Some soft as drowsy finches sung:“Oh sweet, ye Fays, our lawns amongTo fleet fair days, from dawn’s flame sprungTill night star-bright,” they twittered;While others kept a mien more grave,For somewhat still their minds misgaveThat care so blithe an end should haveWhich long their lives embittered.But all, thro’ hopes and fears, watched fainTo see red light the east distain,That Oberon should rouse againFrom slumbers gramarie-haunted;For then they must behold a signIf verily to that spell benignThe Bad Brown Witch’s power malignHad yielded, quelled and daunted.And ’mid the mists of morning-tideThronged to the Palace court they hied;And, lo, the massy door flung wide,And Oberon thro’ it pacing.Sad was his look, as if he grievedOf long-deluding hope bereaved,Or fairest myth, too much believed,Truth-touched with finger effacing.Forth paced he to as mute a hushAs falls upon the twittering bushWhence titmice watch the missel-thrush,Their motley tyrant, coming;For never a Fay durst move, in fearLest haply so should fail his earThe words he held his breath to hearAbove his heart’s thick drumming.Nor any sound from earth or skyThat silence flawed, save if therebyA restive Earwig, stalled anigh,Stamped foot and tugged at tether;Or shrilled a sharper note than thatWhere overhead a gaunt-limbed Gnat,Perched on a neighbouring roof-ridge, satAnd twirled lean legs together.“Strange tidings unto you I bring,My faithful Fays,” so spake the King“For in this night a wondrous thingWas shown me as I slumbered;A wondrous thing and piteous both,For against itself my heart grows wrothTo think how I have abused your troth,And worked you woes unnumbered.“Yea, bitter ’tis, since now my brainNo longer reels thro’ sorcery’s bane,To trace these tracks of labour vain,This witless work to gaze on;Yon cumbrous heaps of stones and stocksSeem filled for me with flouts and mocks,As if all round on boards and blocksI read my folly’s blazon.“Yet bitterer far to feel the whileThat every huge-erected pileRose inch by inch with drudgery vileFrom Elfin race exacted.And who your freedom’s traitorous thief?Ah, who but I, your chosen chief?Nay, think not I, but frenzy briefOf mind with charms distracted.“And now the night-sent sign, that snapsThis witch-knot black, the mist unwrapsWherein Fate hid our future haps,And me its portent teacheth’Tis fit that yet one further taskI of your tried allegiance ask—I truly; ’tis no warlock’s maskThat here your aid beseecheth:“I charge you that forthright ye hasteTo lay this cursëd city waste;Let wall be breached, and site erased,Pluck down both roof and rafter;Leave not a stone on stone to stand;Ne’er shall your monarch, by this hand!Of Faery folk such toils demandIn all the ages after.”Thereat uprose a jubilant shoutFrom all who hearkened round about,For so they knew beyond a doubtKing Oberon’s craze departed.“Swift be the King’s command obeyed,Then hence” (they cried), “to greenwood glade,Where Elves, as liked them best estrayed,Whilom have ranged light-hearted.”But Oberon, still of mien deject,Their strain exultant heard and checkedWith lifted palm and pale aspect,That motioned silence thro’ them.
