Phantastes, A Faerie Romance

The galvanic torrent of this battery of malevolence stung to life within

me a spark of nobleness, and I said aloud, "Well, if he is a better man,

let him have her."

They instantly let go their hold of me, and fell back a step or two,

with a whole broadside of grunts and humphs, as of unexpected and

disappointed approbation. I made a step or two forward, and a lane was

instantly opened for me through the midst of the grinning little antics,

who bowed most politely to me on every side as I passed. After I had

gone a few yards, I looked back, and saw them all standing quite still,

looking after me, like a great school of boys; till suddenly one turned

round, and with a loud whoop, rushed into the midst of the others. In

an instant, the whole was one writhing and tumbling heap of contortion,

reminding me of the live pyramids of intertwined snakes of which

travellers make report. As soon as one was worked out of the mass, he

bounded off a few paces, and then, with a somersault and a run, threw

himself gyrating into the air, and descended with all his weight on the

summit of the heaving and struggling chaos of fantastic figures. I left

them still busy at this fierce and apparently aimless amusement. And as

I went, I sang-

If a nobler waits for thee,

I will weep aside;

It is well that thou should'st be,

Of the nobler, bride.

For if love builds up the home,

Where the heart is free,

Homeless yet the heart must roam,

That has not found thee.

One must suffer: I, for her

Yield in her my part

Take her, thou art worthier--

Still I be still, my heart!

Gift ungotten! largess high

Of a frustrate will!

But to yield it lovingly

Is a something still.

Then a little song arose of itself in my soul; and I felt for the

moment, while it sank sadly within me, as if I was once more walking up

and down the white hall of Phantasy in the Fairy Palace. But this lasted

no longer than the song; as will be seen.

Do not vex thy violet

Perfume to afford:

Else no odour thou wilt get

From its little hoard.

In thy lady's gracious eyes

Look not thou too long;

Else from them the glory flies,

And thou dost her wrong.

Come not thou too near the maid,

Clasp her not too wild;

Else the splendour is allayed,

And thy heart beguiled.

A crash of laughter, more discordant and deriding than any I had yet

heard, invaded my ears. Looking on in the direction of the sound, I saw

a little elderly woman, much taller, however, than the goblins I had

just left, seated upon a stone by the side of the path. She rose, as I

drew near, and came forward to meet me.