Here ended all the phantom-play; They smelt the fresh approach of day, And heard a cock to crow; The whirling wind that bore the crowd Has clapp’d the door, and whistled loud, To warn them all to go. Then screaming all at once they fly, And all at once the tapers die; Poor Edwin falls to floor; Forlorn his state, and dark the place, Was never wight in such a case Through all the land before. But soon as Dan Apollo rose, Full jolly creature home he goes, He feels his back the less; His honest tongue and steady mind Had rid him of the lump behind, Which made him want success. With lusty livelyhed he talks, He seems advancing as he walks, His story soon took wind; And beauteous Edith sees the youth Endowed with courage, sense, and truth, Without a bunch behind. The story told, Sir Topaz mov’d, The youth of Edith erst approv’d, To see the revel scene: At close of eve he leaves his home, And wends to find the ruin’d dome All on the gloomy plain. And there he bides, it so befel, The wind came rustling down a dell, A shaking seized the wall; Up spring the tapers as before, The fairies bragly foot the floor, And music fills the hall. But certes sorely sunk with woe Sir Topaz sees the Elphin show, His spirits in him die; When Oberon crys, “A man is near, A mortal passion, cleeped fear, Hangs flagging in the sky.” With that, Sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents faultering, aye for ruth, Intreats them pity grant; For als he been a mister wight Betray’d by wandering in the night To tread the circled haunt; “A Losell vile,” at once they roar, “And little skill’d of fairy lore, Thy cause to come we know; Now has thy kestrel courage fell, And fairies, since a lie you tell, Are free to work thee woe.” Then Will, who bears the wispy fire To trail the swains among the mire, The caitiff upward flung; There, like a tortoise in a shop, He dangled from the chamber top, Where whilome Edwin hung. The revel now proceeds apace, Deftly they strut it o’er the place, They sit, they drink, and eat; The time with frolic mirth beguile, And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while Till all the rout retreat. By this the stars began to wink, They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, And down y-drops the knight: For never spell by fairy laid With strong enchantment bound a glade, Beyond the length of night. Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, Till up the welkin rose the day, Then deem’d the dole was o’er: But wot ye well his harder lot? His seely back the bunch had got Which Edwin lost afore. This tale a Sybil-nurse ared; She softly stroak’d my youngling head, And when the tale was done, “Thus some are born, my son,” she cries, “With base impediments to rise, And some are born with none.