Some soft as drowsy finches sung:“Oh sweet, ye Fays, our lawns amongTo fleet fair days, from dawn’s flame sprungTill night star-bright,” they twittered;While others kept a mien more grave,For somewhat still their minds misgaveThat care so blithe an end should haveWhich long their lives embittered.But all, thro’ hopes and fears, watched fainTo see red light the east distain,That Oberon should rouse againFrom slumbers gramarie-haunted;For then they must behold a signIf verily to that spell benignThe Bad Brown Witch’s power malignHad yielded, quelled and daunted.And ’mid the mists of morning-tideThronged to the Palace court they hied;And, lo, the massy door flung wide,And Oberon thro’ it pacing.Sad was his look, as if he grievedOf long-deluding hope bereaved,Or fairest myth, too much believed,Truth-touched with finger effacing.Forth paced he to as mute a hushAs falls upon the twittering bushWhence titmice watch the missel-thrush,Their motley tyrant, coming;For never a Fay durst move, in fearLest haply so should fail his earThe words he held his breath to hearAbove his heart’s thick drumming.Nor any sound from earth or skyThat silence flawed, save if therebyA restive Earwig, stalled anigh,Stamped foot and tugged at tether;Or shrilled a sharper note than thatWhere overhead a gaunt-limbed Gnat,Perched on a neighbouring roof-ridge, satAnd twirled lean legs together.“Strange tidings unto you I bring,My faithful Fays,” so spake the King“For in this night a wondrous thingWas shown me as I slumbered;A wondrous thing and piteous both,For against itself my heart grows wrothTo think how I have abused your troth,And worked you woes unnumbered.“Yea, bitter ’tis, since now my brainNo longer reels thro’ sorcery’s bane,To trace these tracks of labour vain,This witless work to gaze on;Yon cumbrous heaps of stones and stocksSeem filled for me with flouts and mocks,As if all round on boards and blocksI read my folly’s blazon.“Yet bitterer far to feel the whileThat every huge-erected pileRose inch by inch with drudgery vileFrom Elfin race exacted.And who your freedom’s traitorous thief?Ah, who but I, your chosen chief?Nay, think not I, but frenzy briefOf mind with charms distracted.“And now the night-sent sign, that snapsThis witch-knot black, the mist unwrapsWherein Fate hid our future haps,And me its portent teacheth’Tis fit that yet one further taskI of your tried allegiance ask—I truly; ’tis no warlock’s maskThat here your aid beseecheth:“I charge you that forthright ye hasteTo lay this cursëd city waste;Let wall be breached, and site erased,Pluck down both roof and rafter;Leave not a stone on stone to stand;Ne’er shall your monarch, by this hand!Of Faery folk such toils demandIn all the ages after.”Thereat uprose a jubilant shoutFrom all who hearkened round about,For so they knew beyond a doubtKing Oberon’s craze departed.“Swift be the King’s command obeyed,Then hence” (they cried), “to greenwood glade,Where Elves, as liked them best estrayed,Whilom have ranged light-hearted.”But Oberon, still of mien deject,Their strain exultant heard and checkedWith lifted palm and pale aspect,That motioned silence thro’ them.
Some soft as drowsy finches sung:“Oh sweet, ye Fays, our lawns amongTo fleet fair days, from dawn’s flame sprungTill night star-bright,” they twittered;While others kept a mien more grave,For somewhat still their minds misgaveThat care so blithe an end should haveWhich long their lives embittered.
But all, thro’ hopes and fears, watched fainTo see red light the east distain,That Oberon should rouse againFrom slumbers gramarie-haunted;For then they must behold a signIf verily to that spell benignThe Bad Brown Witch’s power malignHad yielded, quelled and daunted.
And ’mid the mists of morning-tideThronged to the Palace court they hied;And, lo, the massy door flung wide,And Oberon thro’ it pacing.Sad was his look, as if he grievedOf long-deluding hope bereaved,Or fairest myth, too much believed,Truth-touched with finger effacing.
Forth paced he to as mute a hushAs falls upon the twittering bushWhence titmice watch the missel-thrush,Their motley tyrant, coming;For never a Fay durst move, in fearLest haply so should fail his earThe words he held his breath to hearAbove his heart’s thick drumming.
Nor any sound from earth or skyThat silence flawed, save if therebyA restive Earwig, stalled anigh,Stamped foot and tugged at tether;Or shrilled a sharper note than thatWhere overhead a gaunt-limbed Gnat,Perched on a neighbouring roof-ridge, satAnd twirled lean legs together.
“Strange tidings unto you I bring,My faithful Fays,” so spake the King“For in this night a wondrous thingWas shown me as I slumbered;A wondrous thing and piteous both,For against itself my heart grows wrothTo think how I have abused your troth,And worked you woes unnumbered.
“Yea, bitter ’tis, since now my brainNo longer reels thro’ sorcery’s bane,To trace these tracks of labour vain,This witless work to gaze on;Yon cumbrous heaps of stones and stocksSeem filled for me with flouts and mocks,As if all round on boards and blocksI read my folly’s blazon.
