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.