“But for the cause that Elfrain deems
Hath crazed the King with waking dreams,
A Wizard, who our ruin schemes
With arts beyond our foiling;
So fell a thought I dare not think
That leadeth to a misery’s brink,
Wherefrom my frighted fancies shrink
In anguish back recoiling.
“Our case my counsel mocks. I rede
We Elfmel call, and straitly heed
The word he speaks; for if, indeed,
Dark Fate, a cure thou shroudest,
His wisdom shall that cure surprise.”
Then all around rang eager cries:
“Let Elfmel speak—let him advise”—
And he, at clamour’s loudest,
Stood forth upon the beechen stage;
Not old, for Faeries know not age,
But past his peers reputed sage,
Such fame his wit achieveth;
True to the mark his winged words went,
Sure as a well-poised arrow sent,
Yet clear to show their thought’s intent
As air that arrow cleaveth:
“Lo, Elfrain’s guess, and Elfdore’s dread,
I long have known for truth” (he said);
“No mortal guile the snare hath spread
Where Oberon lies entangled;
Nor lives who thus awry could twitch
His sense, or fool to such a pitch,
Save one alone, the Bad Brown Witch.
Aye plotting ills new-fangled.
“And, wot ye well, if aught avail
To countercharm her magic’s bale,
Whose mischief sore we so bewail,
Plunged in this dire quandáry,
’Tis aid no mortal power can lend;
One only may her marring mend—
The Good Gray Witch, a faithful friend
Oft proved to folk of Faery.
“Yet, he who would her pity awake,
A perilous path must undertake,
For far beside her Lonesome Lake
A slumbrous trance hath bound her,
Where evermore a silence deep,
Like trusty sentinel, must keep
Mute watch to guard the sevenfold sleep
That laps its dreams around her.
“The first fold shade or shine ne’er crossed;
Beyond the next each sound fails lost;
The third fends off both fire and frost,
How fierce so e’er their noyance;
The fourth shrouds safe from fear and fret;
The fifth bars memory and regret;
Keen ire and scorn the sixth can let,
The seventh all hope and joyance.
“Still may her helpful might be sought,
Still may her ruthful heart be raught,
Albeit by steps with peril fraught,
Down dim paths danger-ridden;
Yea, long-conned mage-lore yields me arms
Can pierce her sleep; right awesome charms,
That, save for cure of grievous harms,
To utter I am forbidden.
“And erst deemed I that haply soon,
As film-flakes floating by the moon
Steeped in her frosted fire-flood swoon,
And one brief moment dim it,
Even so from us our cares might drift
Fleeting and fading soft and swift;
But nay; their pall shows never a rift,
Their shade-sweep never a limit.
“And therefore now, ye Fays, I feel
’Tis time to her we make appeal
For help that Oberon’s hurt shall heal,
And lure him from his madness;
And list ye on this mission trust
My zeal and truth, her power august
Will I beseech, till yield it must
A boon to work us gladness.”
