{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_67883/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_67883","id":"gutenberg_67883","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67883","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Fairy poetry"],"text":"[Illustration:\n\n                              THE END OF\n                               ELFINTOWN\n\n                                  BY\n                              JANE BARLOW\n                            ILLUSTRATED BY\n                           LAURENCE HOUSMAN\n\n                                LONDON\n                            MACMILLAN & CO.\n                                 1894]\n\n\n\n\n                           I.--THE BUILDING\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n    Now would that he who knew so well\n    Of fierce Pigwiggin\u2019s armour fell,\n    And angered Oberon\u2019s wrath, to tell,\n    And how their feud was ended,\n    Yea, would that he, ere hence he sped,\n    Had writ in gold, as I in lead,\n    For men to learn why Fays be fled,\n    And whitherward they wended.\n\n      It hapt in ages far agone\n    A harmful spell was cast upon\n    That Elfin King, great Oberon,\n    And teen and trouble brought him;\n    And albeit none can track the skill\n    That wove the charm full-fraught with ill,\n    We wot the Bad Brown Witch\u2019s will\n    Such perilous mischief wrought him.\n\n    For she by magic showed him clear,\n    In mirroring crystal of her mere,\n    A wondrous Town; \u2019twas many a year\n    Ere yet its like were builded;\n    But thro\u2019 her might of gramarie\n    She made the Elfin Prince to see\n    The grandest that on earth should be,\n    And most by wealth-wand gilded.\n\n    \u2019Twas shrunk, I trow, to seemly size\n    For straiter range of Elfin eyes,\n    But else it had its mortal guise,\n    No sight, no stir omitted,\n    With tower and temple, and mart and street,\n    And prison and palace, all complete,\n    And whirr of wheels, and hurry of feet\n    That hither thither flitted.\n\n      Whereon the King much-marvelling gazed,\n    Admiring more, and more amazed,\n    Till, when the Witch its image razed,\n    Still in his heart it tarried,\n    (A secret that he might not tell),\n    And home unto his woodland dell\n    That city\u2019s vision, like a spell,\n    O\u2019er all his thoughts he carried.\n\n    And since that day he dwelled no more\n    In joyance blithe as theretofore,\n    But sadly aye himself he bore\n    Amid the sunniest shining;\n    Nor quivering beam, nor fluttering breeze,\n    Nor flickering shade, his sense could please;\n    He dreamed of rarer things than these,\n    And for their lack was pining.\n\n    From harebell\u2019s tent to bindweed\u2019s hall,\n    From cup-moss low to foxglove tall,\n    He shifted oft his couch withal,\n    Yet still would chide his chamber,\n    And said the glowworm-lamps burned dim,\n    And slurred the dew at rose-bud\u2019s rim;\n    The kingcup\u2019s gold looked dull to him,\n    And cowslip\u2019s gawds of amber.\n\n      Hence, on his discontents to brood,\n    He sat one eve in sorry mood,\n    While whispering Elves around him stood,\n    And said \u2019twas strange, \u2019twas pity;\n    When, sudden, light as leaf on spray,\n    He leaped and laughed: \u201cBy Flowers o\u2019 May,\n    Mine Elves,\u201d quoth he, \u201cour own essay\n    Shall build as fair a city.\u201d\n\n    And eagerly at morrow\u2019s light\n    He hasted forth to choose a site,\n    Whereon should now be reared aright\n    Strong walls and storeys stately.\n    He found it soon: an earth-plot bare\n    Beyond an elm\u2019s droop; six yards square;\n    No sod, no moss, no weed, throve there,\n    Which pleased King Oberon greatly.\n\n      \u201cFor thro\u2019 those streets,\u201d said he, \u201cwas seen\n    No blade of grass, or glint of green,\n    But pavements ferly smooth and clean;\n    Small fear of footsteps tripping.\u201d\n    Not far away a brook bobbed by:\n    \u201cFrom thence,\u201d he said, \u201cwe may supply\n    Our waterworks; and soothly I\n    Grow weary of dew-drop sipping.\u201d\n\n    Then hied him home amain, and shook\n    His drowsy Fays from every nook,\n    And bade them follow with him, and look\n    Where splendour should be springing;\n    And ere the earliest star blinked down\n    Upon that earth-patch bare and brown,\n    The first white pebble of Elfintown\n    He laid \u2019mid cheers loud-ringing.\n\n      And now, indeed, industrious days\n    Be risen upon the land of Fays,\n    Where every liege his Lord obeys,\n    And toils beside his neighbour.