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 mistim'd 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 half a smile

Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide; –

But soon a novel advocate I spied.

--

Quoth he

LV.

"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 cold 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 tun'd 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, unpois'd, 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

Mov'd 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 disgrac'd,
And neighbour'd with a king that rivals me
In ancient might and hoary majesty.