Beside the Murmuring Mere, in Fairyland;
And there, untimely, by the forest-side,
Clasping her infant in her arms, she died.
Yet not all friendless,--for such mortal throes
Pass not unpitied, though no mortal knows;--
The spirits that infest the clearer air
Looked down upon the innocent lady there,
While troops of fairies smoothed her mossy bed
And with sweet balsam pillowed her fair head.
Her dim eyes could not see them, but she guessed
Whose gentle ministrations thus had blessed
Her travail; and when pitying fairies laid
Upon her heart the child,--a blue-eyed maid,--
Ere yet her troubled spirit might depart,
With one last word she named her "Elfinhart."

So with new-quickened love the fairy elves
Took the forlorn child-maiden to themselves
And reared her in the wildwood, where no jar
Of alien discord, echoing from afar,
Broke the sweet forest murmur, long years round.
Her ears, attuned to every woodland sound,
Translated to her soul the great world's voice,
And the world-spirit made her heart rejoice.
And love was hers,--perennial, intense,--
The love that wells from joy and innocence
And sanctifies the cloistered heart of youth,--
The love of love, of beauty, and of truth.

So Elfinhart grew up. Each passing year