'Tis an ash circled bower,
Of berries and musk,
And the fairies' first hour,
Neither daylight nor dusk;
And fancy is thridding
In vistas of green,
Where the moth is out bidding
The cock for his sheen;
And the bee with his treasure,
Is at rest on a stone--
The measure of pleasure,
The depth of his own;
The blue-bells are tinkling,
The mocking birds woo,--
In a beautiful sprinkling
Of scintilant dew,
Far down in the grasses,
In a magical ring,
A clinking their glasses,
Sits Puck and the King.
* * * *
"Methinks, saith the King,
If the dome of our palace,
Were as happy a thing,
As the dome in this chalice,
"Of glittering dew,
And half so resplendent,
As fancy is too,
In this liquor impendent;
"Methinks, saith the King,
Then life were as jolly,
In this magical ring,
As its spirit of folly;
"Methinks, saith the King,
Titania were sweeter,
And this magical ring
Were magic completer.
"For the vixen is wild,
With this Squire from the highlands--
Like a sailor beguiled,
To magical islands,
"At sound of a voice,
To plunge in the sea foam,
And, dying, rejoice,
That the island should be foam.
"Methinks, saith the King
This rascal were better,
Far out of the ring,
In handcuff and fetter.
"For he talketh of love,
And faith, hope, and charity,
And a spirit above,
As the spirit of parity.
"And thou, saith the King,
Hath certain the gumption,
To see thus the spring
Of pleasure's consumption.
"Of late thou hast wandered,
To see and be seen,
And much thou hast squandered
My riches, I ween.
"Relate thine indentures,
Important of state,
And all thine adventures,
Of worth to relate."
_Saith Puck_
"A trace of wine's on the breath of summer,
And the spirit of June is a pure delight,
And the brimmer of light is sparkling and bright
With a cheer for the gladdest comer.
"Aloft in the oak a dove was cooing,
And a little gray bird on sycamore twig,
Was a pause abreath with a feathery sprig,
And flittered away to his wooing.
"I peep'd in a bloom and a bee was in it,
I peered on a leaf and a moth slept there.
Ah! was ever a dream so deliciously rare,
And all for a tip-toed minute!"
Then Oberon winketh,
Reward to his Puck,
And solemnly drinketh,
The nation much luck.
"Good! Then let us be merry,
And call up the court--
Each knight and his deary,
For song and for sport.
"But none that are gloomy,
What ever the cost--
Though the palace be roomy,
Their space is all lost."
Puck boweth full low,
And a blue-bell he tinkleth,
And the courtiers inflow,
As thick as stars twinkleth.
And the King, from his wand,
Hath showered his graces,
On the rich and the grand,
And the favored of places.
Saluteth this grandee,
And passeth that by;
This sport, or that dandy,
To the tail of each eye.
"God een! my brave hearties,
Thou Fat and thou Thin,
How barren our parties
If thou art not in!
"Thou Nut and thou Cherry,
Thou Leaf and Thou Bloom,
Thou Bud and thou Berry,
All welcome to room.
"Thou Red, and thou Yellow,
Thou Purple, thou Green,
And--who is that fellow,
With blood in his een?
"Thou Lobster, come kneel here,
Behold thou the King!
What folly to steal here
To this magical ring!"
Saith Puck, "'tis a ranger
In the light of the queen."
Saith the ranger "And stranger
To thy pleasure, I ween.
"I come from the people,
With the people I dwell.
I favor the steeple,
I favor the bell.
"Ten thousand are weary,
That furnish thee sport,
Their homes are adreary,
To furnish thy court."
(_A faint low rumble of thunder cometh from over the hills_,)
_and Oberon saith_,
"'Tis an orator, Hollo!
We've something here new!
Whatever may follow,
We'll hear the thing through.
"Continue, thou swine herd,
Right gladly we'll hear,
Of the grunts of thy fine herd,
And the stys that are drear."
The orator boweth,
And unrolleth a scroll.
And such sentences floweth,
To the cheek by jowl:
_To the greatest of Kings,
Whom Time in his fleetings
Hath gifted with wings,
From his people, with greetings:_
"We are weary of wine and of laughter,
We are weary of women and song!
Come back dear Brother October,
And bear us sober along!"
Then the palace, to dome,
With merriment ringeth,
And, dashing the foam,
The revellers singeth:
(_A Song_)
Ah! the clink of our glasses
How they clink as we drink!
And memory passes,
Too pleasant to think.
(_The Orator_)
"Too much there is singing and dancing,
Sweet sorrow is scorned for her weeds.
Come back dear Brother October
And chant us thine anthem of deeds!"
(_The Revellers_)
Here's one to each other,
Another as deep,
And life is a brother,
Too pleasant to weep.
(_The Orator_)
(_While a dark cloud appeareth on the horizon_.)
"Sweet thought is outclassed and outbidden,
Gay summer too high on her wings!
Come back dear Brother October
And chant us thy requiem of Kings!"
(_Consternation among revellers. The King starteth
up, but Puck singeth_:)
(_While the lightning flasheth_.)
Here's one to our lasses,
How nimbly they dance!
And the bright of our glasses
Is the light of their glance.
(_And the revellers_.)
Here's one to the vintry,
How brightly he shines!
May never the wintry,
Drink deep of his wines.
(_The Orator_)
(_He rolleth his parchment and speaketh._)
"'Tis young blood counts and moneyless brains!
And the heart and soul of devil-may-care
Is abroad in the land, with a fig for the pains,
To do and to dare! to do and to dare!"
(_The Revellers._)
(_While the storm rageth._)
Ah! the clink of our glasses,
How they clink as we drink!
And memory passes.
Too pleasant to think.
(_And the court adjourneth._)