"We be small foresters and gay, who tend On trees, and all their furniture of green, Training the young boughs airily to bend, And show blue snatches of the sky between;-- Or knit more close intricacies, to screen Birds' crafty dwellings, as may hide them best, But most the timid blackbird's--she that, seen, Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest, Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast."

XLVIII.

"We bend each tree in proper attitude, And founting willows train in silvery falls; We frame all shady roofs and arches rude, And verdant aisles leading to Dryads' halls, Or deep recesses where the Echo calls;-- We shape all plumy trees against the sky, And carve tall elms' Corinthian capitals,-- When sometimes, as our tiny hatchets ply, Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh."

XLIX.

"Sometimes we scoop the squirrel's hollow cell, And sometimes carve quaint letters on trees' rind, That haply some lone musing wight may spell Dainty Aminta,--Gentle Rosalind,-- Or chastest Laura,--sweetly call'd to mind In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down;-- And sometimes we enrich gray stems with twined And vagrant ivy,--or rich moss, whose brown Burns into gold as the warm sun goes down."

L.

"And, lastly, for mirth's sake and Christmas cheer, We bear the seedling berries, for increase, To graft the Druid oaks, from year to year, Careful that mistletoe may never cease;-- Wherefore, if thou dost prize the shady peace Of sombre forests, or to see light break Through sylvan cloisters, and in spring release Thy spirit amongst leaves from careful ake, Spare us our lives for the Green Dryad's sake."

LI.

Then Saturn, with a frown:--"Go forth, and fell Oak for your coffins, and thenceforth lay by Your axes for the rust, and bid farewell To all sweet birds, and the blue peeps of sky Through tangled branches, for ye shall not spy The next green generation of the tree; But hence with the dead leaves, whene'e they fly,-- Which in the bleak air I would rather see, Than flights of the most tuneful birds that be."

LII.

"For I dislike all prime, and verdant pets, Ivy except, that on the aged wall Prays with its worm-like roots, and daily frets The crumbled tower it seems to league withal, King-like, worn down by its own coronal:-- Neither in forest haunts love I to won, Before the golden plumage 'gins to fall, And leaves the brown bleak limbs with few leaves on, Or bare--like Nature in her skeleton."

LIII.

"For then sit I amongst the crooked boughs, Wooing dull Memory with kindred sighs; And there in rustling nuptials we espouse, Smit by the sadness in each other's eyes;-- But Hope must have green bowers and blue skies, And must be courted with the gauds of Spring; Whilst Youth leans god-like on her lap, and cries, 'What shall we always do, but love and sing?'-- And Time is reckon'd a discarded thing."

LIV.

Here in my dream it made me fret to see How Puck, the antic, all this dreary while Had blithely jested with calamity, With mis-timed mirth mocking the doleful style Of his sad comrades, till it raised my bile To see him so reflect their grief aside, Turning their solemn looks to have a smile-- Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide;-- But soon a novel advocate I spied.

LV.

Quoth he--"We teach all natures to fulfil Their fore-appointed crafts, and instincts meet,-- The bee's sweet alchemy,--the spider's skill,-- The pismire's care to garner up his wheat,-- And rustic masonry to swallows fleet,-- The lapwing's cunning to preserve her nest,-- But most, that lesser pelican, the sweet And shrilly ruddock, with its bleeding breast, Its tender pity of poor babes distrest."

LVI.

"Sometimes we cast our shapes, and in sleek skins Delve with the timid mole, that aptly delves From our example; so the spider spins, And eke the silk-worm, pattern'd by ourselves: Sometimes we travail on the summer shelves Of early bees, and busy toils commence, Watch'd of wise men, that know not we are elves, But gaze and marvel at our stretch of sense, And praise our human-like intelligence."

LVII.

"Wherefore, by thy delight in that old tale, And plaintive dirges the late robins sing, What time the leaves are scatter'd by the gale, Mindful of that old forest burying;-- As thou dost love to watch each tiny thing, For whom our craft most curiously contrives, If thou hast caught a bee upon the wing, To take his honey-bag,--spare us our lives, And we will pay the ransom in full hives."

LVIII.

"Now by my glass," quoth Time, "ye do offend In teaching the brown bees that careful lore, And frugal ants, whose millions would have end, But they lay up for need a timely store, And travail with the seasons evermore; Whereas Great Mammoth long hath pass'd away, And none but I can tell what hide he wore; Whilst purblind men, the creatures of a day, In riddling wonder his great bones survey."

LIX.

Then came an elf, right beauteous to behold, Whose coat was like a brooklet that the sun Hath all embroider'd with its crooked gold, It was so quaintly wrought and overrun With spangled traceries,--most meet for one That was a warden of the pearly streams;-- And as he stept out of the shadows dun, His jewels sparkled in the pale moon's gleams, And shot into the air their pointed beams.

LX.

Quoth he,--"We bear the gold and silver keys Of bubbling springs and fountains, that below Course thro' the veiny earth,--which when they freeze Into hard crysolites, we bid to flow, Creeping like subtle snakes, when, as they go, We guide their windings to melodious falls, At whose soft murmurings, so sweet and low, Poets have tuned their smoothest madrigals, To sing to ladies in their banquet-halls."

LXI.

"And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat Parches the river god,--whose dusty urn Drips miserly, till soon his crystal feet Against his pebbly floor wax faint and burn And languid fish, unpoised, grow sick and yearn,-- Then scoop we hollows in some sandy nook, And little channels dig, wherein we turn The thread-worn rivulet, that all forsook The Naiad-lily, pining for her brook."

LXII.

"Wherefore, by thy delight in cool green meads, With living sapphires daintily inlaid,-- In all soft songs of waters and their reeds,-- And all reflections in a streamlet made, Haply of thy own love, that, disarray'd, Kills the fair lily with a livelier white,-- By silver trouts upspringing from green shade, And winking stars reduplicate at night, Spare us, poor ministers to such delight."

LXIII.

Howbeit his pleading and his gentle looks Moved not the spiteful Shade:--Quoth he, "Your taste Shoots wide of mine, for I despise the brooks And slavish rivulets that run to waste In noontide sweats, or, like poor vassals, haste To swell the vast dominion of the sea, In whose great presence I am held disgraced, And neighbor'd with a king that rivals me In ancient might and hoary majesty."

LXIV.

"Whereas I ruled in Chaos, and still keep The awful secrets of that ancient dearth, Before the briny fountains of the deep Brimm'd up the hollow cavities of earth;-- I saw each trickling Sea-God at his birth, Each pearly Naiad with her oozy locks, And infant Titans of enormous girth, Whose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rocks, Stunning the early world with frequent shocks."

LXV.

"Where now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood, That scared the world?--By this sharp scythe they fell, And half the sky was curdled with their blood: So have all primal giants sigh'd farewell.

No wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell, Nor pearly Naiads. All their days are done That strove with Time, untimely, to excel; Wherefore I razed their progenies, and none But my great shadow intercepts the sun!"

LXVI.

Then saith the timid Fay--"Oh, mighty Time!

Well hast thou wrought the cruel Titans' fall, For they were stain'd with many a bloody crime: Great giants work great wrongs,--but we are small, For love goes lowly;--but Oppression's tall, And with surpassing strides goes foremost still Where love indeed can hardly reach at all; Like a poor dwarf o'erburthen'd with good will, That labors to efface the tracks of ill.--"