“But when bells are rung and songs are sung
And all men lie and sleep,
The merry minstrel forth must fare
His secret tryst to keep.
“The merry minstrel forth must fare,
All in the twilight dim,
To woo the queen o’ Fairyland
That’s cast a spell on him.
“Oh her form’s the form of the lily-white birch
That sways to the breeze, and her breath
Is the scent o’ the thyme and the blowing furze
And the honey that’s stored in the heath.
“And her dark eyes’ beam is the wavering gleam
On the water that’s wan to see
When the evening star hangs faint and far
Above the birchen-tree.
“And wouldst thou learn her secret lore,
Go, read the magic rune
That the writhen boughs of the thorn-tree trace
O’ nights across the moon.”
“And what’s the guerdon he shall gain
By grace of the Fairy-queen?”
“Oh, a hope that’s lost and a love that’s crossed,
And tears and toil and tene,
“And feet astray in the paths of day,
And a song that cannot be sung—
For elfin music is wind and breath
When the matin-bell is rung.
“For the cock crows shrill, and the dew lies chill,
And the faint stars die, withdrawn;
And elfin gold is withered leaves
At the coming of the dawn.”
Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.