‘Twas on the borders of Elfland that they met, and this was but the first and the least of the many wonders in their tale. For she was dreaming under a rowan tree when he came swift and soft upon her; and she was wrapped in slumber and crowned with flowers upon her dusky hair. Then startled he cried at this fleeting vision of loveliness and she woke! and saw him elfin-bright, clad in green and of noble bearing, and there was a song in his smile and his feet were light. And she would have fled, but his eyes…
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Out of the East he came, far-traveller and great-hearted, and they welcomed him with song and merriment and awe. For mighty he seemed in their company, and strange were the tales of those deeds by which he had won renown, the aged hero come now to rest. In starlit truesilver was he clad, and girt gleaming at his side was ancientry forged by their own forefathers in the height of their fearsome splendour, and many were the sad years that had passed since their glory failed. Threadbare worn was his cloak, for far and wide had he roamed, the great…
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Once mighty were the weary bones that now groaned under gem-crusted hide. Aching creaking muscles rippled ‘neath wrinkled skin, and barely did the gaunt sinews still hold aloft ragged folded wing and venerable head. Drowsy eye drooped and haggard breath wheezed from snarling, half-open mouth, wherein lay deadly yellowing row of sickle-sharp jagged teeth. In sleep’s tender embrace slumbered that wicked and glorious tyrant, steam rising from his nostrils as the sun gazed in through the cavern’s mouth and danced heedless upon ruby-reddened body. In ruined hole he dwelt, once-grand echo of bygone glory. Cunning wrought were its mighty chambers…
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Ah! to think that once we toiled away at our simple lures, cast out into the cold and shunned by wisefolk. Bereft of trust or love were we then, labouring feebly that we may on occasion entrap some weakminded treat on which to sup. But you knew our tricks and were wise to them, fleeing fairy promise and guarding yourselves with ancient cautions. And we were bereft. Peat bogs and darkling woods were then our haunts; dank and miserable places. Sparkling lights and laughing voices our bait, promise of might and riches our desperate ploy. And we were cold, and…
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We all of us are things forgotten still clinging to memory. Immortality. The great and universal human ambition. Promised ever and anon by the mystic words of prophets and sages, whose very sight hath pierced the veil twixt death and everlife. Sought after by philosophers and surgeons, greedy grasping for elixirs and potions that may prolong mortality by weeks, days, even precious and fleeting seconds. It may be that the king, the historian, and the artist can rightly claim to having mastered immortality. For though their fleeting flesh perishes and withers into dust, their deeds and doings ring through the…
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