“Yet bitterer far to feel the whileThat every huge-erected pileRose inch by inch with drudgery vileFrom Elfin race exacted.And who your freedom’s traitorous thief?Ah, who but I, your chosen chief?Nay, think not I, but frenzy briefOf mind with charms distracted.
“And now the night-sent sign, that snapsThis witch-knot black, the mist unwrapsWherein Fate hid our future haps,And me its portent teacheth’Tis fit that yet one further taskI of your tried allegiance ask—I truly; ’tis no warlock’s maskThat here your aid beseecheth:
“I charge you that forthright ye hasteTo lay this cursëd city waste;Let wall be breached, and site erased,Pluck down both roof and rafter;Leave not a stone on stone to stand;Ne’er shall your monarch, by this hand!Of Faery folk such toils demandIn all the ages after.”
Thereat uprose a jubilant shoutFrom all who hearkened round about,For so they knew beyond a doubtKing Oberon’s craze departed.“Swift be the King’s command obeyed,Then hence” (they cried), “to greenwood glade,Where Elves, as liked them best estrayed,Whilom have ranged light-hearted.”
But Oberon, still of mien deject,Their strain exultant heard and checkedWith lifted palm and pale aspect,That motioned silence thro’ them.
Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.
Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.
Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.
“Not so,” spake he in accents grave,“No more for us the deep woods wave,Tho’ dear the home their greenery gave,Tho’ long our hearts may rue them;“Tho’ fain were I, if this might be,Down yon cool shades all care to flee,And very fain would watch your gleeWax as in good days golden—For, lo, the dream, whose power undidThat ill witch-charm, a secret hid,Which hath, while fouler harm it rid,So fair a hope withholden.“Mark well, ye Fays: In years long fled,When Earthland first felt Elfin tread—But whence, or how, or why we sped,I wot our wisest knows not—The Fate who did our journeyings guideNe’er destined that, whate’er betide,This ball must aye our dwelling bide,A prison whose doors unclose not.“That weird-night’s vision warns me so—Had meshed us soon in webs of woe,Whence Fate hath willed we free should go,Long since to me confidingThe word whereby, if need befal,Aërial chariots I may call,Mage-fashioned, meet to waft us allUp ways heaven’s vault dividing.“Yet here so long, so blithe, we dwelled,So dear our haunts by flood and feld,That evermore I hoped and heldSuch word need ne’er be spoken,Now from me wrung by darkening doom,As menace-murk of thunder-gloomBids shun hurled bolt and bellowing boomEre yet the storm hath broken.“No plainer speech my lips dare frame;But, soothly, had ye seen the same,Each idle moment would ye blameThat us from flight doth sever,Not loitering o’er what rests to doEre hence we float up yonder blue,Self-exiled from the paths we knew—For ever and for ever.”I trow that every Fay who heardWas grieved at heart by Oberon’s word,Yet none lamented, none demurred,Or against his will besought him;For in his steadfast-mournful eyneThey could some fatal truth divine,Tho’ none might know what boding signTo stern resolve had wrought him.And ’tis a riddle still ungues’tWhat vision from that mirror’s breastWas flashed athwart King Oberon’s rest,So filled with fear and wonder.Some say that unto him were shownDays when round earth, once green and lone,Shall whirl with cities all o’ergrown,No Elf-ring’s circle asunder;And say he saw or ever he wokeHigh heaven blurred out with riftless smoke,Where men ground down ’neath labour’s yokeToil to the mad wheel’s thunder;World weeded o’er from prime to primeWith want, and woe, and care, and crime,Unmeet to tell in Faery rime,That halts such burden under.Howbeit, the Elves in eager crowdMade haste to raze those mansions proud;Anon the rill-cliffs echoed loudTo crash of timbers falling,As toppling towers at onslaught rudeReeled down in wrack, and street-rows strewedTheir swift-wrought ruin, whence captives shrewdSlipped homeward, warily crawling.Till soon, if wanderer chanced to fareAcross that earth-patch smooth and bare,He spied no Elfin doings there,And only heard a rustleWhere shrivelled leaves their serest brownThro’ Autumn mists had drifted down.This was the end of Elfintown,Built with such coil and bustle.Then Oberon spake the word of mightThat set the enchanted cars in sight;But lore I lack to tell aright
