 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Elves turn to celebráte then right joyous feast,
In their repairs. His woning-place each one hath;
Where he from venturous voyage did light and lodge.
And with him his housefolk, on Albions heath.
Of branches, some have bowers already made,
And many of hoarded sods. And busy are soon
Good-fay wives' hands; that all might break their fasts.
In their repairs. His woning-place each one hath;
Where he from venturous voyage did light and lodge.
And with him his housefolk, on Albions heath.
Of branches, some have bowers already made,
And many of hoarded sods. And busy are soon
Good-fay wives' hands; that all might break their fasts.
Pulse of awned barley-corns' wild stooping ears;
From Old Mainland, they beat small 'twixt matched stones;
And fitches cropt. And having smit forth sparks,
And kindled sticks; part baked is at their hearths:
And part is presently simmering in their pots.
176
And fitches cropt. And having smit forth sparks,
And kindled sticks; part baked is at their hearths:
And part is presently simmering in their pots.
Elf-kin, sate sith at banquet, eat thereof,
With sweet wood-honey. And spouses view which best,
Can pancakes toss, o'er embers of live hearths;
Which shine now glimpsing bright, as stars on loft.
Woodwives-thralls, bear to all round new-brewed mead.
Girt ben those only, in long smocks of grey moss;
With garlands blue of pervinks on their heads:
And dight, with golden collars, ben their necks,
Of butter-cups: and mails, for bracelets bright,
Have they, of lady-birds wings.
With sweet wood-honey. And spouses view which best,
Can pancakes toss, o'er embers of live hearths;
Which shine now glimpsing bright, as stars on loft.
Woodwives-thralls, bear to all round new-brewed mead.
Girt ben those only, in long smocks of grey moss;
With garlands blue of pervinks on their heads:
And dight, with golden collars, ben their necks,
Of butter-cups: and mails, for bracelets bright,
Have they, of lady-birds wings.
To gather meat;
Did they prevent the Dawn, in field and grove:
And ranging sith amongst the bees; which named
In Faeryland be, the Muses' little birds:
They sought the flowery sweet, and filled their crocs;
Mingled with dewdrops. And 't is this they skink.
To all fay companíes, in treen goblets;
Wild woods diapered acorn-cups; increased,
By magic spell, to compass of elves' lips.
And every laughter-loving goblin fellowship,
Drinketh deep; until in fine their heads go round.
Did they prevent the Dawn, in field and grove:
And ranging sith amongst the bees; which named
In Faeryland be, the Muses' little birds:
They sought the flowery sweet, and filled their crocs;
Mingled with dewdrops. And 't is this they skink.
To all fay companíes, in treen goblets;
177
By magic spell, to compass of elves' lips.
And every laughter-loving goblin fellowship,
Drinketh deep; until in fine their heads go round.
'Twixt mirth and ruth, elves, for late Country lost;
(No sorrow long endures in faerie breasts!)
Whose knolls grown totty already are of the must,
Gin to nod fast. Yet once, who wake, lift that
Sweet metheglyn to dry lips. Soon all drowse fast.
They rowt whose heads mislay, till risen again
Is morrows Sun; so weary is every fay.
(No sorrow long endures in faerie breasts!)
Whose knolls grown totty already are of the must,
Gin to nod fast. Yet once, who wake, lift that
Sweet metheglyn to dry lips. Soon all drowse fast.
They rowt whose heads mislay, till risen again
Is morrows Sun; so weary is every fay.
And sith, past after dawn, they slumber out
New daylight hours, on small soft sappy grass:
And that till lateward, in New Faery Albion.
Elves yawn, when first is Star of even seen.
They stretch them, in their leafy bowers awake:
So jocund rise refreshed to merry make.
New daylight hours, on small soft sappy grass:
And that till lateward, in New Faery Albion.
Elves yawn, when first is Star of even seen.
They stretch them, in their leafy bowers awake:
So jocund rise refreshed to merry make.
Some light-shanked spurn, flit foot-balls, where they pass.
Some shimmering glowberds gather in their caps.
To them trip faerie maidens out anon;
That dainty glide over dim twilight turf.
Some shimmering glowberds gather in their caps.
To them trip faerie maidens out anon;
That dainty glide over dim twilight turf.
Wooers blow up, in crystal-wan moonlight;
Shawms some, of green corn, some of hemlock stalks.
Grave pipes, some, fashioned of pilled hazel rods.
Some, booming trumps, of far-fetcht wentle-traps.
Another, on shíning reeds' uneven halms;
With wavering lip, plays, warbling, diverse notes:
To help the labouring Moon, that hangs oppressed
In fleecy clouds; and wades among, uneath.
178
Grave pipes, some, fashioned of pilled hazel rods.
Some, booming trumps, of far-fetcht wentle-traps.
Another, on shíning reeds' uneven halms;
With wavering lip, plays, warbling, diverse notes:
To help the labouring Moon, that hangs oppressed
In fleecy clouds; and wades among, uneath.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |