Meanwhile the bolt shatters some pine or ash
"Thou feeble, wanton, foolish, fickle thing!
Whom naught can frighten, sadden, or abash,-
To hope my solemn countenance to wring
To idiot smiles! but I will prune thy wing!

"Lo! this most awful handle of my scythe
Stood once a May-pole, with a flowery crown,
Which rustics danced around, and maidens blithe,
To wanton pipings; - but I plucked it down,
And robed the May Queen in a church-yard gown,
Turning her buds to rosemary and rue;
And all their merry minstrelsy did drown,
And laid each lusty leaper in the dew;
So thou shalt fare and every jovial crew!"
Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch
His mortal engine with each grisly hand,
Which frights the elfin progeny so much,
They huddle in a heap, and trembling stand
All round Titania, like the queen bee's band,
With sighs and tears and very shrieks of woe!
Meanwhile, some moving argument I planned,
To make the stern Shade merciful, when, lo!
He drops his fatal scythe without a blow!
For, just at need, a timely Apparition
Steps in between, to bear the awful brunt;
Making him change his horrible position,
To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt,
That dares Time's irresistible affront,

Whose strokes have scarred even the gods of old; -
Whereas this seemed a mortal, at mere hunt
For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold,
Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold.

Who, turning to the small assembled fays,
Doffs to the lily queen his courteous cap,
And holds her beauty for a while in gaze,
With bright eyes kindling at this pleasant hap;
And thence upon the fair moon's silver map,
As if in question of this magic chance,
Laid like a dream upon the green earth's lap;
And then upon old Saturn turns askance,
Exclaiming, with a glad and kindly glance :

"O, these be Fancy's revellers by night!
Stealthy companions of the downy moth -
Diana's motes, that flit in her pale light,
Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth; —
These be the feasters on night's silver cloth,—
The gnat with shrilly trump is their convener,
Forth from their flowery chambers, nothing loth,
With lulling tunes to charm the air serener,
Or dance upon the grass to make it greener.

"These be the pretty genii of the flowers,
Daintily fed with honey and pure dew-
Midsummer's phantoms in her dreaming hours,
King Oberon, and all his merry crew,
The darling puppets of romance's view;

Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves, we call them,
Famous for patronage of lovers true;

No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them, So do not thus with crabbed frowns appall them."

O, what a cry was Saturn's then! it made

The fairies quake. "What care I for their pranks, However they may lovers choose to aid,

Or dance their roundelays on flowery banks?

Long must they dance before they earn my thanks,—
So step aside, to some far safer spot,

Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks,
And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot,
And with the next day's sun to be forgot."

Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen;
But still the gracious Shade disarmed his aim,
Stepping with brave alacrity between,
And made his sere arm powerless and tame.
His be perpetual glory, for the shame
Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat!
But I must tell, how here Titania came
With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat
His kindly succor, in sad tones, but sweet.

Saying, "Thou seest a wretched queen before thee
The fading power of a failing land,

Who for her kingdom kneeleth to implore thee,
Now menaced by this tyrant's spoiling hand;
No one but thee can hopefully withstand
That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift.

I

pray thee blind him with his own vile sand. Which only times all ruins by its drift, Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift.

"Or take him by that sole and grizzled tuft,
That hangs upon his bald and barren crown;
And we will sing to see him so rebuffed,

And lend our little mights to pull him down,
And make brave sport of his malicious frown,
For all his boastful mockery o'er men.
For thou wast born, I know, for this renown,
By my most magical and inward ken,
That readeth even at Fate's forestalling pen.

"Nay, by the golden lustre of thine eye,
And by thy brow's most fair and ample span,
Thought's glorious palace, framed for fancies high,
And by thy cheek thus passionately wan,

I know the signs of an immortal man,-
Nature's chief darling, an illustrious mate,
Destined to foil old Death's oblivious plan,
And shine untarnished by the fogs of Fate,
Time's famous rival till the final date!

O, shield us, then, from this usurping Time,
And we will visit thee in moonlight dreams;
And teach thee tunes, to wed unto thy rhyme,
And dance about thee in all midnight gleams,
Giving thee glimpses of our magic schemes,
Such as no mortal's eye hath ever seen;
And, for thy love to us in our extremes,
Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green,
Such as no poet's wreath hath ever been!

"And we'll distil thee aromatic dews,

To charm thy sense, when there shall be no flowers:
And flavored syrups in thy drinks infuse,
And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bowers,
And with our games divert thy weariest hours,
With all that elfin wits can e'er devise.

And, this churl dead, there'll be no hasting hours
To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies: "-
Here she was stopped by Saturn's furious cries.

Whom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew,
Saying, "Thou haggard Sin, go forth, and scoop
Thy hollow coffin in some church-yard yew,

Or make the autumnal flowers turn pale and droop;

Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop
Under fat sheaves, or blast the piny grove; -
But here thou shalt not harm this pretty group,
Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove,
But leased on Nature's loveliness and love.

"'Tis these that free the small entangled fly,
Caught in the venomed spider's crafty snare; -
These be the petty surgeons that apply
The healing balsams to the wounded hare,
Bedded in bloody fern, no creature's care! -
These be providers for the orphan brood,
Whose tender mother hath been slain in air,
Quitting with gaping bill her darlings' food,
Hard by the verge of her domestic wood.

(6 "Tis these befriend the timid trembling stag,
When, with a bursting heart beset with fears,
He feels his saving speed begin to flag;
For then they quench the fatal taint with tears,
And prompt fresh shifts in his alarumed ears,
So piteously they view all bloody morts;
Or if the gunner, with his arm, appears,
Like noisy pyes and jays, with harsh reports,
They warn the wild fowl of his deadly sports.
"For these are kindly ministers of nature,
To soothe all covert hurts and dumb distress;
Pretty they be, and very small of stature,-
For mercy still consorts with littleness;
Wherefore the sum of good is still the less,
And mischief grossest in this world of wrong:-
So do these charitable dwarfs redress
The ten-fold ravages of giants strong,

To whom great malice and great might belong.