A FAIRY TALE,

In Britain's isle and Arthur's days,

When midnight Faeries danced the maze,

Lived Edwin of the green;

Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,

Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,

Though badly shaped he been.

His mountain back mote well be said

To measure heighth against his head,

And lift itself above:

Yet spite of all that Nature did

To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dared to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,

Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,

Could ladies look within;

But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,

And, if a shape could win a heart,

He had a shape to win.

Edwin ( if right I read my song )

With slighted passion paced along,

All in the moony light:

‘ Twas near an old enchanted court,

Where sportive Faeries made resort

To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd,

‘ Twas late,‘ twas farr, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour-town;

With weary steps he quits the shades,

Resolved, the darkling dome he treads,

And drops his limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the floor,

When hollow winds remove the door,

A trembling rocks the ground:

And ( well I ween to count aright )

At once an hundred tapers light

On all the walls around.

Now sounding tongues assail his ear,

Now sounding feet approachen near,

And now the sounds increase:

And from the corner where he lay

He sees a train, profusely gay,

Come prankling o'er the place.

But trust me, gentles! never yet

Was dight a masquing half so neat,

Or half so rich before;

The country lent the sweet perfumes,

The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,

The town its silken store.

Now whilst he gazed, a gallant dress'd

In flaunting robes above the rest,

With awful accent cried:

What mortal of a wretched mind,

Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,

Has here presumed to hide?

At this the swain, whose venturous soul

No fears of magic art control,

Advanced in open sight:

Nor have I cause of dread, he said,

Who view, by no presumption led,

Your revels of the night.

‘ Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,

Which made my steps unweeting rove

Amid the nightly dew.

‘ Tis well, the gallant cries again,

We Faeries never injure men

Who dare to tell us true.

Exalt thy love-dejected heart,

Be mine the task, or e'er we part,

To make thee grief resign;

Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce;

Whilst I with Mab my partner daunce,

Be little Mable thine.

He spoke, and all a-sudden there

Light music floats in wanton air;

The monarch leads the queen:

The rest their Faerie partners found,

And Mable trimly tripp'd the ground

With Edwin of the green.

The dauncing past, the board was laid,

And siker such a feast was made

As heart and lip desire;

Withouten hands the dishes fly,

The glasses — with a wish come nigh,

And with a wish retire.

But now, to please the Faerie King,

Full every deal, they laugh and sing,

And antic feats devise;

Some wind and tumble like an ape,

And other some transmute their shape

In Edwin's wondering eyes.

Till one at last that Robin bight,

( Renown'd for pinching maids by night )

Has hent him up aloof;

And full against the beam he flung,

Where by the back the youth he hung

To spraul unneath the roof.

From thence, Reverse my charm, he cries,

And let it fairly now suffice

The gambol has been shown.

But Oberon answers with a smile,

Content thee, Edwin, for a while,

The vantage is thine own.

Here ended all the phantom-play;

They smelt the fresh approach of day,

And heard a cock to crow;

The whirling wind that bore the crowd

Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud,

To warn them all to go.

Then screaming all at once they fly,

And all at once the tapers die,

Poor Edwin falls to floor;

Forlorn his state, and dark the place,

Was never wight in sike a case

Through all the land before.

But soon as Dan Apollo rose,

Full jolly creature home he goes,

He feels his back the less;

His honest tongue and steady mind

Had rid him of the lump behind

Which made him want success.

With lusty livelyhed he talks,

He seems a-dauncing as he walks,

His story soon took wind;

And beauteous Edith sees the youth,

Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,

Without a bunch behind.

The story told, Sir Topaz moved,

The youth of Edith erst approved,

To see the revel scene:

At close of eve he leaves his home,

And wends to find the ruin'd dome

All on the gloomy plain.

As there he bides, it so befell,

The wind came rustling down a dell,

A shaking seized the wall:

Up spring the tapers as before,

The Faeries bragly foot the floor,

And music fills the hall.

But, certes, sorely sunk with woe

Sir Topaz sees the elfin show,

His spirits in him die:

When Oberon cries, A man is near,

A mortal passion, clèeped fear,

Hang's flagging in the sky.

With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth!

In accents faltering aye for ruth,

Entreats them pity graunt;

For als he been a mister wight

Betray'd by wandering in the night

To tread the circled haunt.

Ah, losel vile! ( at once they roar )

And little skill'd of Faerie lore,

Thy cause to come we know:

Now has thy kestrel courage fell;

And Faeries, since a lie you tell,

Are free to work thee woe.

Then Will, who bears the wispy fire,

To trail the swains among the mire,

The caitiff upward flung;

There like a tortoise in a shop

He dangled from the chamber-top,

Where whilom Edwin hung.

The revel now proceeds apace,

Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,

They sit, they drink, and eat;

The time with frolic mirth beguile,

And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while,

Till all the rout retreat.

By this the stars began to wink,

They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,

And down ydrops the knight.

For never spell by Faerie laid

With strong enchantment bound a glade

Beyond the length of night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay,

Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er;

But wot ye well his harder lot?

His seely back the bunch has got

Which Edwin lost afore.

This tale a Sybil-nurse aread;

She softly stroked my youngling head,

And when the tale was done,

Thus some are born, my son, ( she cries,)

With base impediments to rise,

And some are born with none.

But virtue can itself advaunce

To what the favourite fools of chaunce

By fortune seem'd design'd;

Virtue can gain the odds of Fate,

And from itself shake off the weight

Upon the unworthy mind.