\n    They plied them late, they plied them soon,\n    In dew of dawn, thro\u2019 drowth of noon,\n    Nay, oft the wan light of a moon\n    Swam in to lamp their labour.\n\n    No more round Faery-ring they swept\n    In mazy measures ere they slept;\n    But, silent, to his lair each crept,\n    Limb wearied, sinews aching.\n    No more they couched in campion\u2019s cell,\n    Or slumbered soft in lily-bell;\n    Prone on the ground they flung pell-mell,\n    Brief rest from task-work taking.\n\n      Some kneaded stubborn clay for bricks,\n\n[Illustration:\n\n_Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co._]\n\n    With shells\u2019 jagged splints some sawed at sticks,\n    Some delved the soil with brier-thorn picks\n    To helves of flax-haulm fitted;\n    On business more than one can name\n    From dawn to dusk they went and came;\n    None durst his share refuse for shame,\n    Nor would with sloth be twitted.\n\n    And brutish things, that creep and crawl\n    Stingless and strong, they did enthrall\n    To burdens bear, and pull and haul,\n    Along the highways goaded;\n    There might ye see the Beetle black\n    Come lumbering down the dusty track,\n    With pebble-blocks piled on his back,\n    Or mossy twig-beams loaded.\n\n    And oft they ponderous weights would heap\n    On slow-paced Slugs, who, half-asleep,\n    For many a tedious yard must creep,\n    Their drivers by them trudging;\n    Even nimbler Ants they made submit\n    To bridle and curb of cobweb knit,\n    Unruly teams, that plunged and bit,\n    Against the yoke sore grudging.\n\n      Thus, sped by toil of serf and Fay,\n    The work lagged nowise; day by day\n    New mansions rose in rich array\n    Beside the paven causey;\n    Their like was ne\u2019er in Elfland known,\n    Some built of brick, and some of stone,\n    And roofed with mica slabs that shone,\n    And glazed with gnat-wings gauzy.\n\n    But, fairest amongst all these descried,\n    Stood in the middle edified\n    The Palace where the King should bide,\n    Well worthy a royal master;\n    Of whitest graile its walls, or stained\n    With delicate streaks like marble veined,\n    From brook-bank quarries drawn, fine-grained,\n    And pure as alabaster.\n\n      I dare not say how many a line\n    It towered aloft, nor words are mine\n    To tell what fancies Faery-fine\n    Did hall and chamber garnish,\n    All carpeted with hand-spun moss,\n    Or laurel-leaf tight strained across,\n    That flooring made of smoother gloss\n    Than e\u2019er had wax or varnish.\n\n      With couch, and stool, and cushion strown\n    Of ash-bud\u2019s silk or thistle\u2019s down;\n    Their rugs, fluffed fells of field-mice brown,\n    For tiger\u2019s skin and panther\u2019s.\n    Their curtains came from spider-looms,\n    Their walls were hung with moths\u2019 soft plumes;\n    Much gold-dust glittered thro\u2019 the rooms,\n    From stamens brushed and anthers.\n\n    A midge-flight from the Palace gate,\n    (Scroll-work of skeleton beech-leaf) straight\n    A Fane they reared that matched in state\n\n[Illustration:\n\n_Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co._]\n\n    Famed Athens or Eleusis;\n    Such beauty frieze and cornice lent,\n    Entablature and pediment;\n    In double row tall columns went\n    Around it, as their use is.\n\n    Each from one slab of rush\u2019s pith\n    Hewn, like majestic monolith,\n    The architrave to prop, therewith\n    The massy roof upholding.\n    Indoors \u2019twas all adusk and chill;\n    No Fay but felt a solemn thrill\n    To pace its cloistered twilight still\n    Mysterious glooms enfolding.\n\n      Then from the brook with trenching spade\n    Smooth dandelion tubes they laid,\n    And hemlock pipes that bitter made\n    The water thro\u2019 them tasted;\n    Hence, some fastidious Fays would go\n    With acorn barrels to and fro,\n    Till this the King forbade, lest so\n    Their labour seem but wasted.\n\n      Herein alone his fortune frowned:\n    That in all Fayland was not found\n    The fire-snake, lured from underground\n    As even-dusk grows dimmer;\n    This lacked, they did for lamp-posts choose\n    Stout daisy-stems, and glowworms use,\n    Chained there all night with knot and noose,\n    To make a goodly glimmer.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n_Copyright by Macmillan & Co. 1894_]\n\n      But who so fain as Oberon,\n    That watched as every morn outshone\n    His peerless city waxing on,\n    While in its growth he gloried?\n    Triumphant joy it gave the King\n    To see each straw-plank scaffolding\n    Pulled down piecemeal, as walls upspring,\n    Wide-windowed, many-storied.