It hapt in ages far agone
A harmful spell was cast upon
That Elfin King, great Oberon,
And teen and trouble brought him;
And albeit none can track the skill
That wove the charm full-fraught with ill,
We wot the Bad Brown Witch’s will
Such perilous mischief wrought him.
For she by magic showed him clear,
In mirroring crystal of her mere,
A wondrous Town; ’twas many a year
Ere yet its like were builded;
But thro’ her might of gramarie
She made the Elfin Prince to see
The grandest that on earth should be,
And most by wealth-wand gilded.
’Twas shrunk, I trow, to seemly size
For straiter range of Elfin eyes,
But else it had its mortal guise,
No sight, no stir omitted,
With tower and temple, and mart and street,
And prison and palace, all complete,
And whirr of wheels, and hurry of feet
That hither thither flitted.
Whereon the King much-marvelling gazed,
Admiring more, and more amazed,
Till, when the Witch its image razed,
Still in his heart it tarried,
(A secret that he might not tell),
And home unto his woodland dell
That city’s vision, like a spell,
O’er all his thoughts he carried.
And since that day he dwelled no more
In joyance blithe as theretofore,
But sadly aye himself he bore
Amid the sunniest shining;
Nor quivering beam, nor fluttering breeze,
Nor flickering shade, his sense could please;
He dreamed of rarer things than these,
And for their lack was pining.
From harebell’s tent to bindweed’s hall,
From cup-moss low to foxglove tall,
He shifted oft his couch withal,
Yet still would chide his chamber,
And said the glowworm-lamps burned dim,
And slurred the dew at rose-bud’s rim;
The kingcup’s gold looked dull to him,
And cowslip’s gawds of amber.
Hence, on his discontents to brood,
He sat one eve in sorry mood,
While whispering Elves around him stood,
And said ’twas strange, ’twas pity;
When, sudden, light as leaf on spray,
He leaped and laughed: “By Flowers o’ May,
Mine Elves,” quoth he, “our own essay
Shall build as fair a city.”
And eagerly at morrow’s light
He hasted forth to choose a site,
Whereon should now be reared aright
Strong walls and storeys stately.
He found it soon: an earth-plot bare
Beyond an elm’s droop; six yards square;
No sod, no moss, no weed, throve there,
Which pleased King Oberon greatly.
“For thro’ those streets,” said he, “was seen
No blade of grass, or glint of green,
But pavements ferly smooth and clean;
Small fear of footsteps tripping.”
Not far away a brook bobbed by:
“From thence,” he said, “we may supply
Our waterworks; and soothly I
Grow weary of dew-drop sipping.”
Then hied him home amain, and shook
His drowsy Fays from every nook,
And bade them follow with him, and look
Where splendour should be springing;
And ere the earliest star blinked down
Upon that earth-patch bare and brown,
The first white pebble of Elfintown
He laid ’mid cheers loud-ringing.