And now ye might, in sooth, have thought, Seeing all to such perfection wrought, That Fays might well repose have sought, From toil returned to pleasure. Howbeit, not so their King inclined, For fast as sped the works designed, Fresh plans were shapen in his mind, That wist not bound or measure. Oft as from Palace towers he eyed That spacious plain, as oft he sighed To see it planted far and wide With street-rows thick as stubble. Nor seldom flaws of wind and rain, Uplifting roof, and shattering pane, That needs must be restored again, Did Elfin labours double. Thus, by the malice of the skies, And tasks their King would still devise, The Fays beheld new toils arise To bar their hope of resting; As he who from the strand hath swum, While in his ear the surges hum, Sees evermore to meet him come White flocks of billows cresting. Which when at last they clearly knew, Deep discontent upon them grew, Till scarce a Fay did timber hew, Or piled up clay or pebble, Or hoisted load with strain and heft, Or grained a door with fingers deft And listless thoughts, but, hope-bereft, At heart was half a rebel. [Illustration] II.--THE COUNCIL [Illustration] So, after setting of a sun, When all their day’s long coil was done, And dew on gossamer-threads late-spun Beneath the moonbeams trembled, Called to a chosen meeting-place, Without the Town a frog-leap’s space, To talk about their evil case The Elfin folk assembled. ’Twas in good sooth a sight forlorn To see them fagged and labour-worn, Their dainty garments stained and torn, Forms bowed with weary stooping; Most like a bed of windflowers frail, What time a shower of pelting hail Hath smirched with mould the petals pale And left the bruised stalks drooping. And as when ruffling breeze-wafts go, Now sighing loud, now moaning low, [Illustration] Among the shivering blossoms, so Among the Elves upstarted A wail of voices small and shrill, That swelled and sank commingled, still Lamenting o’er their present ill Or ancient bliss departed. First Elfrain, for his silvern tongue Renowned his Faery feres among, Upon a fallen beech-nut sprung, Spake clear, while hushed they hearkened: “It little needs, ye Elves” (he said), “To bid you ’ware the direful dread, By gathering glooms and shadows spread, Wherewith our days are darkened. “But, since a shadow’s curse is e’er The eyes to blind and feet to snare, That else a path would find and fare From forth its grim embrasure, Behoves us seek from whence they flit, These shades that on our lives have lit, For so, perchance, a way we hit, Back to the beamy azure.