Silent sate the maid and monarch many a moment, till, quoth he, “Knowest thou not, unhappy child, the woe thou hast wrought in faërie? Know’st thou not that by the name which elfin tongue hath never passed, When so uttered, we are scattered, dust-like by the tempest’s blast; Know’st thou not that we be spirits, doomed to linger here, unchanged, In the sunless land of Faërie, from the light of heaven estranged, Till with promise of salvation, we be blessed by holy priest, Or some sinless mortal give us hope to be at last released? Till the universal judgment we, the viewless sons of Eve, Wander in the hollow underworld, unable to believe, Till we hold the great assurance, for the lack whereof we grieve. Still as we of sin were guiltless, save the sin inherited From our mother’s first transgression, ere the floods abroad were spread, He, the great Creator, hid us in the bosom-shades of earth, And forbade that in the sunlight ever we should journey forth.” “Bounteous is He,” said the maiden, “of illimitable grace; Nor would He have hid ye here, if good He meant not to your race.” “Ah, alas! then, why delayeth He his merciful command?” Sighed the fairy; “sooner blossom shall the sceptre in my hand;” Saying,—in the mold he wildly struck his white and star-tipped wand. Scarce had he the sad word uttered when the peeled and polished rod Bourgeoned forth in buds and blossoms, rooted in the mossy sod; “Lo! a miracle,” said Christine; “trust ye henceforth, too, in God. Rest ye sure His mercy broodeth over all the souls He made.” “We are spirits,” groaned the fairy, “greatly of our end afraid; Though a flickering hope inspires us with belief that we shall be Joined, at last, with Him and Heaven, in His boundless clemencie.” “Be it,” said she; “knew not I, nathless, so saintly your desire; And if mine your royal sanction to reseek my loving sire, He within his walls sustains, for mercy’s sake, a godly frere, Who to pious aspirations ever lends a pitying ear; And will grant His sacred blessing to your nation; doubt it ne’er; He will bless whate’er loves me; for I to him was alway dear.” “Speed thee earthwards,” said the sovran, “speed thee, dearest child of light;” On the instant, hosts of fairies warbling, darted into sight. Airs delicious, such as mortal never heard from human hands, Whispered loud from golden clarions, harped on strings of silver strands, Strains triumphant, thrilled and echoed through those dim enchanted lands. “Speed thee, heart of love,” they faltered, “speed thee on thy star-taught way; Bring to Oberon and his people hope of heaven and peace for aye.” “Ah! farewell, ye good and loyal,” said the princess, stepping forth, “Ne’er shall I forget your bounties, never see surpassed your worth; If not pure enough for heaven, ye are far too pure for earth.”