High over subject vales the brow serene102
Of the lone mountain look'd on moonlit skies;
Wide glades far opening into swards of green,
With shimmering foliage of a thousand dyes,
And tedded tufts of heath, and ivyed boles
Of trees, and wild flowers scenting bosky knolls.
And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe,[8]103
Or Irân's shy gazelle, on sheenest places,
Group'd still, or flitted the far alleys through;
The fairy quarry for the fairy chaces;
Or wheel'd the bat, brushing o'er brake and scaur,
Lured by the moth, as lures the moth the star.
Sir Gawaine slept—Sir Gawaine slept not long,104
His ears were tickled, and his nose was tweak'd;
Light feet ran quick his stalwart limbs along,
Light fingers pinch'd him, and light voices squeak'd.
He oped his eyes, the left and then the right,
Fair was the scene, and hideous was his fright!
The tiny people swarm around, and o'er him,105
Here on his breast they lead the morris-dance,
There, in each ray diagonal before him,
They wheel, leap, pirouette, caper, shoot askance,
Climb row on row each other's pea-green shoulder,
And point and mow upon the shock'd beholder.
And some had faces lovelier than Cupido's,106
With rose-bud lips, all dimpling o'er with glee;
And some had brows as ominous as Dido's,
When Ilion's pious traitor put to sea;
Some had bull heads, some lions', but in small,
And some (the finer drest) no heads at all.
By mortal dangers scared, the wise resort107
To means fugacious, licet et licebit;
But he who settles in a fairy's court,
Loses that option, sedet et sedebit;
Thrice Gawaine strove to stir, nor stirr'd a jot,
Charms, cramps, and torments nail'd him to the spot.
Thus of his limbs deprived, the ingenious knight108
Straightway betook him to his golden tongue—
"Angels," quoth he, "or fairies, with delight
I see the race my friends the bards have sung
Much honour'd that, in any way expedient,
You make a ball-room of your most obedient."
Floated a sound of laughter, musical—109
As when in summer noon, melodious bees
Cluster o'er jasmine roofs, or as the fall
Of silver bells, on the Arabian breeze;
What time with chiming feet in palmy shades
Move, round the soften'd Moor, his Georgian maids.
Forth from the rest there stepped a princely fay—110
"And well, sir mortal, dost thou speak," quoth he,
"We elves are seldom froward to the gay,
Rise up, and welcome to our companie."
Sir Gawaine won his footing with a spring,
Low bow'd the knight, as low the fairy king.
"By the bright diadem of dews congeal'd,111
And purple robe of pranksome butterfly,
Your royal rank," said Gawaine, "is reveal'd,
Yet more, methinks, by your majestic eye;
Of kings with mien august I know but two,
Men have their Arthur,—happier fairies, you."