Yet what could she be but proud of what the world counts among its jewels? And after them came running the delicate Perilla to join herself to their garland, and so smoothly did she glide that I looked to see her shod with the winged sandals of Hermes, for not a blade bent as she past, and so she slipt across the moonlight.
And then a little crowd of sweet shadows—Perenna the lovely, Sappho (but not she of the Leucadian rock), the Delaying Lady with handsome sullen brows, and lips pouted in half disdain, the beloved Electra, graceful as a harebell on a breeze, the reluctant Oenone and many others, fair and Orient gems set in a carcanet for the Muse’s wearing. And after them a young Cupid, kitten-eyed and mischievous with his bow braced.
And at this the air filled suddenly with nimble laughters and little cries flipt with merry breath in the trees above us, and small shapes drunk with dew and moonlight dropt from the boughs like spiders sliding down their threads, so many that they pelted quick as rain-drops on the turf. And, lo you! ’twas a rabble of Oberon’s courtiers tripping across to set their mushroom tables in the shade retired from the moon of night, and indeed, methought the Lady Moon leaned her golden chin on a bar of cloud to watch the silly shower and laugh at their follies.
But the voice of Mr. Herrick’s lute waxed faster and faster till it spun a labyrinth of music wherein the fairies did flout and spin and stagger, singing, and these words reached me but no more:
“Through the forest, through the forest
I will track my fairy Queen,
Of her foot the flying footprint,
Of her locks the flying sheen.”
And whether this was sung or danced I know not, for the moon dipt behind a cloud, and all shapes from distinct became confused into a swift murmur whether of sound or sight or the ripple of the Dean Burn I can tell neither to myself nor others, only that presently there was darkness and silence. Nor can I say whether hours or minutes had past when Mr. Herrick laid his hand upon my arm and roused me from what I took to be a deep meditation.
“Dear guest,” says he, “you have slept long, and every leaf is pearled in dew, and the Night would be secret with her subjects. We intrude. Therefore rouse yourself, for Mrs. Prue will think us strayed sheep if she wake, and indeed I will bespeak your soft treading for she is but a crazy sleeper and hath of late been sick, almost to be lunatic, with a pain in her teeth.”