\n\n    And ever his stirring Elves amid\n    He walked, and spied on all they did,\n    And toilers praised, and idlers chid,\n    With earnest speech and eager;\n    Till, swift as blades in April-time\n    Thro\u2019 clod-cracks pricked, did skyward climb\n    Roof crowding roof; whereof my rime\n    Keeps but a record meagre.\n\n      And now ye might, in sooth, have thought,\n    Seeing all to such perfection wrought,\n    That Fays might well repose have sought,\n    From toil returned to pleasure.\n    Howbeit, not so their King inclined,\n    For fast as sped the works designed,\n    Fresh plans were shapen in his mind,\n    That wist not bound or measure.\n\n      Oft as from Palace towers he eyed\n    That spacious plain, as oft he sighed\n    To see it planted far and wide\n    With street-rows thick as stubble.\n    Nor seldom flaws of wind and rain,\n    Uplifting roof, and shattering pane,\n    That needs must be restored again,\n    Did Elfin labours double.\n\n      Thus, by the malice of the skies,\n    And tasks their King would still devise,\n    The Fays beheld new toils arise\n    To bar their hope of resting;\n    As he who from the strand hath swum,\n    While in his ear the surges hum,\n    Sees evermore to meet him come\n    White flocks of billows cresting.\n\n    Which when at last they clearly knew,\n    Deep discontent upon them grew,\n    Till scarce a Fay did timber hew,\n    Or piled up clay or pebble,\n    Or hoisted load with strain and heft,\n    Or grained a door with fingers deft\n    And listless thoughts, but, hope-bereft,\n    At heart was half a rebel.\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                           II.--THE COUNCIL\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n    So, after setting of a sun,\n    When all their day\u2019s long coil was done,\n    And dew on gossamer-threads late-spun\n    Beneath the moonbeams trembled,\n    Called to a chosen meeting-place,\n    Without the Town a frog-leap\u2019s space,\n    To talk about their evil case\n    The Elfin folk assembled.\n\n      \u2019Twas in good sooth a sight forlorn\n    To see them fagged and labour-worn,\n    Their dainty garments stained and torn,\n    Forms bowed with weary stooping;\n    Most like a bed of windflowers frail,\n    What time a shower of pelting hail\n    Hath smirched with mould the petals pale\n    And left the bruised stalks drooping.\n\n    And as when ruffling breeze-wafts go,\n    Now sighing loud, now moaning low,\n\n[Illustration]\n\n    Among the shivering blossoms, so\n    Among the Elves upstarted\n    A wail of voices small and shrill,\n    That swelled and sank commingled, still\n    Lamenting o\u2019er their present ill\n    Or ancient bliss departed.\n\n      First Elfrain, for his silvern tongue\n    Renowned his Faery feres among,\n    Upon a fallen beech-nut sprung,\n    Spake clear, while hushed they hearkened:\n    \u201cIt little needs, ye Elves\u201d (he said),\n    \u201cTo bid you \u2019ware the direful dread,\n    By gathering glooms and shadows spread,\n    Wherewith our days are darkened.\n\n    \u201cBut, since a shadow\u2019s curse is e\u2019er\n    The eyes to blind and feet to snare,\n    That else a path would find and fare\n    From forth its grim embrasure,\n    Behoves us seek from whence they flit,\n    These shades that on our lives have lit,\n    For so, perchance, a way we hit,\n    Back to the beamy azure.\n\n      \u201cThen, prithee, freeborn Fays and Elves,\n    Here let us pause and ask ourselves\n    Why this one hews, why that one delves,\n    Finch waking, chafer whirring.\n    What graceless freak of spiteful change\n    Hath o\u2019er us wound these fetters strange,\n    Who wont down all the dells to range\n    Unchecked as breeze\u2019s stirring?\n\n    \u201cWhat joy have ye to cleave the clod,\n    Or mortar bear in chickpea hod,\n    Or down the creaking cart-track plod,\n    Or up the ladder dizzy?\n    Nay, daubed with clay, and grimed with dust,\n    This piteous plight declares ye must\n    Lament the charge upon you thrust\n    That makes you bondslaves busy.\n\n    \u201cWhere now be flown the mirthful hours\n    Ye fleeted by in blossomy bowers?\n    Soft sleep at core of scented flowers,\n    Gay sports on greensward airy?\n    Why fail your feasts, why flag your flights,\n    Your morrice-dance on moonlit nights?\n    Have these things now no more delights\n    For heart of woodland Faery?\n\n      \u201cBut if one saith: \u2018The King commands\n    This irksome service at our hands,\n    And Oberon\u2019s will no Fay withstands,\n    Lest traitorous act accuse him\u2019--\n    To such: The ancient laws (I say),\n    Thro\u2019 which our monarch holds his sway,\n    Point duly where we must obey,\n    And where, unblamed, refuse him.