The Flitting

Hence, when the dawn looked dewiest, Forth Elfmel fared on fateful quest, Alone, so ran the charm’s behest, While still the King lay dreaming; But—since his se’ennight’s peril dared Were long to tell—he home repaired When Elfintown at sunset flared, With roofs and windows gleaming.

He came, in sooth, at time of need, Because the King had just decreed A task that should all tasks exceed Which yet the Fays had sighed o’er: A monstrous tower, ne’er seen its like, Whose crest should seem the clouds to strike, And even the loftiest plantain-spike Peer in prodigious pride o’er.

Not empty-handed Elfmel came: A mirror wan in dark-wove frame The Witch had sent, and o’er the same Breathed many a murmur mystic; In size it matched the rain-drop pearled At broadest blade-point; round it curled Stag-beetle’s antler, carved and whirled With sentence Kabalistic.

The which, if hung ere fall of night Near Oberon’s couch, by subtle sleight Of maker’s craft, and magic’s might, Would show him such a vision As must his frenzy scare away: “Ay, stranger secrets ’twill bewray,” Quoth she; yet more she would not say, But sped the Elf on his mission.

This Elfmel did anon relate To his comrades, met in grave debate, Who joyed to learn their evil estate Might now eftsoons be mended. And twain in haste by secret stair To Oberon’s bower the mirror-bare, What time he bode all unaware Of aught his Elves intended.

Methinks when dimness round them closed, The weariest Fay but seldom dozed, For new-blown glee with morn-flush rosed The drift of night’s pale lily; Or hope and fear, like boisterous breeze Whereon the fluttering petal flees, Frayed sleep, that loves on hearts at ease To light and linger stilly.

Some soft as drowsy finches sung: “Oh sweet, ye Fays, our lawns among To fleet fair days, from dawn’s flame sprung Till night star-bright,” they twittered; While others kept a mien more grave, For somewhat still their minds misgave That care so blithe an end should have Which long their lives embittered.

But all, thro’ hopes and fears, watched fain To see red light the east distain, That Oberon should rouse again From slumbers gramarie-haunted; For then they must behold a sign If verily to that spell benign The Bad Brown Witch’s power malign Had yielded, quelled and daunted.

And ’mid the mists of morning-tide Thronged to the Palace court they hied; And, lo, the massy door flung wide, And Oberon thro’ it pacing. Sad was his look, as if he grieved Of long-deluding hope bereaved, Or fairest myth, too much believed, Truth-touched with finger effacing.

Forth paced he to as mute a hush As falls upon the twittering bush Whence titmice watch the missel-thrush, Their motley tyrant, coming; For never a Fay durst move, in fear Lest haply so should fail his ear The words he held his breath to hear Above his heart’s thick drumming.

Nor any sound from earth or sky That silence flawed, save if thereby A restive Earwig, stalled anigh, Stamped foot and tugged at tether; Or shrilled a sharper note than that Where overhead a gaunt-limbed Gnat, Perched on a neighbouring roof-ridge, sat And twirled lean legs together.

“Strange tidings unto you I bring, My faithful Fays,” so spake the King “For in this night a wondrous thing Was shown me as I slumbered; A wondrous thing and piteous both, For against itself my heart grows wroth To think how I have abused your troth, And worked you woes unnumbered.

“Yea, bitter ’tis, since now my brain No longer reels thro’ sorcery’s bane, To trace these tracks of labour vain, This witless work to gaze on; Yon cumbrous heaps of stones and stocks Seem filled for me with flouts and mocks, As if all round on boards and blocks I read my folly’s blazon.

“Yet bitterer far to feel the while That every huge-erected pile Rose inch by inch with drudgery vile From Elfin race exacted. And who your freedom’s traitorous thief? Ah, who but I, your chosen chief? Nay, think not I, but frenzy brief Of mind with charms distracted.

“And now the night-sent sign, that snaps This witch-knot black, the mist unwraps Wherein Fate hid our future haps, And me its portent teacheth ’Tis fit that yet one further task I of your tried allegiance ask— I truly; ’tis no warlock’s mask That here your aid beseecheth:

“I charge you that forthright ye haste To lay this cursëd city waste; Let wall be breached, and site erased, Pluck down both roof and rafter; Leave not a stone on stone to stand; Ne’er shall your monarch, by this hand! Of Faery folk such toils demand In all the ages after.”

Thereat uprose a jubilant shout From all who hearkened round about, For so they knew beyond a doubt King Oberon’s craze departed. “Swift be the King’s command obeyed, Then hence” (they cried), “to greenwood glade, Where Elves, as liked them best estrayed, Whilom have ranged light-hearted.”

But Oberon, still of mien deject, Their strain exultant heard and checked With lifted palm and pale aspect, That motioned silence thro’ them.

