“Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,

Our moonlight circle’s screen?

Or who comes here to chase the deer,

Beloved of our Elfin Queen?

Or who may dare on wold to wear

The Fairies’ fatal green?

“Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,

For thou wert christened man;

For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,

For muttered word or ban.