\n\n    \u201cSince for this cause we crowned his head:\n    That long as Elfin sports be sped,\n    He still should rule the maze we tread,\n    When every Faery traces\n    On dew-sprent turf the emerald ring;\n    Even as the planet lamps that swing\n    In shimmering cirques around _their_ King,\n    Far up heaven\u2019s star-strown spaces.\n\n    \u201cHence, if for us he prove indeed\n    No sun-bright orb our step to lead,\n    But Jack-o\u2019-lantern\u2019s goblin glede,\n    That traveller\u2019s foot betrayeth,\n    Shall we our lightsome paths forsake\n    Thro\u2019 bogs to err and briery brake,\n    Where thorn-pricks thrust and quagmires quake,\n    Lured as his false gleam playeth?\n\n    \u201cYea, of the King I ask: To thee\n    Were given for lieges Faeries free,\n    Or creeping things whose toil we see\n    By niggard Nature spurred on?\n    They twist the thread, they store the grain,\n    And thus, at least, their portion gain;\n    Whilst us thou biddest to struggles vain\n    That win nor gift nor guerdon.\n\n      \u201cYet, furthermore, and haply first\n    In import grave: some spell accurst,\n    Methinks, this troublous toiler\u2019s-thirst\n    Thus in our King sets burning;\n    For I long since have deemed to mark\n    Flash from his eye a fitful spark,\n    Enkindled by those sorceries dark\n    That steal the wits\u2019 discerning.\n\n    \u201cHow else should he, who erst had known\n    Fair mansions in fresh flower-buds blown,\n    His dwelling choose of stock and stone,\n    Coarse clay, and cobweb flimsy?\n    Yon piles uncouth, whereon we have wrought\n    Thro\u2019 weary workdays, seem they aught\n    Save folly planned by one distraught\n    With some fantastic whimsy?\n\n      \u201cNow, by the Night-bat\u2019s shriek! full loth\n    Were I to slight my deep-sworn oath,\n    Or hear it said that I for sloth\n    Mine owed allegiance scanted;\n    But, tho\u2019 I bide such slanders ill,\n    I less could brook the Fay-folk still\n    Enslaved to work the warlock\u2019s will\n    Who hath our King enchanted.\u201d\n\n    Thus he; and thro\u2019 his hearers went\n    Deep murmurs, as when hearts assent\n    To words that voice their discontent,\n    Long felt but lowly muttered.\n    And Elfdore from among them next\n    Arose, his gentle spirit vext,\n    And much with jarring griefs perplext,\n    As mournful speech he uttered:\n\n    \u201cAy me, what stinging thoughts awoke\n    Like ray-warmed flies, while Elfrain spoke,\n    And told the wrongs of Faery-folk,\n    And sorer ills that threat them;\n    And, keenlier thrilling, called to mind\n    Those days ere yet our bliss declined--\n    Lost days, tho\u2019 far they lag behind,\n    What Elf can once forget them?\n\n    \u201cYour heaviest task to plot some prank,\n    Your dullest hour blithe pastimes shrank;\n    With sun that rose, and sun that sank,\n    No Faery\u2019s gladness vanished.\n    But very vainly lend I speech\n    To loud-voiced woes; this truth can teach,\n    In few, what dismal tracts we reach,\n    From former weal far-banished:\n\n    \u201cThat, when our green-ywimpled wood,\n    Like moss-rose reddening thro\u2019 her hood,\n    Lets vermeil dawn a path make good\n    Where many a dim shade drowseth,\n    No more, as once, its burgeoning light\n    Seems flower-soft balm to Elfin sight,\n    But signal-fire that weary wight\n    To loath\u00ebd labour rouseth.\n\n    \u201cAnd when the West\u2019s curved crystalline\n    Pales, over-brimmed with silvern shine,\n    Pure water poured where blush-tinct wine\n    The rubied rim was crowning,\n    Naught heeding save our hardship\u2019s case,\n    We only sigh: \u2018Ebb, light, apace,\n    And leave our cares a little space\n    In dreamless slumber drowning.\u2019\n\n      \u201cThen, since, of Elfin frolic stripped,\n    In slavish bonds our days are clipped,\n    Scarce save in sleep-whelmed pauses slipped,\n    Blank silence, whither fleeing\n    From senses\u2019 dole to senses\u2019 dearth\n    We respite seek--holds life its worth?\n    What joy were minished on the earth\n    If Faeries ceased from being?\n\n[Illustration:\n\n_Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co._]\n\n      \u201cAnd not on you alone this yoke\n    Of bondage falls; an humbler folk\n    May rue the hour when trowel\u2019s stroke\n    First tinkled clinking yonder;\n    Our fellow-wights of feature quaint,\n    Now captived, maugre plea and plaint,\n    To drudge for us; whose harsh constraint\n    I oft remorseful ponder.