“Not so,” spake he in accents grave,“No more for us the deep woods wave,Tho’ dear the home their greenery gave,Tho’ long our hearts may rue them;“Tho’ fain were I, if this might be,Down yon cool shades all care to flee,And very fain would watch your gleeWax as in good days golden—For, lo, the dream, whose power undidThat ill witch-charm, a secret hid,Which hath, while fouler harm it rid,So fair a hope withholden.“Mark well, ye Fays: In years long fled,When Earthland first felt Elfin tread—But whence, or how, or why we sped,I wot our wisest knows not—The Fate who did our journeyings guideNe’er destined that, whate’er betide,This ball must aye our dwelling bide,A prison whose doors unclose not.“That weird-night’s vision warns me so—Had meshed us soon in webs of woe,Whence Fate hath willed we free should go,Long since to me confidingThe word whereby, if need befal,Aërial chariots I may call,Mage-fashioned, meet to waft us allUp ways heaven’s vault dividing.“Yet here so long, so blithe, we dwelled,So dear our haunts by flood and feld,That evermore I hoped and heldSuch word need ne’er be spoken,Now from me wrung by darkening doom,As menace-murk of thunder-gloomBids shun hurled bolt and bellowing boomEre yet the storm hath broken.“No plainer speech my lips dare frame;But, soothly, had ye seen the same,Each idle moment would ye blameThat us from flight doth sever,Not loitering o’er what rests to doEre hence we float up yonder blue,Self-exiled from the paths we knew—For ever and for ever.”I trow that every Fay who heardWas grieved at heart by Oberon’s word,Yet none lamented, none demurred,Or against his will besought him;For in his steadfast-mournful eyneThey could some fatal truth divine,Tho’ none might know what boding signTo stern resolve had wrought him.And ’tis a riddle still ungues’tWhat vision from that mirror’s breastWas flashed athwart King Oberon’s rest,So filled with fear and wonder.Some say that unto him were shownDays when round earth, once green and lone,Shall whirl with cities all o’ergrown,No Elf-ring’s circle asunder;And say he saw or ever he wokeHigh heaven blurred out with riftless smoke,Where men ground down ’neath labour’s yokeToil to the mad wheel’s thunder;World weeded o’er from prime to primeWith want, and woe, and care, and crime,Unmeet to tell in Faery rime,That halts such burden under.Howbeit, the Elves in eager crowdMade haste to raze those mansions proud;Anon the rill-cliffs echoed loudTo crash of timbers falling,As toppling towers at onslaught rudeReeled down in wrack, and street-rows strewedTheir swift-wrought ruin, whence captives shrewdSlipped homeward, warily crawling.Till soon, if wanderer chanced to fareAcross that earth-patch smooth and bare,He spied no Elfin doings there,And only heard a rustleWhere shrivelled leaves their serest brownThro’ Autumn mists had drifted down.This was the end of Elfintown,Built with such coil and bustle.Then Oberon spake the word of mightThat set the enchanted cars in sight;But lore I lack to tell aright
“Not so,” spake he in accents grave,“No more for us the deep woods wave,Tho’ dear the home their greenery gave,Tho’ long our hearts may rue them;
“Tho’ fain were I, if this might be,Down yon cool shades all care to flee,And very fain would watch your gleeWax as in good days golden—For, lo, the dream, whose power undidThat ill witch-charm, a secret hid,Which hath, while fouler harm it rid,So fair a hope withholden.
“Mark well, ye Fays: In years long fled,When Earthland first felt Elfin tread—But whence, or how, or why we sped,I wot our wisest knows not—The Fate who did our journeyings guideNe’er destined that, whate’er betide,This ball must aye our dwelling bide,A prison whose doors unclose not.
“That weird-night’s vision warns me so—Had meshed us soon in webs of woe,Whence Fate hath willed we free should go,Long since to me confidingThe word whereby, if need befal,Aërial chariots I may call,Mage-fashioned, meet to waft us allUp ways heaven’s vault dividing.
“Yet here so long, so blithe, we dwelled,So dear our haunts by flood and feld,That evermore I hoped and heldSuch word need ne’er be spoken,Now from me wrung by darkening doom,As menace-murk of thunder-gloomBids shun hurled bolt and bellowing boomEre yet the storm hath broken.
