| |
I I FEAR that Puck is dead,—it is so long | |
| Since men last saw him;—dead with all the rest | |
| Of that sweet elfin crew that made their nest | |
| In hollow nuts, where hazels sing their song; | |
| Dead and for ever, like the antique throng | 5 |
| The elves replaced: the Dryad that you guess’d | |
| Behind the leaves; the Naiad weed-bedress’d; | |
| The leaf-ear’d Faun that loved to lead you wrong. | |
| |
| Tell me, thou hopping Robin, hast thou met | |
| A little man, no bigger than thyself, | 10 |
| Whom they call Puck, where woodland bells are wet? | |
| Tell me, thou Wood-Mouse, hast thou seen an elf | |
| Whom they call Puck, and is he seated yet, | |
| Capp’d with a snail-shell, on his mushroom shelf? | |
| |
II THE ROBIN gave three hops, and chirp’d, and said: | 15 |
| ‘Yes, I knew Puck, and loved him; though I trow | |
| He mimick’d oft my whistle, chuckling low; | |
| Yes, I knew cousin Puck; but he is dead. | |
| We found him lying on his mushroom bed— | |
| The Wren and I,—half cover’d up with snow, | 20 |
| As we were hopping where the berries grow. | |
| We think he died of cold. Ay, Puck is fled.’ | |
| |
| And then the Wood-Mouse said: ‘We made the Mole | |
| Dig him a little grave beneath the moss, | |
| And four big Dormice placed him in the hole. | 25 |
| The Squirrel made with sticks a little cross; | |
| Puck was a Christian elf, and had a soul; | |
| And all we velvet jackets mourn his loss.’ | |
| |
