“Strange tidings unto you I bring, My faithful Fays,” so spake the King “For in this night a wondrous thing Was shown me as I slumbered; A wondrous thing and piteous both, For against itself my heart grows wroth To think how I have abused your troth, And worked you woes unnumbered. “Yea, bitter ’tis, since now my brain No longer reels thro’ sorcery’s bane, To trace these tracks of labour vain, This witless work to gaze on; Yon cumbrous heaps of stones and stocks Seem filled for me with flouts and mocks, As if all round on boards and blocks I read my folly’s blazon. “Yet bitterer far to feel the while That every huge-erected pile Rose inch by inch with drudgery vile From Elfin race exacted. And who your freedom’s traitorous thief? Ah, who but I, your chosen chief? Nay, think not I, but frenzy brief Of mind with charms distracted. “And now the night-sent sign, that snaps This witch-knot black, the mist unwraps Wherein Fate hid our future haps, And me its portent teacheth ’Tis fit that yet one further task I of your tried allegiance ask-- I truly; ’tis no warlock’s mask That here your aid beseecheth: “I charge you that forthright ye haste To lay this cursëd city waste; Let wall be breached, and site erased, Pluck down both roof and rafter; Leave not a stone on stone to stand; Ne’er shall your monarch, by this hand! Of Faery folk such toils demand In all the ages after.” Thereat uprose a jubilant shout From all who hearkened round about, For so they knew beyond a doubt King Oberon’s craze departed. “Swift be the King’s command obeyed, Then hence” (they cried), “to greenwood glade, Where Elves, as liked them best estrayed, Whilom have ranged light-hearted.” But Oberon, still of mien deject, Their strain exultant heard and checked With lifted palm and pale aspect, That motioned silence thro’ them. [Illustration: _Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co._] “Not so,” spake he in accents grave, “No more for us the deep woods wave, Tho’ dear the home their greenery gave, Tho’ long our hearts may rue them; “Tho’ fain were I, if this might be, Down yon cool shades all care to flee, And very fain would watch your glee Wax as in good days golden-- For, lo, the dream, whose power undid That ill witch-charm, a secret hid, Which hath, while fouler harm it rid, So fair a hope withholden. “Mark well, ye Fays: In years long fled, When Earthland first felt Elfin tread-- But whence, or how, or why we sped, I wot our wisest knows not-- The Fate who did our journeyings guide Ne’er destined that, whate’er betide, This ball must aye our dwelling bide, A prison whose doors unclose not.