'Twas late one autumn evening when the traveler did arrive A wizened old man with blue-grey wisdom in his eyes Down he sat, by the fire and sipped at spiced ale Pulled his cloak close about him so began his tale
By fallen oak, beneath the sky The eldest sleeping giants lie And on their graves they're dancing still With mortal dreams beneath the hills
When I was young, one winter morn I came upon A barrow in the forest which seemed as old as moon and sun
Nine times 'round the ancient hill Willows watching silent, still the light is fading
Another world behind our own Which my mortal eyes beheld
Never before had I beheld such sylvan grace What dreams compare with the magic of this place? Forgotten beauty of the gods we know no more Which haunt the forests and hills forevermore
Behind the wind you cannot see The secrets of eternity But with the sight you too shall know The dreams of men and which way blows the wind
With sylph-like graces the dance among The eldest pines, by golden sun
Would you live forever within this place? 'Tis not true, you cannot be To dance beneath the moon and darkness embrace What madness this has come to me? You shall be the last to come to our world When Wayland forged my mortal soul Our court is growing weak and shall not return 'Twas not meant that I should know
\"My staff has giants killed, my bag a long knife carries To cut meat-pies from children's thighs and feed them to the fairies\" Thus The Rhymer spoke to me as Oberon sat watching The mortal ones drink silver blood, their lives so briefly passing into night
And so it was they left me, to meet again nevermore And somehow my soul now empty, as though I had seen not before The time of their passing has come, to live among men nevermore But still their music haunts me, and so shall be evermore
By the fires dying embers so his tale concludes In the stillness of nightfall, by the light of a cold winter's moon