168
A WHISPER FROM FAIRY LAND.
Alas! alas! for the fairy folk,
Who, under the boughs of the elm or oak,
Danced in the moon-beams till morning broke.
They made their homes in our brightest bowers,
They revelled at night 'neath our favourite tree,
They slept 'mid the leaves of our fairest flowers,
And woke the still air with their fairy glee:
The rose was the throne of the elfish queen,
With a royal flush of crimson dye;
And her couch was the lily's cup I ween,
Where she slept till the stars came out on high,