“No plainer speech my lips dare frame;But, soothly, had ye seen the same,Each idle moment would ye blameThat us from flight doth sever,Not loitering o’er what rests to doEre hence we float up yonder blue,Self-exiled from the paths we knew—For ever and for ever.”
I trow that every Fay who heardWas grieved at heart by Oberon’s word,Yet none lamented, none demurred,Or against his will besought him;For in his steadfast-mournful eyneThey could some fatal truth divine,Tho’ none might know what boding signTo stern resolve had wrought him.
And ’tis a riddle still ungues’tWhat vision from that mirror’s breastWas flashed athwart King Oberon’s rest,So filled with fear and wonder.Some say that unto him were shownDays when round earth, once green and lone,Shall whirl with cities all o’ergrown,No Elf-ring’s circle asunder;And say he saw or ever he wokeHigh heaven blurred out with riftless smoke,Where men ground down ’neath labour’s yokeToil to the mad wheel’s thunder;World weeded o’er from prime to primeWith want, and woe, and care, and crime,Unmeet to tell in Faery rime,That halts such burden under.
Howbeit, the Elves in eager crowdMade haste to raze those mansions proud;Anon the rill-cliffs echoed loudTo crash of timbers falling,As toppling towers at onslaught rudeReeled down in wrack, and street-rows strewedTheir swift-wrought ruin, whence captives shrewdSlipped homeward, warily crawling.
Till soon, if wanderer chanced to fareAcross that earth-patch smooth and bare,He spied no Elfin doings there,And only heard a rustleWhere shrivelled leaves their serest brownThro’ Autumn mists had drifted down.This was the end of Elfintown,Built with such coil and bustle.
Then Oberon spake the word of mightThat set the enchanted cars in sight;But lore I lack to tell aright
Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.
Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.
Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.
Where these had waited hidden.Perchance the clear airs round us rolledIn secret cells did them enfold,Like evening dew that none beholdTill to the sward ’tis slidden.And who can say what wizardiseHad fashioned them in marvellous wise,And given them power to stoop and riseMore high than thought hath travelled?Somewhat of cloud their frames consist,But more of meteor’s luminous mist,All girt with strands of seven-hued twistFrom rainbow’s verge unravelled.’Tis said, and I believe it well,That whoso mounts their magic sell,Goes, if he list, invisibleBeneath the broadest noonlight;That virtue comes of Faery-fern,Lone-lived where hill-slopes starward turnThro’ frore night hours that bid it burnFlame-fronded in the moonlight;For this holds true—too true, alas!—The sky that eve was clear as glass,Yet no man saw the Faeries passWhere azure pathways glisten;And true it is—too true, ay me—That nevermore on lawn or leaShall mortal man a Faery see,Tho’ long he look and listen.Only the twilit woods amongA wild-winged breeze hath sometimes flungDim echoes borne from strains soft-sungBeyond sky-reaches hollow;Still further, fainter up the height,Receding past the deep-zoned night—Far chant of Fays who lead that flight,Faint call of Fays who follow:(Fays following.) Red-rose mists o’erdriftMoth-moon’s glimmering white,Lit by sheen-silled westBarred with fiery bar;Fleeting, following swift,Whither across the nightSeek we bourne of rest?(Fays leading.) Afar.(Fays following.) Vailing crest on crestDown the shadowy height,Earth with shores and seasDropt, a dwindling gleam.Dusk, and bowery nest,Dawn, and dells dew-bright,What shall bide of these?(Fays leading.) A dream.(Fays following.) Fled, ah fled, our sight.Yea, but thrills of fireThrobbed adown yon deep,Faint and very farWho shall rede aright?Say, what wafts us nigher,Beckoning up the steep?(Fays leading.) A star.(Fays following.) List, a star! a star!Oh, our goal of light!Yet the winged shades sweep,Yet the void looms vast.Weary our wild dreams are:When shall cease our flightSoft on shores of sleep?(Fays leading.) At last.