\n\n    \u201cMy heart grows hot when yearnings vain\n    Dumb in the draught-ant\u2019s eyes speak plain,\n    For comrades\u2019 blithesome bustle fain,\n    Amid their garnered treasure.\n    And ruth and wrath will thro\u2019 me throb\n    To hear the unsightly Spider sob,\n    When from her loom the weft we rob,\n    Wove with such pride and pleasure.\n\n    \u201cAnd still when harnessed Snail or Slug\n    I watch the hated wain-load tug,\n    Or Beetle gross down ruts deep-dug\n    Hath past me, panting, lumbered,\n    Reproachful twinges wring my mind,\n    For so we twofold burdens bind\n    On creatures whom, thro\u2019 Fate unkind,\n    Unwieldy frames have cumbered.\n\n      \u201cYet, if, irate at wrongs of these,\n    To rebel thoughts I turn for ease,\n    I fare as foot that nettle flees,\n    But which barbed thistle lameth;\n    So shrewd a thorn-pang pierced my breast\n    What time I heard an Elf suggest\n    That Fays should scorn their King\u2019s behest\n    Since overmuch he claimeth.\n\n    \u201cFor, tho\u2019 mine ire mount ne\u2019er so high,\n    Let Oberon but anon draw nigh\n    With joyful mien and sparkling eye,\n    Our bootless tasks admiring,\n    And, doubting naught of hearers glad,\n    Begin to tell new projects mad--\n    Tall towers to raise, long rows to add,\n    All Elfland\u2019s strength requiring,\n\n    \u201cThen, wistful, pause my face to scan\n    And read approval of his plan\n    Trow, if for very ruth I can\n    There brook him vainly seek it.\n    Nay, if I knew one word whose might\n    Could all his hopes forbid and blight,\n    Loose Elfdom\u2019s chains, and crush his sprite,\n    In truth \u2019twere hard to speak it.\n\n    \u201cBut for the cause that Elfrain deems\n    Hath crazed the King with waking dreams,\n    A Wizard, who our ruin schemes\n    With arts beyond our foiling;\n    So fell a thought I dare not think\n    That leadeth to a misery\u2019s brink,\n    Wherefrom my frighted fancies shrink\n    In anguish back recoiling.\n\n      \u201cOur case my counsel mocks. I rede\n    We Elfmel call, and straitly heed\n    The word he speaks; for if, indeed,\n    Dark Fate, a cure thou shroudest,\n    His wisdom shall that cure surprise.\u201d\n    Then all around rang eager cries:\n    \u201cLet Elfmel speak--let him advise\u201d--\n    And he, at clamour\u2019s loudest,\n    Stood forth upon the beechen stage;\n    Not old, for Faeries know not age,\n    But past his peers reputed sage,\n    Such fame his wit achieveth;\n    True to the mark his winged words went,\n    Sure as a well-poised arrow sent,\n    Yet clear to show their thought\u2019s intent\n    As air that arrow cleaveth:\n\n    \u201cLo, Elfrain\u2019s guess, and Elfdore\u2019s dread,\n    I long have known for truth\u201d (he said);\n    \u201cNo mortal guile the snare hath spread\n    Where Oberon lies entangled;\n    Nor lives who thus awry could twitch\n    His sense, or fool to such a pitch,\n    Save one alone, the Bad Brown Witch.\n    Aye plotting ills new-fangled.\n\n    \u201cAnd, wot ye well, if aught avail\n    To countercharm her magic\u2019s bale,\n    Whose mischief sore we so bewail,\n    Plunged in this dire quand\u00e1ry,\n    \u2019Tis aid no mortal power can lend;\n    One only may her marring mend--\n    The Good Gray Witch, a faithful friend\n    Oft proved to folk of Faery.\n\n    \u201cYet, he who would her pity awake,\n    A perilous path must undertake,\n    For far beside her Lonesome Lake\n    A slumbrous trance hath bound her,\n    Where evermore a silence deep,\n    Like trusty sentinel, must keep\n    Mute watch to guard the sevenfold sleep\n    That laps its dreams around her.\n\n    \u201cThe first fold shade or shine ne\u2019er crossed;\n    Beyond the next each sound fails lost;\n    The third fends off both fire and frost,\n    How fierce so e\u2019er their noyance;\n    The fourth shrouds safe from fear and fret;\n    The fifth bars memory and regret;\n    Keen ire and scorn the sixth can let,\n    The seventh all hope and joyance.\n\n    \u201cStill may her helpful might be sought,\n    Still may her ruthful heart be raught,\n    Albeit by steps with peril fraught,\n    Down dim paths danger-ridden;\n    Yea, long-conned mage-lore yields me arms\n    Can pierce her sleep; right awesome charms,\n    That, save for cure of grievous harms,\n    To utter I am forbidden.\n\n    \u201cAnd erst deemed I that haply soon,\n    As film-flakes floating by the moon\n    Steeped in her frosted fire-flood swoon,\n    And one brief moment dim it,\n    Even so from us our cares might drift\n    Fleeting and fading soft and swift;\n    But nay; their pall shows never a rift,\n    Their shade-sweep never a limit.