“Not so,” spake he in accents grave, “No more for us the deep woods wave, Tho’ dear the home their greenery gave, Tho’ long our hearts may rue them;

“Tho’ fain were I, if this might be, Down yon cool shades all care to flee, And very fain would watch your glee Wax as in good days golden— For, lo, the dream, whose power undid That ill witch-charm, a secret hid, Which hath, while fouler harm it rid, So fair a hope withholden.

“Mark well, ye Fays: In years long fled, When Earthland first felt Elfin tread— But whence, or how, or why we sped, I wot our wisest knows not— The Fate who did our journeyings guide Ne’er destined that, whate’er betide, This ball must aye our dwelling bide, A prison whose doors unclose not.

“That weird-night’s vision warns me so— Had meshed us soon in webs of woe, Whence Fate hath willed we free should go, Long since to me confiding The word whereby, if need befal, Aërial chariots I may call, Mage-fashioned, meet to waft us all Up ways heaven’s vault dividing.

“Yet here so long, so blithe, we dwelled, So dear our haunts by flood and feld, That evermore I hoped and held Such word need ne’er be spoken, Now from me wrung by darkening doom, As menace-murk of thunder-gloom Bids shun hurled bolt and bellowing boom Ere yet the storm hath broken.

“No plainer speech my lips dare frame; But, soothly, had ye seen the same, Each idle moment would ye blame That us from flight doth sever, Not loitering o’er what rests to do Ere hence we float up yonder blue, Self-exiled from the paths we knew— For ever and for ever.”

I trow that every Fay who heard Was grieved at heart by Oberon’s word, Yet none lamented, none demurred, Or against his will besought him; For in his steadfast-mournful eyne They could some fatal truth divine, Tho’ none might know what boding sign To stern resolve had wrought him.

And ’tis a riddle still ungues’t What vision from that mirror’s breast Was flashed athwart King Oberon’s rest, So filled with fear and wonder. Some say that unto him were shown Days when round earth, once green and lone, Shall whirl with cities all o’ergrown, No Elf-ring’s circle asunder; And say he saw or ever he woke High heaven blurred out with riftless smoke, Where men ground down ’neath labour’s yoke Toil to the mad wheel’s thunder; World weeded o’er from prime to prime With want, and woe, and care, and crime, Unmeet to tell in Faery rime, That halts such burden under.

Howbeit, the Elves in eager crowd Made haste to raze those mansions proud; Anon the rill-cliffs echoed loud To crash of timbers falling, As toppling towers at onslaught rude Reeled down in wrack, and street-rows strewed Their swift-wrought ruin, whence captives shrewd Slipped homeward, warily crawling.

Till soon, if wanderer chanced to fare Across that earth-patch smooth and bare, He spied no Elfin doings there, And only heard a rustle Where shrivelled leaves their serest brown Thro’ Autumn mists had drifted down. This was the end of Elfintown, Built with such coil and bustle.

Then Oberon spake the word of might That set the enchanted cars in sight; But lore I lack to tell aright

Where these had waited hidden. Perchance the clear airs round us rolled In secret cells did them enfold, Like evening dew that none behold Till to the sward ’tis slidden.

And who can say what wizardise Had fashioned them in marvellous wise, And given them power to stoop and rise More high than thought hath travelled? Somewhat of cloud their frames consist, But more of meteor’s luminous mist, All girt with strands of seven-hued twist From rainbow’s verge unravelled.

’Tis said, and I believe it well, That whoso mounts their magic sell, Goes, if he list, invisible Beneath the broadest noonlight; That virtue comes of Faery-fern, Lone-lived where hill-slopes starward turn Thro’ frore night hours that bid it burn Flame-fronded in the moonlight;

For this holds true—too true, alas!— The sky that eve was clear as glass, Yet no man saw the Faeries pass Where azure pathways glisten; And true it is—too true, ay me— That nevermore on lawn or lea Shall mortal man a Faery see, Tho’ long he look and listen.

Only the twilit woods among A wild-winged breeze hath sometimes flung Dim echoes borne from strains soft-sung Beyond sky-reaches hollow; Still further, fainter up the height, Receding past the deep-zoned night— Far chant of Fays who lead that flight, Faint call of Fays who follow:

(Fays following.) Red-rose mists o’erdrift Moth-moon’s glimmering white, Lit by sheen-silled west Barred with fiery bar; Fleeting, following swift, Whither across the night Seek we bourne of rest? (Fays leading.) Afar.

(Fays following.) Vailing crest on crest Down the shadowy height, Earth with shores and seas Dropt, a dwindling gleam. Dusk, and bowery nest, Dawn, and dells dew-bright, What shall bide of these? (Fays leading.) A dream.

(Fays following.) Fled, ah fled, our sight. Yea, but thrills of fire Throbbed adown yon deep, Faint and very far Who shall rede aright? Say, what wafts us nigher, Beckoning up the steep? (Fays leading.) A star.

(Fays following.) List, a star! a star! Oh, our goal of light! Yet the winged shades sweep, Yet the void looms vast. Weary our wild dreams are: When shall cease our flight Soft on shores of sleep? (Fays leading.) At last.