Where these had waited hidden.Perchance the clear airs round us rolledIn secret cells did them enfold,Like evening dew that none beholdTill to the sward ’tis slidden.And who can say what wizardiseHad fashioned them in marvellous wise,And given them power to stoop and riseMore high than thought hath travelled?Somewhat of cloud their frames consist,But more of meteor’s luminous mist,All girt with strands of seven-hued twistFrom rainbow’s verge unravelled.’Tis said, and I believe it well,That whoso mounts their magic sell,Goes, if he list, invisibleBeneath the broadest noonlight;That virtue comes of Faery-fern,Lone-lived where hill-slopes starward turnThro’ frore night hours that bid it burnFlame-fronded in the moonlight;For this holds true—too true, alas!—The sky that eve was clear as glass,Yet no man saw the Faeries passWhere azure pathways glisten;And true it is—too true, ay me—That nevermore on lawn or leaShall mortal man a Faery see,Tho’ long he look and listen.Only the twilit woods amongA wild-winged breeze hath sometimes flungDim echoes borne from strains soft-sungBeyond sky-reaches hollow;Still further, fainter up the height,Receding past the deep-zoned night—Far chant of Fays who lead that flight,Faint call of Fays who follow:(Fays following.) Red-rose mists o’erdriftMoth-moon’s glimmering white,Lit by sheen-silled westBarred with fiery bar;Fleeting, following swift,Whither across the nightSeek we bourne of rest?(Fays leading.) Afar.(Fays following.) Vailing crest on crestDown the shadowy height,Earth with shores and seasDropt, a dwindling gleam.Dusk, and bowery nest,Dawn, and dells dew-bright,What shall bide of these?(Fays leading.) A dream.(Fays following.) Fled, ah fled, our sight.Yea, but thrills of fireThrobbed adown yon deep,Faint and very farWho shall rede aright?Say, what wafts us nigher,Beckoning up the steep?(Fays leading.) A star.(Fays following.) List, a star! a star!Oh, our goal of light!Yet the winged shades sweep,Yet the void looms vast.Weary our wild dreams are:When shall cease our flightSoft on shores of sleep?(Fays leading.) At last.
Where these had waited hidden.Perchance the clear airs round us rolledIn secret cells did them enfold,Like evening dew that none beholdTill to the sward ’tis slidden.
And who can say what wizardiseHad fashioned them in marvellous wise,And given them power to stoop and riseMore high than thought hath travelled?Somewhat of cloud their frames consist,But more of meteor’s luminous mist,All girt with strands of seven-hued twistFrom rainbow’s verge unravelled.
’Tis said, and I believe it well,That whoso mounts their magic sell,Goes, if he list, invisibleBeneath the broadest noonlight;That virtue comes of Faery-fern,Lone-lived where hill-slopes starward turnThro’ frore night hours that bid it burnFlame-fronded in the moonlight;
For this holds true—too true, alas!—The sky that eve was clear as glass,Yet no man saw the Faeries passWhere azure pathways glisten;And true it is—too true, ay me—That nevermore on lawn or leaShall mortal man a Faery see,Tho’ long he look and listen.
Only the twilit woods amongA wild-winged breeze hath sometimes flungDim echoes borne from strains soft-sungBeyond sky-reaches hollow;Still further, fainter up the height,Receding past the deep-zoned night—Far chant of Fays who lead that flight,Faint call of Fays who follow:
(Fays following.) Red-rose mists o’erdriftMoth-moon’s glimmering white,Lit by sheen-silled westBarred with fiery bar;Fleeting, following swift,Whither across the nightSeek we bourne of rest?(Fays leading.) Afar.
(Fays following.) Vailing crest on crestDown the shadowy height,Earth with shores and seasDropt, a dwindling gleam.Dusk, and bowery nest,Dawn, and dells dew-bright,What shall bide of these?(Fays leading.) A dream.
(Fays following.) Fled, ah fled, our sight.Yea, but thrills of fireThrobbed adown yon deep,Faint and very farWho shall rede aright?Say, what wafts us nigher,Beckoning up the steep?(Fays leading.) A star.
(Fays following.) List, a star! a star!Oh, our goal of light!Yet the winged shades sweep,Yet the void looms vast.Weary our wild dreams are:When shall cease our flightSoft on shores of sleep?(Fays leading.) At last.
[The image of the book's back cover is unavailable.]