"What have we ever done to earn this grudge,
And hate--(if not too humble for thy hating?)--
Look o'er our labors and our lives, and judge
If there be any ills of our creating;
For we are very kindly creatures, dating
With nature's charities still sweet and bland:--
O think this murder worthy of debating!"
Herewith she makes a signal with her hand,
To beckon some one from the Fairy band.


XXIX.

Anon I saw one of those elfin things,
Clad all in white like any chorister,
Come fluttering forth on his melodious wings,
That made soft music at each little stir,
But something louder than a bee's demur
Before he lights upon a bunch of broom,
And thus 'gan he with Saturn to confer,--
And O his voice was sweet, touch'd with the gloom
Of that sad theme that argued of his doom!


XXX.

Quoth he, "We make all melodies our care,
That no false discords may offend the Sun,
Music's great master--tuning everywhere