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XCV.

“Lo! this most awful handle of my scythe
Stood once a May-pole, with a flowery crown,
Which rustics danced around, and maidens blithe,
To wanton pipings;–but I pluck’d it down,
And robed the May Queen in a churchyard gown,
Turning her buds to rosemary and rue;
And all their merry minstrelsy did drown,
And laid each lusty leaper in the dew;–
So thou shalt fare–and every jovial crew!”

XCVI.

Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch.
His mortal engine with each grisly hand,
Which frights the elfin progeny so much,
They huddle in a heap, and trembling stand
All round Titania, like the queen bee’s band,
With sighs and tears and very shrieks of woe!–
Meanwhile, some moving argument I plann’d,
To make the stern Shade merciful,–when lo!
He drops his fatal scythe without a blow!

XCVII.

For, just at need, a timely Apparition
Steps in between, to bear the awful brunt;
Making him change his horrible position,
To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt,
That dares Time’s irresistible affront,
Whose strokes have scarr’d even the gods of old;–
Whereas this seem’d a mortal, at mere hunt
For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold,
Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold.

XCVIII.

Who, turning to the small assembled fays,
Doffs to the lily queen his courteous cap,
And holds her beauty for a while in gaze,
With bright eyes kindling at this pleasant hap;
And thence upon the fair moon’s silver map,
As if in question of this magic chance,
Laid like a dream upon the green earth’s lap;
And then upon old Saturn turns askance,
Exclaiming, with a glad and kindly glance:–

XCIX.

“Oh, these be Fancy’s revelers by night!
Stealthy companions of the downy moth–
Diana’s motes, that flit in her pale light,
Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth;–
These be the feasters on night’s silver cloth;–
The gnat with shrilly trump is their convener,
Forth from their flowery chambers, nothing loth,
With lulling tunes to charm the air serener,
Or dance upon the grass to make it greener.”

C.

“These be the pretty genii of the flow’rs,
Daintily fed with honey and pure dew–
Midsummer’s phantoms in her dreaming hours,
King Oberon, and all his merry crew,
The darling puppets of romance’s view;
Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call them,
Famous for patronage of lovers true;–
No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them,
So do not thus with crabbed frowns appal them.”

CI.

O what a cry was Saturn’s then!–it made
The fairies quake. “What care I for their pranks,
However they may lovers choose to aid,
Or dance their roundelays on flow’ry banks?–
Long must they dance before they earn my thanks,–
So step aside, to some far safer spot,
Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks,
And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot,
And with the next day’s sun to be forgot.”

CII.

Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen;
But still the gracious Shade disarm’d his aim,
Stepping with brave alacrity between,
And made his sore arm powerless and tame.
His be perpetual glory, for the shame
Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat!–
But I must tell how here Titania, came
With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat
His kindly succor, in sad tones, but sweet.

CIII.

Saying, “Thou seest a wretched queen before thee,
The fading power of a failing land,
Who for a kingdom kneeleth to implore thee,
Now menaced by this tyrant’s spoiling hand;
No one but thee can hopefully withstand
That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift.
I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand,
Which only times all ruins by its drift,
Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift.”