The Palaces of the Sidhe

Two small sweet lives together         From dawn till the dew falls down,     They danced over rock and heather         Away from the dusty town.          Dark eyes like stars set in pansies,         Blue eyes like a hero's bold--     Their thoughts were all pearl-light fancies,         Their hearts in the age of gold.          They crooned o'er many a fable         And longed for the bright-capped elves,     The faery folk who are able         To make us faery ourselves.          A hush on the children stealing         They stood there hand in hand,     For the elfin chimes were pealing         Aloud in the underland.          And over the grey rock sliding,         A fiery colour ran,     And out of its thickness gliding         The twinkling mist of a man--          To-day for the children had fled to         An ancient yesterday,     And the rill from its tunnelled bed too         Had turned another way.          Then down through an open hollow         The old man led with a smile:     "Come, star-hearts, my children, follow         To the elfin land awhile."          The bells above them were hanging,         Whenever the earth-breath blew     It made them go clanging, clanging,         The vasty mountain through.          But louder yet than the ringing         Came the chant of the elfin choir,     Till the mountain was mad with singing         And dense with the forms of fire.          The kings of the faery races         Sat high on the thrones of might,     And infinite years from their faces         Looked out through eyes of light.          And one in a diamond splendour         Shone brightest of all that hour,     More lofty and pure and tender,         They called him the Flower of Power.          The palace walls were glowing         Like stars together drawn,     And a fountain of air was flowing         The primrose colour of dawn.          "Ah, see!" said Aileen sighing,         With a bend of her saddened head     Where a mighty hero was lying,         He looked like one who was dead.          "He will wake," said their guide, "'tis but seeming,         And, oh, what his eyes shall see     I will know of only in dreaming         Till I lie there still as he."          They chanted the song of waking,         They breathed on him with fire,     Till the hero-spirit outbreaking,         Shot radiant above the choir.          Like a pillar of opal glory         Lit through with many a gem--     "Why, look at him now," said Rory,         "He has turned to a faery like them!"          The elfin kings ascending         Leaped up from the thrones of might,     And one with another blending         They vanished in air and light.          The rill to its bed came splashing         With rocks on the top of that:     The children awoke with a flashing         Of wonder, "What were we at?"          They groped through the reeds and clover--         "What funny old markings:    look here,     They have scrawled the rocks all over:         It's just where the door was:    how queer!" --September 15, 1896