, He plunged him in the deep again, But left an arch of silver bright, The rainbow of the moony main. It was a strange and lovely sight To see the puny goblin there; He seemed an angel form of light, With azure wing and sunny hair, Throned on a cloud of purple fair, Circled with blue and edged with white, And sitting at the fall of even Beneath the bow of summer heaven. XXII. A moment, and its lustre fell, But ere it met the billow blue, He caught within his crimson bell, A droplet of its sparkling dew— Joy to thee, Fay! thy task is done, Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won— Cheerily ply the dripping oar, And haste away to the elfin shore. XXIII. He turns, and lo! on either side The ripples on his path divide; And the track o’er which his boat must pass Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass. Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave, With snowy arms half swelling out, While on the glossed and gleamy wave Their sea-green ringlets loosely float; They swim around with smile and song; They press the bark with pearly hand, And gently urge her course along, Toward the beach of speckled sand; And, as he lightly leaped to land, They bade adieu with nod and bow, Then gaily kissed each little hand, And dropped in the crystal deeps below. XXIV. A moment stayed the fairy there; He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer, Then spread his wings of gilded blue, And on to the elfin court he flew; As ever ye saw a bubble rise, And shine with a thousand changing dyes, Till lessening far through ether driven, It mingles with the hues of heaven; As, at the glimpse of morning pale, The lance-fly spreads his silken sail, And gleams with blending soft and bright, Till lost in the shades of fading night; So rose from earth the lovely Fay— So vanished, far in heaven away! ... Up, Fairy! quit thy chick-weed bower, The cricket has called the second hour, Twice again, and the lark will rise To kiss the streaking of the skies— Up! thy charmed armour don, Thou’lt need it ere the night be gone. XXV. He put his acorn-helmet on; It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; The corslet-plate that guarded his breast Was once the wild-bees’ golden vest; His cloak of a thousand mingled dyes, Was formed of the wings of butterflies; His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, Studs of gold on a ground of green; And the quivering lance which he brandished bright, Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. Swift he bestrode his firefly steed; He bared his blade of the bent grass blue; He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, And away like a glance of thought he flew, To skim the heavens and follow far The fiery trail of the rocket-star. XXVI. The moth-fly, as he shot in air, Crept under the leaf, and hid her there; The katy-did forgot its lay, The prowling gnat fled fast away, The fell moscheto checked his drone And folded his wings till the Fay was gone, And the wily beetle dropped his head, And fell on the ground as if he were dead; They crouched them close in the darksome shade, They quaked all o’er with awe and fear, For they had felt the blue-bent blade, And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear; Many a time on a summer’s night, When the sky was clear and the moon was bright, They had been roused from the haunted ground, By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound; They had heard the tiny bugle-horn, They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string, When the vine-twig boughs were tightly drawn, And the nettle shaft through air was borne, Feathered with down of the hum-bird’s wing. And now they deemed the courier ouphe, Some hunter sprite of the elfin ground; And they watched till they saw him mount the roof That canopies the world around; Then glad they left their covert lair, And freaked about in the midnight air. XXVII. Up to the vaulted firmament His path the firefly courser bent, And at every gallop on the wind, He flung a glittering spark behind; He flies like a feather in the blast Till the first light cloud in heaven is past, But the shapes of air have begun their work, And a drizzly mist is round him cast, He cannot see through the mantle murk, He shivers with cold, but he urges fast, Through storm and darkness, sleet, and shade, He lashes his steed, and spurs amain, For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, And flame-shot tongues around him played, And near him many a fiendish eye Glared with a fell malignity, And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, Came screaming on his startled ear. His wings are wet around his breast, The plume hangs dripping from his crest, His eyes are blurred with the lightning’s glare, And his ears are stunned with the thunder’s blare, But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew, He thrust before, and he struck behind, Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through, And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind; Howling the misty spectres flew, They rend the air with frightful cries, For he has gained the welkin blue, And the land of clouds beneath him lies. XXIX. Up to the cope careering swift In breathless motion fast, Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift, Or the sea-roc rides the blast, The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, The sphered moon is past, The earth but seems a tiny blot On a sheet of azure cast. O! it was sweet in the clear moonlight, To tread the starry plain of even, To meet the thousand eyes of night, And feel the cooling breath of heaven; But the Elfin made no stop or stay Till he came to the bank of the milky-way, Then he checked his courser’s foot, And watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. XXX. Sudden along the snowy tide That swelled to meet their footsteps’ fall, The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide, Attired in sunset’s crimson pall; Around the Fay they weave the dance, They skip before him on the plain, And one has taken his wasp-sting lance, And one upholds his bridle-rein; With warblings wild