\n\n    \u201cAnd therefore now, ye Fays, I feel\n    \u2019Tis time to her we make appeal\n    For help that Oberon\u2019s hurt shall heal,\n    And lure him from his madness;\n    And list ye on this mission trust\n    My zeal and truth, her power august\n    Will I beseech, till yield it must\n    A boon to work us gladness.\u201d\n\n      Then, like the hum as poised bee swoops\n    To gold-domed gloom where flower-bell droops,\n    The voice of clustering Elfin groups\n    Rose up, his speech approving;\n    And cried that in such embassage\n    No worthier Elf could e\u2019er engage;\n    And bade him speed the task whose wage\n    Should be their woe\u2019s removing.\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                          III.--THE FLITTING\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n    Hence, when the dawn looked dewiest,\n    Forth Elfmel fared on fateful quest,\n    Alone, so ran the charm\u2019s behest,\n    While still the King lay dreaming;\n    But--since his se\u2019ennight\u2019s peril dared\n    Were long to tell--he home repaired\n    When Elfintown at sunset flared,\n    With roofs and windows gleaming.\n\n    He came, in sooth, at time of need,\n    Because the King had just decreed\n    A task that should all tasks exceed\n    Which yet the Fays had sighed o\u2019er:\n    A monstrous tower, ne\u2019er seen its like,\n    Whose crest should seem the clouds to strike,\n    And even the loftiest plantain-spike\n    Peer in prodigious pride o\u2019er.\n\n    Not empty-handed Elfmel came:\n    A mirror wan in dark-wove frame\n    The Witch had sent, and o\u2019er the same\n    Breathed many a murmur mystic;\n    In size it matched the rain-drop pearled\n    At broadest blade-point; round it curled\n    Stag-beetle\u2019s antler, carved and whirled\n    With sentence Kabalistic.\n\n    The which, if hung ere fall of night\n    Near Oberon\u2019s couch, by subtle sleight\n    Of maker\u2019s craft, and magic\u2019s might,\n    Would show him such a vision\n    As must his frenzy scare away:\n    \u201cAy, stranger secrets \u2019twill bewray,\u201d\n    Quoth she; yet more she would not say,\n    But sped the Elf on his mission.\n\n      This Elfmel did anon relate\n    To his comrades, met in grave debate,\n    Who joyed to learn their evil estate\n    Might now eftsoons be mended.\n    And twain in haste by secret stair\n    To Oberon\u2019s bower the mirror-bare,\n    What time he bode all unaware\n    Of aught his Elves intended.\n\n      Methinks when dimness round them closed,\n    The weariest Fay but seldom dozed,\n    For new-blown glee with morn-flush rosed\n    The drift of night\u2019s pale lily;\n    Or hope and fear, like boisterous breeze\n    Whereon the fluttering petal flees,\n    Frayed sleep, that loves on hearts at ease\n    To light and linger stilly.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n    Some soft as drowsy finches sung:\n    \u201cOh sweet, ye Fays, our lawns among\n    To fleet fair days, from dawn\u2019s flame sprung\n    Till night star-bright,\u201d they twittered;\n    While others kept a mien more grave,\n    For somewhat still their minds misgave\n    That care so blithe an end should have\n    Which long their lives embittered.\n\n    But all, thro\u2019 hopes and fears, watched fain\n    To see red light the east distain,\n    That Oberon should rouse again\n    From slumbers gramarie-haunted;\n    For then they must behold a sign\n    If verily to that spell benign\n    The Bad Brown Witch\u2019s power malign\n    Had yielded, quelled and daunted.\n\n    And \u2019mid the mists of morning-tide\n    Thronged to the Palace court they hied;\n    And, lo, the massy door flung wide,\n    And Oberon thro\u2019 it pacing.\n    Sad was his look, as if he grieved\n    Of long-deluding hope bereaved,\n    Or fairest myth, too much believed,\n    Truth-touched with finger effacing.\n\n    Forth paced he to as mute a hush\n    As falls upon the twittering bush\n    Whence titmice watch the missel-thrush,\n    Their motley tyrant, coming;\n    For never a Fay durst move, in fear\n    Lest haply so should fail his ear\n    The words he held his breath to hear\n    Above his heart\u2019s thick drumming.\n\n    Nor any sound from earth or sky\n    That silence flawed, save if thereby\n    A restive Earwig, stalled anigh,\n    Stamped foot and tugged at tether;\n    Or shrilled a sharper note than that\n    Where overhead a gaunt-limbed Gnat,\n    Perched on a neighbouring roof-ridge, sat\n    And twirled lean legs together.