"These be the pretty genii of the flow'rs,

Daintily fed with honey and pure dew-
Midsummer phantoms in her dreaming hours,
King Oberon, and all his merry crew,

The darling puppets of Romance's view;

Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call them,
Famous for patronage of lovers true ;-

No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them,
So do not thus with crabbed frowns appal them."

O what a cry was Saturn's then!--it made
The fairies quake. "What care I for their pranks,
However they may lovers choose to aid,

Or dance their roundelays on flow'ry banks?—
Long must they dance before they earn my thanks,—
So step aside, to some far safer spot,

Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks,
And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot,

And with the next day's sun to be forgot."

Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen;

But still the gracious Shade disarm'd his aim,

Stepping with brave alacrity between,
And made his sere arm powerless and tame.

His be perpetual glory for the shame

Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat !—
But I must tell how here Titantia came
With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat

His kindly succour, in sad tones, but sweet.

Saying, "Thou seest a wretched queen before thee,
The fading power of a failing land,
Who for a kingdom kneeleth to implore thee,
Now menaced by this tyrant's spoiling hand;

No one but thee can hopefully withstand
That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift.

I pray
thee blind him with his own vile sand,
Which only times all ruins by its drift,
Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift.

"Or take him by that sole and grizzled tuft,
That hangs upon his bald and barren crown;
And we will sing to see him so rebuff'd,
And lend our little mights to pull him down,
And make brave sport of his malicious frown,
For all his boastful mockery o'er men.
For thou wast born I know for this renown,
By my most magical and inward ken,
That readeth ev'n at Fate's forestalling pen.

"Nay, by the golden lustre of thine eye,

And by thy brow's most fair and ample span,
Thought's glorious palace, framed for fancies high,
And by thy cheek thus passionately wan,

I know the signs of an immortal man,—
Nature's chief darling, and illustrious mate,
Destined to foil old Death's oblivious plan,
And shine untarnish'd by the fogs of Fate,
Time's famous rival till the final date!

"O shield us then from this usurping Time,
And we will visit thee in moonlight dreams;
And teach thee tunes, to wed unto thy rhyme,
And dance about thee in all midnight gleams,
Giving thee glimses of our magic schemes,
Such as no mortal's eye hath ever seen;
And, for thy love to us in our extremes,
Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green,
Such as no poet's wreath hath ever been!

"And we'll distil the aromatic dews,

To charm thy sense, when there shall be no flow'rs;
And flavour'd syrups in thy drinks infuse,
And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bow'rs,

And with our games divert thy weariest hours,

With all that elfin wits can e'er devise.

And, this churl dead, there'll be no hasting hours
To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies :"-
Here she was stopp'd by Saturn's furious cries.

Whom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew,
Saying, "Thou haggard Sin, go forth, and scoop
Thy hollow coffin in some churchyard yew,
Or make th' autumnal flow'rs turn pale, and droop;
Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop
Under fat sheaves,-or blast the piny grove ;-
But here thou shalt not harm this pretty group,
Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove,
But leased on Nature's loveliness and love.

""Tis these that free the small entangled fly,
Caught in the venom'd spider's crafty snare;
These be the petty surgeons that apply
The healing balsams to the wounded hare,
Bedded in bloody fern, no creature's care!—
These be providers for the orphan brood,
Whose tender mother hath been slain in air,
Quitting with gaping bill her darlings' food,
Hard by the verge of her domestic wood.

"'Tis these befriend the timid trembling stag,
When, with a bursting heart beset with fears,
He feels his saving speed begin to flag;
For then they quench the fatal taint with tears,
And prompt fresh shifts in his alarum'd ears,
So piteously they view all bloody morts;
Or, if the gunner, with his arm, appears,
Like noisy pyes and jays, with harsh reports,
They warn the wild fowl of his deadly sports.

"For these are kindly ministers of nature,
To soothe all covert hurts and dumb distress;
Pretty they be, and very small of stature,-
For mercy still consorts with littleness;-
Wherefore the sum of good is still the less,
And mischief grossest in this world of wrong;
So do these charitable dwarfs redress

The tenfold ravages of giants strong,

To whom great malice and great might belong.

"Likewise to them are Poets much beholden
For secret favours in the midnight glooms;
Brave Spenser quaff'd out of their goblet golden,
And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms,
And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms