Marshlight

They dance like starlight under bough,

And trace the tumbling stream.
In mist they weave around the howe,
And places in between.
A prancing spark amidst the leaves,
A teasing wisp between the trees,
Come quick and see them waking now,
As night falls in the green.

The Gnome has been afoot all day,
In gnarled and ancient wood.
He'll scarce admit he's lost his way,
Though goodness knows, he should.
He spies them at the hour of dusk,
Emerge from log and withered husk,
Just what they are he can not say,
But follow them he would.

Beguilded by beauteous embers,
Of scintilating light,
Our young Mugwort scarce remembers,
He's all alone at night.
Amongst the tangles evil wakes,
Beware he should for his own sake,
Yet past dusk, this chill November,
He scarce knows his own plight.

Silent and still the woods this eve,
No forest creatures dare,
To venture forth, or scarcely breathe,
They're huddled in their lairs.
Yet listen close, you'll hear the creak,
Of wicked timber as it speaks
With malevolence; I do believe,
He better have a care.

But hardy are the gnarled folk,
And this one more than some,
No hoary Elm or twisted Oak,
Will make young Mugwort run.
Though the trees present no danger,
Peril lays in something stranger,
For snaring lure, the lights have woke,
Can not be overcome.

So following those teasing lights,
He stumbles on the brink,
Of jutted scarp and bramble-blight.
He's barely time to think,
Before he tumbles down the steep,
With such a thump 'twould make you weep,
But 'Now where are those fairy brights?'
Is all that he can think.

And bobbing now above the stream,
The sly enchantments stay.
Illuminated by their gleam,
A woman fair and fey,
Arises from the river cold,
With comely shape and hair of gold,
Poor Mugwort's caught up in a dream,
And all thoughts pass away.

How long he stands and stares at she,
He'll never after tell.
Her beauty is all he can see,
In dark and wooded dell.
Fair mesmerised by wondrous sight,
Forgotten are both day and night,
Lost in her loveliness is he,
His heart is lost as well.

But of a rush his senses come,
Returning in cold water.
'Though scarce begun, let's stop this fun,
My pretty faerie Daughter!
I'll dunk his mazed and woolly head,
Then send him back home to his bed!
Now my fellow, your head is spun.
And that's not as it oughta!'

Sings Oberon, the Kingly one,
Heaving out the wand'rer,
Who in surprise looks to the sun,
On feeling it is warmer.
'In trance I've been and slept away,
The whole night through and half the day!'
Says Mugwort, 'When all's said and done,
It isn't half a wonder!'

'T'would seem you followed warding lights,
That keep the trees at bay.'
Says lady with the eyes so bright,
In so gentle a way.
'It may be lights that brought me hence,
But mark my words, take no offence,'
Says he to she, to set her right,
'Twas beauty made me stay.'

There's danger in this world it's true,
Some is as black as black,
Yet some is of another hue,
If strength in heart you lack.
Beauty is perilous for sure,
It snares you with a sweeter lure,
And if it gets a hold on you,
You're never coming back.

Words Joe Neil, 'Undine' painted by Sir Arthur Rackham