_Second Fairy._ My dwelling is in the serpentine Of the rainbow’s colour’d line,— See how its rose and amber clings To the many hues of my radiant wings; Mine is the step that bids the earth Give to the iris flower its birth, And mine the golden cup to hide, Where the last faint hue of the rainbow died. Search the depths of an Indian mine,— Where are the colours to match with mine? _Chorus._ Dance we round, for the gale is bringing Songs the summer rose is singing. _Third Fairy._ I float on the breath of a minstrel’s lute, Or the wandering sounds of a distant flute, Linger I over the tones that swell From the pink-veined chords of an ocean-shell; I love the skylark’s morning hymn, Or the nightingale heard at the twilight dim, The echo, the fountain’s melody,— These, oh! these are the spells for me! _Chorus._ Hail to the summer night of June; See! yonder has risen our ladye moon. _Fourth Fairy._ My palace is in the coral cave Set with spars by the ocean wave; Would ye have gems, then seek them there,— There found I the pearls that bind my hair. I and the wind together can roam Over the green waves and their white foam,— See, I have got this silver shell, Mark how my breath will its smallness swell, For the Nautilus is my boat In which I over the waters float: The moon is shining over the sea,— Who is there will come sail with me? _Chorus of Fairies._ Our noontide sleep is on leaf and flower, Our revels are held in a moonlit hour,— What is there sweet, what is there fair, And we are not the dwellers there? Dance we round, for the morning light Will put us and our glow-worm lamps to flight! L. E. L. Chronicles of Fairyland. NYMPHIDIA: THE COURT OF FAIRY. Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell, Mad Rablais of Pantagruel, A later third of Dowsabel, With such poor trifles playing: Others the like have labour’d at, Some of this thing, and some of that, And many of they know not what, But that they must be saying. Another sort there be, that will Be talking of the fairies still, Nor never can they have their fill, As they were wedded to them: No tales of them their thirst can slake, So much delight therein they take, And some strange thing they fain would make, Knew they the way to do them. Then since no muse hath been so bold, Or for the later, or the old, Those elvish secrets to unfold, Which be from others’ reading; My active muse to light shall bring The court of that proud Fairy King, And tell there of the revelling— Joy prosper my proceeding. And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay, Which, meeting me upon the way, These secrets didst to me bewray, Which now I am in telling: My pretty, light fantastic maid, I here invoke to thee my aid, That I may speak what thou hast said, In numbers smoothly swelling.