\n\n      \u201cStrange tidings unto you I bring,\n    My faithful Fays,\u201d so spake the King\n    \u201cFor in this night a wondrous thing\n    Was shown me as I slumbered;\n    A wondrous thing and piteous both,\n    For against itself my heart grows wroth\n    To think how I have abused your troth,\n    And worked you woes unnumbered.\n\n    \u201cYea, bitter \u2019tis, since now my brain\n    No longer reels thro\u2019 sorcery\u2019s bane,\n    To trace these tracks of labour vain,\n    This witless work to gaze on;\n    Yon cumbrous heaps of stones and stocks\n    Seem filled for me with flouts and mocks,\n    As if all round on boards and blocks\n    I read my folly\u2019s blazon.\n\n    \u201cYet bitterer far to feel the while\n    That every huge-erected pile\n    Rose inch by inch with drudgery vile\n    From Elfin race exacted.\n    And who your freedom\u2019s traitorous thief?\n    Ah, who but I, your chosen chief?\n    Nay, think not I, but frenzy brief\n    Of mind with charms distracted.\n\n      \u201cAnd now the night-sent sign, that snaps\n    This witch-knot black, the mist unwraps\n    Wherein Fate hid our future haps,\n    And me its portent teacheth\n    \u2019Tis fit that yet one further task\n    I of your tried allegiance ask--\n    I truly; \u2019tis no warlock\u2019s mask\n    That here your aid beseecheth:\n\n    \u201cI charge you that forthright ye haste\n    To lay this curs\u00ebd city waste;\n    Let wall be breached, and site erased,\n    Pluck down both roof and rafter;\n    Leave not a stone on stone to stand;\n    Ne\u2019er shall your monarch, by this hand!\n    Of Faery folk such toils demand\n    In all the ages after.\u201d\n\n      Thereat uprose a jubilant shout\n    From all who hearkened round about,\n    For so they knew beyond a doubt\n    King Oberon\u2019s craze departed.\n    \u201cSwift be the King\u2019s command obeyed,\n    Then hence\u201d (they cried), \u201cto greenwood glade,\n    Where Elves, as liked them best estrayed,\n    Whilom have ranged light-hearted.\u201d\n\n      But Oberon, still of mien deject,\n    Their strain exultant heard and checked\n    With lifted palm and pale aspect,\n    That motioned silence thro\u2019 them.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n_Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co._]\n\n    \u201cNot so,\u201d spake he in accents grave,\n    \u201cNo more for us the deep woods wave,\n    Tho\u2019 dear the home their greenery gave,\n    Tho\u2019 long our hearts may rue them;\n\n    \u201cTho\u2019 fain were I, if this might be,\n    Down yon cool shades all care to flee,\n    And very fain would watch your glee\n    Wax as in good days golden--\n    For, lo, the dream, whose power undid\n    That ill witch-charm, a secret hid,\n    Which hath, while fouler harm it rid,\n    So fair a hope withholden.\n\n      \u201cMark well, ye Fays: In years long fled,\n    When Earthland first felt Elfin tread--\n    But whence, or how, or why we sped,\n    I wot our wisest knows not--\n    The Fate who did our journeyings guide\n    Ne\u2019er destined that, whate\u2019er betide,\n    This ball must aye our dwelling bide,\n    A prison whose doors unclose not.\n\n    \u201cThat weird-night\u2019s vision warns me so--\n    Had meshed us soon in webs of woe,\n    Whence Fate hath willed we free should go,\n    Long since to me confiding\n    The word whereby, if need befal,\n    A\u00ebrial chariots I may call,\n    Mage-fashioned, meet to waft us all\n    Up ways heaven\u2019s vault dividing.\n\n      \u201cYet here so long, so blithe, we dwelled,\n    So dear our haunts by flood and feld,\n    That evermore I hoped and held\n    Such word need ne\u2019er be spoken,\n    Now from me wrung by darkening doom,\n    As menace-murk of thunder-gloom\n    Bids shun hurled bolt and bellowing boom\n    Ere yet the storm hath broken.\n\n    \u201cNo plainer speech my lips dare frame;\n    But, soothly, had ye seen the same,\n    Each idle moment would ye blame\n    That us from flight doth sever,\n    Not loitering o\u2019er what rests to do\n    Ere hence we float up yonder blue,\n    Self-exiled from the paths we knew--\n    For ever and for ever.\u201d\n\n      I trow that every Fay who heard\n    Was grieved at heart by Oberon\u2019s word,\n    Yet none lamented, none demurred,\n    Or against his will besought him;\n    For in his steadfast-mournful eyne\n    They could some fatal truth divine,\n    Tho\u2019 none might know what boding sign\n    To stern resolve had wrought him.\n\n    And \u2019tis a riddle still ungues\u2019t\n    What vision from that mirror\u2019s breast\n    Was flashed athwart King Oberon\u2019s rest,\n    So filled with fear and wonder.