Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co.
“And not on you alone this yoke
Of bondage falls; an humbler folk
May rue the hour when trowel’s stroke
First tinkled clinking yonder;
Our fellow-wights of feature quaint,
Now captived, maugre plea and plaint,
To drudge for us; whose harsh constraint
I oft remorseful ponder.
“My heart grows hot when yearnings vain
Dumb in the draught-ant’s eyes speak plain,
For comrades’ blithesome bustle fain,
Amid their garnered treasure.
And ruth and wrath will thro’ me throb
To hear the unsightly Spider sob,
When from her loom the weft we rob,
Wove with such pride and pleasure.
“And still when harnessed Snail or Slug
I watch the hated wain-load tug,
Or Beetle gross down ruts deep-dug
Hath past me, panting, lumbered,
Reproachful twinges wring my mind,
For so we twofold burdens bind
On creatures whom, thro’ Fate unkind,
Unwieldy frames have cumbered.
“Yet, if, irate at wrongs of these,
To rebel thoughts I turn for ease,
I fare as foot that nettle flees,
But which barbed thistle lameth;
So shrewd a thorn-pang pierced my breast
What time I heard an Elf suggest
That Fays should scorn their King’s behest
Since overmuch he claimeth.
“For, tho’ mine ire mount ne’er so high,
Let Oberon but anon draw nigh
With joyful mien and sparkling eye,
Our bootless tasks admiring,
And, doubting naught of hearers glad,
Begin to tell new projects mad—
Tall towers to raise, long rows to add,
All Elfland’s strength requiring,
“Then, wistful, pause my face to scan
And read approval of his plan
Trow, if for very ruth I can
There brook him vainly seek it.
Nay, if I knew one word whose might
Could all his hopes forbid and blight,
Loose Elfdom’s chains, and crush his sprite,
In truth ’twere hard to speak it.