The King dreamed he sat by a running river that sparkled and shone in the moonlight, as it rolled over the stones at the bottom in ripples of gleaming silver. And on either side of the flowing river were the softest, greenest, freshest moss-covered banks; while at a little distance magnificent oaks and elms cast their beautiful shadows beneath. And the birds sang in the tree-tops and carolled gaily with health and happiness.
The air was cool and sweet; the flowers were bright and gay; all nature was glad; and the King of the elves was happy.
And soon he saw coming toward him a chariot of roses drawn by thirty-three humming-birds, three in a row.
The chariot stopped near the King, and one of the humming-birds bowed and said:
“Noble King, your Empire is all the world; and we have come to take you over land and sea; over high mountains, and rocky billows, to the land of the rising sun. Arise and sit in our chariot.”
Then the King arose and sat in the chariot, and the birds flew ever onward—past snow-clad peaks and tall cathedral spires, past green fields and rustling corn—on, on, on through the bright clear air till they came to the land of the rising sun.
And as soon as they entered there they heard the blowing of trumpets and beating of drums, and a million voices cried:
“Hail, King of the elves! Noble King of the elves!”
And the sweetest flowers nodded their beautiful heads, and welcomed the King and cried:
“Our noble protector, all hail!”