_Ros._ My friend, Ask no more questions, but attend! To the Feast he came with me, The chamberlain most courteously Placing us nigh the upper end. Her Highness bow’d, and Brightkin gazed On her face like one amazed, While our Beauty’s tender eyes Rested with a sweet surprise Upon the stranger-fairy: round Went cates and wines, and Klingoling With five new birds began to sing. Then came a page on errand bound To ask the stranger’s name and realm: “Brightkin of the Purple Helm, From the Blue Mountain, fairy knight, Flown thence to view the Forest,—might It please her Highness.” It did please. So by and by we sat at ease In shadowy bow’r, a favour’d ring, Now talking, now with Klingoling Join’d in a waft of harmony; And evermore there seem’d to be ’Twixt Brightkin and our Princess dear A concord, more than string with string And voice with voice rejoice one’s ear. And then _he_ took the lute and sung, With modest grace and skilfully, For tipt with honey seem’d his tongue; At first a murmuring melody, Like the far song of falling rills Amid the foldings of the hills, And ever nearer as it flew, Shaping its figure, like a bird, Till into Love’s own form it grew In every lovely note and word. So sweet a song we never heard! When, think what came? _Jink._ I cannot think. _Ros._ A trumpet-blast that made us wink! A hailstorm upon basking flowers! Quick, sharp!—we started to our feet, All save her Highness, mild and sweet, Who said, “See who invades our bowers.” _Jink._ Who was it, Rosling? quickly say! _Ros._ The King of the Blue Mountains, fay, Seeking audience, without delay. Fierce and frowning his look at first, Like that uncivil trumpet-burst; But all his blackness alter’d soon, Like clouds that melt upon the moon, Before the gentle dignity Of Her, Titania’s child, whom we Obey and love. _Jink._ Blest may she be! But wherefore came the haughty King?