\n    Some say that unto him were shown\n    Days when round earth, once green and lone,\n    Shall whirl with cities all o\u2019ergrown,\n    No Elf-ring\u2019s circle asunder;\n    And say he saw or ever he woke\n    High heaven blurred out with riftless smoke,\n    Where men ground down \u2019neath labour\u2019s yoke\n    Toil to the mad wheel\u2019s thunder;\n    World weeded o\u2019er from prime to prime\n    With want, and woe, and care, and crime,\n    Unmeet to tell in Faery rime,\n    That halts such burden under.\n\n      Howbeit, the Elves in eager crowd\n    Made haste to raze those mansions proud;\n    Anon the rill-cliffs echoed loud\n    To crash of timbers falling,\n    As toppling towers at onslaught rude\n    Reeled down in wrack, and street-rows strewed\n    Their swift-wrought ruin, whence captives shrewd\n    Slipped homeward, warily crawling.\n\n    Till soon, if wanderer chanced to fare\n    Across that earth-patch smooth and bare,\n    He spied no Elfin doings there,\n    And only heard a rustle\n    Where shrivelled leaves their serest brown\n    Thro\u2019 Autumn mists had drifted down.\n    This was the end of Elfintown,\n    Built with such coil and bustle.\n\n      Then Oberon spake the word of might\n    That set the enchanted cars in sight;\n    But lore I lack to tell aright\n\n[Illustration:\n\n_Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co._]\n\n    Where these had waited hidden.\n    Perchance the clear airs round us rolled\n    In secret cells did them enfold,\n    Like evening dew that none behold\n    Till to the sward \u2019tis slidden.\n\n    And who can say what wizardise\n    Had fashioned them in marvellous wise,\n    And given them power to stoop and rise\n    More high than thought hath travelled?\n    Somewhat of cloud their frames consist,\n    But more of meteor\u2019s luminous mist,\n    All girt with strands of seven-hued twist\n    From rainbow\u2019s verge unravelled.\n\n    \u2019Tis said, and I believe it well,\n    That whoso mounts their magic sell,\n    Goes, if he list, invisible\n    Beneath the broadest noonlight;\n    That virtue comes of Faery-fern,\n    Lone-lived where hill-slopes starward turn\n    Thro\u2019 frore night hours that bid it burn\n    Flame-fronded in the moonlight;\n\n    For this holds true--too true, alas!--\n    The sky that eve was clear as glass,\n    Yet no man saw the Faeries pass\n    Where azure pathways glisten;\n    And true it is--too true, ay me--\n    That nevermore on lawn or lea\n    Shall mortal man a Faery see,\n    Tho\u2019 long he look and listen.\n\n    Only the twilit woods among\n    A wild-winged breeze hath sometimes flung\n    Dim echoes borne from strains soft-sung\n    Beyond sky-reaches hollow;\n    Still further, fainter up the height,\n    Receding past the deep-zoned night--\n    Far chant of Fays who lead that flight,\n    Faint call of Fays who follow:\n\n    (_Fays following._)   Red-rose mists o\u2019erdrift\n                        Moth-moon\u2019s glimmering white,\n                        Lit by sheen-silled west\n                        Barred with fiery bar;\n                        Fleeting, following swift,\n                        Whither across the night\n                        Seek we bourne of rest?\n    (_Fays leading._)    Afar.\n\n    (_Fays following._) Vailing crest on crest\n                        Down the shadowy height,\n                        Earth with shores and seas\n                        Dropt, a dwindling gleam.\n                        Dusk, and bowery nest,\n                        Dawn, and dells dew-bright,\n                        What shall bide of these?\n    (_Fays leading._)    A dream.\n\n    (_Fays following._)  Fled, ah fled, our sight.\n                        Yea, but thrills of fire\n                        Throbbed adown yon deep,\n                        Faint and very far\n                        Who shall rede aright?\n                        Say, what wafts us nigher,\n                        Beckoning up the steep?\n    (_Fays leading._)    A star.\n\n    (_Fays following._)  List, a star! a star!\n                        Oh, our goal of light!\n                        Yet the winged shades sweep,\n                        Yet the void looms vast.\n                        Weary our wild dreams are:\n                        When shall cease our flight\n                        Soft on shores of sleep?\n    (_Fays leading._)     At last.\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n                            [Illustration]","title":"The End of Elfintown","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":5186}