they lead him on To where through clouds of amber seen, Studded with stars, resplendent shone The palace of the sylphid queen. Its spiral columns gleaming bright Were streamers of the northern light; Its curtains’ light and lovely flush Was of the morning’s rosy blush, And the ceiling fair that rose aboon The white and feathery fleece of noon. XXXI. But oh! how fair the shape that lay Beneath a rainbow bending bright, She seemed to the entranced Fay The loveliest of the forms of light; Her mantle was the purple rolled At twilight in the west afar; ’Twas tied with threads of dawning gold, And buttoned with a sparkling star. Her face was like the lily roon That veils the vestal planet’s hue; Her eyes two beamlets from the moon, Set floating in the welkin blue. Her hair is like the sunny beam, And the diamond gems which round it gleam, Are the pure drops of dewy even That ne’er have left their native heaven. XXXII. She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite, And they leaped with smiles, for well I ween Never before in the bowers of light Had the form of an earthly Fay been seen. Long she looked in his tiny face; Long with his butterfly cloak she played; She smoothed his wings of azure lace, And handled the tassel of his blade; And as he told in accents low The story of his love and woe, She felt new pains in her bosom rise, And the tear-drop started in her eyes. And “O, sweet spirit of earth,” she cried, “Return no more to your woodland height, But ever here with me abide In the land of everlasting light! Within the fleecy drift we’ll lie, We’ll hang upon the rainbow’s rim, And all the jewels of the sky Around thy brow shall brightly beam! And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream That rolls its whitening foam aboon, And ride upon the lightning’s gleam, And dance upon the orbéd moon! We’ll sit within the Pleiad ring, We’ll rest on Orion’s starry belt, And I will bid my sylphs to sing The song that makes the dew-mist melt; Their harps are of the umber shade That hides the blush of waking day, And every gleamy string is made Of silvery moonshine’s lengthened ray; And thou shalt pillow on my breast While heavenly breathings float around, And, with the sylphs of ether blest, Forget the joys of fairy ground.” XXXIII. She was lovely and fair to see, And the Elfin’s heart beat fitfully; But lovelier far, and still more fair, The earthly form imprinted there; Nought he saw in the heavens above Was half so dear as his mortal love, For he thought upon her looks so meek, And he thought of the light flush on her cheek; Never again might he bask and lie On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye, But in his dreams her form to see, To clasp her in his revery, To think upon his virgin bride Was worth all heaven and earth beside. XXXIV. “Lady,” he cried, “I have sworn to-night On the word of a fairy knight, To do my sentence-task aright; My honour scarce is free from stain, I may not soil its snows again; Betide me weal, betide me woe, Its mandate must be answered now.” Her bosom heaved with many a sigh, The tear was in her drooping eye; But she led him to the palace gate, And called the sylphs who hovered there, And bade them fly and bring him straight Of clouds condensed a sable car. With charm and spell she blessed it there, From all the fields of upper air; Then round him cast the shadowy shroud, And tied his steed behind the cloud; And pressed his hand as she bade him fly Far to the verge of the northern sky, For by its wan and wavering light There was a star would fall to-night. XXXV. Borne afar on the wings of the blast, Northward away, he speeds him fast, And his courser follows the cloudy wain Till the hoof strokes fall like pattering rain. The clouds roll backward as he flies, Each flickering star behind him lies, And he has reached the northern plain, And backed his firefly steed again, Ready to follow in its flight The streaming of the rocket-light. XXXVI. The star is yet in the vault of heaven, But it rocks in the summer gale; And now ’tis fitful and uneven, And now ’tis deadly pale; And now ’tis wrapped in sulphur smoke, And quenchéd is its rayless beam, And now with a rattling thunder-stroke It bursts in flash and flame. As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance That the storm-spirit flings from high, The star-shot flew o’er the welkin blue, As it fell from the sheeted sky. As swift as the wind in its trail behind The elfin gallops along, The fiends of the cloud are bellowing loud, But the sylphid charm is strong; He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire, While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze; He watches each flake till its sparks expire, And rides in the light of its rays. But he drove his steed to the lightning’s speed, And caught a glimmering spark; Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, And sped through the midnight dark. ... Ouphe and goblin! imp and sprite! Elf of eve! and starry Fay! Ye that love the moon’s soft light, Hither—hither wend your way; Twine ye in a jocund ring, Sing and trip it merrily, Hand to hand, and wing to wing, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. Hail the wanderer again, With dance and song, and lute and lyre, Pure his wing and strong his chain, And doubly bright his fairy fire. Twine ye in an airy round, Brush the dew and print the lea; Skip and gambol, hop and bound, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. The beetle guards our holy ground, He flies about this haunted place, And if mortal there be found, He hums in his ears and flaps his face: The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay, The owlet’s eyes our lanterns be; Thus we sing, and dance, and play, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. But hark! from tower on tree-top high, The sentry elf his call has made, A streak is in the Eastern sky, Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade! The hill-tops gleam in morning’s spring, The skylark shakes his dappled wing, The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn, The cock has crowed, and the Fays are gone.