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