[Illustration: THE END OF ELFINTOWN BY JANE BARLOW ILLUSTRATED BY LAURENCE HOUSMAN LONDON MACMILLAN & CO. 1894] I.--THE BUILDING [Illustration] Now would that he who knew so well Of fierce Pigwiggin’s armour fell, And angered Oberon’s wrath, to tell, And how their feud was ended, Yea, would that he, ere hence he sped, Had writ in gold, as I in lead, For men to learn why Fays be fled, And whitherward they wended. It hapt in ages far agone A harmful spell was cast upon That Elfin King, great Oberon, And teen and trouble brought him; And albeit none can track the skill That wove the charm full-fraught with ill, We wot the Bad Brown Witch’s will Such perilous mischief wrought him. For she by magic showed him clear, In mirroring crystal of her mere, A wondrous Town; ’twas many a year Ere yet its like were builded; But thro’ her might of gramarie She made the Elfin Prince to see The grandest that on earth should be, And most by wealth-wand gilded. ’Twas shrunk, I trow, to seemly size For straiter range of Elfin eyes, But else it had its mortal guise, No sight, no stir omitted, With tower and temple, and mart and street, And prison and palace, all complete, And whirr of wheels, and hurry of feet That hither thither flitted. Whereon the King much-marvelling gazed, Admiring more, and more amazed, Till, when the Witch its image razed, Still in his heart it tarried, (A secret that he might not tell), And home unto his woodland dell That city’s vision, like a spell, O’er all his thoughts he carried. And since that day he dwelled no more In joyance blithe as theretofore, But sadly aye himself he bore Amid the sunniest shining; Nor quivering beam, nor fluttering breeze, Nor flickering shade, his sense could please; He dreamed of rarer things than these, And for their lack was pining. From harebell’s tent to bindweed’s hall, From cup-moss low to foxglove tall, He shifted oft his couch withal, Yet still would chide his chamber, And said the glowworm-lamps burned dim, And slurred the dew at rose-bud’s rim; The kingcup’s gold looked dull to him, And cowslip’s gawds of amber. Hence, on his discontents to brood, He sat one eve in sorry mood, While whispering Elves around him stood, And said ’twas strange, ’twas pity; When, sudden, light as leaf on spray, He leaped and laughed: “By Flowers o’ May, Mine Elves,” quoth he, “our own essay Shall build as fair a city.”