VII.
“Life for thy life,” they cried: “have mercy, King!”
Swift to his feet he sprang. The fairy throng
Vanished like vapour, save where, in the ring
Of his tight-clasping arms, as swift along
The dim-seen beach he strode the stones among,
The wriggling remnant of the elvish crew
Craved mercy.—“Mercy doth to thee belong,
And ours in turn to render service due.”
Clasping them in his arms he toward his chariot drew.