“Yea, bitter ’tis, since now my brain
No longer reels thro’ sorcery’s bane,
To trace these tracks of labour vain,
This witless work to gaze on;
Yon cumbrous heaps of stones and stocks
Seem filled for me with flouts and mocks,
As if all round on boards and blocks
I read my folly’s blazon.
“Yet bitterer far to feel the while
That every huge-erected pile
Rose inch by inch with drudgery vile
From Elfin race exacted.
And who your freedom’s traitorous thief?
Ah, who but I, your chosen chief?
Nay, think not I, but frenzy brief
Of mind with charms distracted.
“And now the night-sent sign, that snaps
This witch-knot black, the mist unwraps
Wherein Fate hid our future haps,
And me its portent teacheth
’Tis fit that yet one further task
I of your tried allegiance ask—
I truly; ’tis no warlock’s mask
That here your aid beseecheth:
“I charge you that forthright ye haste
To lay this cursëd city waste;
Let wall be breached, and site erased,
Pluck down both roof and rafter;
Leave not a stone on stone to stand;
Ne’er shall your monarch, by this hand!
Of Faery folk such toils demand
In all the ages after.”
Thereat uprose a jubilant shout
From all who hearkened round about,
For so they knew beyond a doubt
King Oberon’s craze departed.
“Swift be the King’s command obeyed,
Then hence” (they cried), “to greenwood glade,
Where Elves, as liked them best estrayed,
Whilom have ranged light-hearted.”
But Oberon, still of mien deject,
Their strain exultant heard and checked
With lifted palm and pale aspect,
That motioned silence thro’ them.
Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.