"Methought," replied the elf, "thy first accost112
Proclaim'd thee one of Arthur's peerless train;
Elsewhere alas!—our later age hath lost
The blithe good-breeding of King Saturn's reign,
When, some four thousand years ago, with Fauns,
We Fays made merry on Arcadian lawns.
"Time flees so fast it seems but yesterday!113
And life is brief for fairies as for men."
"Ha," said Gawaine, "can fairies pass away?"
"Pass like the mist on Arran's wave, what then?
At least we're young as long as we survive;
Our years six thousand—I have number'd five.
"But we have stumbled on a dismal theme,114
As always happens when one meets a man—
Ho! stop that zephyr!—Robin, catch that beam!
And now, my friend, we'll feast it while we can."
The moonbeam halts, the zephyr bows his wing,
Light through the leaves the laughing people spring.
Then Gawaine felt as if he skirr'd the air,115
His brain grew dizzy, and his breath was gone;
He stopp'd at last, and such inviting fare
Never plump monk set lustful eyes upon.
Wild sweet-briars girt the banquet, but the brake
Oped where in moonlight rippled Bala's lake.
Such dainty cheer—such rush of revelry—116
Such silver laughter—such arch happy faces—
Such sportive quarrels from excess of glee—
Hush'd up with such sly innocent embraces,
Might well make twice six thousand years appear
To elfin minds a sadly nipp'd career!
The banquet o'er, the royal Fay intent117
To do all honour to King Arthur's knight,
Smote with his rod the bank on which they leant,
And Fairy-land flash'd glorious on the sight;
Flash'd, through a silvery, soft, translucent mist,
The opal shafts and domes of amethyst;
Flash'd founts in shells of pearl, which crystal walls118
And phosphor lights of myriad hues redouble;
There, in the blissful subterranean halls,
When morning wakes the world of human trouble,
Glide the gay race; each sound our discord knows,
Faint-heard above, but lulls them to repose.
O Gawaine, blush! Alas! that gorgeous sight,119
But woke the latent mammon in the man,
While fairy treasures shone upon the knight,
His greedy thoughts on lands and castles ran.
He stretch'd his hands, he felt the fingers itch,
"Sir Fay," quoth he, "you must be monstrous rich!"
Scarce fall the words from those unlucky lips,120
Than down rush'd darkness, flooding all the place;
His feet a fairy in a twinkling trips;
The angry winglets swarm upon his face;
Pounce on their prey the tiny torturers flew,
And sang this moral while they pinch'd him blue:
CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES.