Its driver skilled was the wood-moth’s sister,—
Swift! swift,—come my goblin’s feet!—
Oh, ’twere wiser to win the elf-king’s spite
Than that lad or lass should my summons slight!
“I have learned the lore which the wild owl whistles!
Forth! forth,—for my mercy dies!—
I have wove me a dress from the silk of thistles!
Swift! swift,—see my sprites arise!—
Oh, the hawk’s grey wing or the sable of night
Shall not save nor hide, who my summons slight!”