University of Virginia Library

“Thy voice is weak, thine eyes are dim,”
The holy father said to him;
“The damp of death is on thy brow,
Whate'er thy sin, confess it now,
Confess it, ere it be too late.
Is it blood, or pride, or restless hate?”

“I have shed no blood,” he thus replied,
“I have hated none, I have known no pride,
Yet have sinned as few men sin beside.
I have bound myself, by oath and spell,
To the faëry people of field and fell,
With solemn rites and mysteries.
Can the church absolve from sins like these?”

“My son,” said the friar, “tell to me
How such enchantment fell on thee.
Thou must have sold thyself to sin,
Ere such enchantment power could win.”

The sick man lay on the greensward low,
But he raised himself, and his words were slow:

“I dwelt as the minstrel dwells at best,
The thymy wold was my couch of rest;
I watched on the ancient mountains grey,
I dwelt in the greenwood day by day;
I knew each bird that singeth free;
I had knowledge of each herb and tree;
I called each little star by name;
I watched the lightning's subtle flame;
I was learnëd in the skies and seas,
And earth's profoundest mysteries:
But best I loved, in the moonlight glade,
To be where the faëry people played;
And to list their music sweet and low,
Too soft for joy, too wild for woe;
And I tuned my harp, both even and morn,
To the witching airs of the faëry horn,
Till I knew them all, and at will could bring
The revellers wild from their grassy ring.
Then I sate with them at a banquet spread,
I drank their wine that was ruby red,
And a deadly sleep came o'er my brain:
But, when I opened my eyes again,
I was not beneath any earthly tree;
A heavy darkness hung o'er me.
I lay in a couch-like chariot wide,
And one who drove me sate beside:
I heard him urge the horses fleet;
I heard the sound of their ceaseless feet.
On they went, o'er the rugged road,
For days and days, with their easy load:
Swiftly we sped, and the passing air
Was cool on my cheek and lifted my hair.
On we went over mountains high,
And roaring waters we journeyed by,
And through thick woods where the air was cold,
O'er sandy wastes and the furzy wold,
Day after day, as it seemed to me,
In a gloom, like the night of eternity.

At length I sate in another land,
With the faëry people on either hand.
Where was that land I cannot say:
Its light was not like the light of day;
The air was not like the air of earth;
'Twas the wondrous land where dreams have birth.
There were marvellous things of shape divine;
There were fountains that poured forth purple wine;
There were trees that bent with their golden load
Of fruits, that all gifts of mind bestowed;
The very air did breathe and sigh,
As if o'erburdened with melody.
But then there were frightful creeping things;
The coil of the adder, the harpy's wings,
The screech of the owl, the death-bed moan,
And eyes that would turn the blood to stone.
I was set to the feast, and half in dread
I drank of the cup, and I ate the bread;
I was told to bathe, and half in fear
I bathed myself in those waters clear:
I ate, I drank, I bathed, and then
I could no longer have part with men.
I dwelt 'mid the faëries, their merry king;
I danced on the earth, in the charmëd ring;
I learned the songs of awful mirth
That were made ere man abode on earth,
In the time of chaos, stern and grey,
'Mid the ruins of old worlds passed away.

A careless joyful life I led
Till thrice seven years, as a day, had sped;
Then a longing wish was in my mind
To dwell once more among my kind:
So up I rose, but I told to none
What journey I was departing on;
And at the close of a summer's day
I laid me down on the flowery brae.

Ere long came one, and a friar was he,
Muttering over his rosary:
He was lean and crabbed and old;
His voice was thick, and his prayers were cold;
He moved not my heart. Then came there by
A fair child, chasing a butterfly:
'Twas a lovely boy, with his free, bright hair,
Like a sunny cloud, o'er his shoulders bare;
And, as he danced in his glee along,
He filled the air with a joyful song.
I blessed the child, from my inmost heart,
With a faëry gift that could ne'er depart.
Next came a maiden, all alone,
And down she sate on a mossy stone:
Fair was she as the morning's smile;
But her serious eye had a tear the while.
Then she raised to heaven her thoughtful look,
And drew from her bosom a claspëd book.
Page by page of that book she read;
Hour by hour I listenëd.
Still on she read sedate and low,
And at every word I was wrung with woe;
For she taught what I ne'er had known before,
The holy truths of the Christian lore.
And I saw the sinful life I led,
And my human heart was shook with dread;
And I, who had lived in pleasures wild,
Now wept in awe, like a stricken child.

Down I knelt, and I strove to pray,
But never a hope to my soul found way;
For with that spell I was bound and bound,
And with elvish snares was compassed round:
But a prayer was ever on my tongue,
For soon I learned that prayers were strong
To unweave the webs that were in my track
To win my soul to the faëry back.
I have wrestled hard, I have vainly striven
'Gainst them, and for my peace with Heaven;
But now my strength doth ebb apace.
“Father, can the Church award me grace,
And among the blessed a dwelling-place?”

“My son,” the reverend friar spake,
“Behold how the faëry webs shall break.
Thou hast fought the fight, thou hast battled long,
And the victor here is not the strong;
But the gates of heaven stand open wide,
And the contrite heart is the sanctified.
Give up; stand, like the Hebrews, still,
And behold the wonders of God's will.
Lay down thy strife, lay down thy pride,
Lay all thy hope on Christ who died,
And thou art saved; for, at his spell,
Not faëry webs, but the gates of hell
Are dashed aside like the morning's mist.
Oh, vainly might fay or fiend resist!
Have faith; 'tis the spell of glory, given
To burst all bars on the way to heaven.
Have faith, have heaven, my son!”

There ran
A sudden joy through the dying man;
And the holy father bent his knee,
Chanting “Te laudamus, Domine!”