And eagerly at morrow’s light He hasted forth to choose a site, Whereon should now be reared aright Strong walls and storeys stately. He found it soon: an earth-plot bare Beyond an elm’s droop; six yards square; No sod, no moss, no weed, throve there, Which pleased King Oberon greatly. “For thro’ those streets,” said he, “was seen No blade of grass, or glint of green, But pavements ferly smooth and clean; Small fear of footsteps tripping.” Not far away a brook bobbed by: “From thence,” he said, “we may supply Our waterworks; and soothly I Grow weary of dew-drop sipping.” Then hied him home amain, and shook His drowsy Fays from every nook, And bade them follow with him, and look Where splendour should be springing; And ere the earliest star blinked down Upon that earth-patch bare and brown, The first white pebble of Elfintown He laid ’mid cheers loud-ringing. And now, indeed, industrious days Be risen upon the land of Fays, Where every liege his Lord obeys, And toils beside his neighbour. They plied them late, they plied them soon, In dew of dawn, thro’ drowth of noon, Nay, oft the wan light of a moon Swam in to lamp their labour. No more round Faery-ring they swept In mazy measures ere they slept; But, silent, to his lair each crept, Limb wearied, sinews aching. No more they couched in campion’s cell, Or slumbered soft in lily-bell; Prone on the ground they flung pell-mell, Brief rest from task-work taking. Some kneaded stubborn clay for bricks, [Illustration: _Copyright 1894 by Macmillan & Co._] With shells’ jagged splints some sawed at sticks, Some delved the soil with brier-thorn picks To helves of flax-haulm fitted; On business more than one can name From dawn to dusk they went and came; None durst his share refuse for shame, Nor would with sloth be twitted. And brutish things, that creep and crawl Stingless and strong, they did enthrall To burdens bear, and pull and haul, Along the highways goaded; There might ye see the Beetle black Come lumbering down the dusty track, With pebble-blocks piled on his back, Or mossy twig-beams loaded. And oft they ponderous weights would heap On slow-paced Slugs, who, half-asleep, For many a tedious yard must creep, Their drivers by them trudging; Even nimbler Ants they made submit To bridle and curb of cobweb knit, Unruly teams, that plunged and bit, Against the yoke sore grudging. Thus, sped by toil of serf and Fay, The work lagged nowise; day by day New mansions rose in rich array Beside the paven causey; Their like was ne’er in Elfland known, Some built of brick, and some of stone, And roofed with mica slabs that shone, And glazed with gnat-wings gauzy.