Puck's Last Song

Puck’s Last Song

The moonlit night shone cool and eerie
The world was bathed in light so dreary,
The words were soft and spoken clearly,
Come hither my child, draw near.

Young Puck of the woods was flying over,
The bonny hills decked with grass and clover,
And heard the words from the woods of Dover,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The boy-sprite smiled with rosy cheeks,
Great mischief spread he, these last few weeks,
Hearing new prey the sprite now seeks,
Come hither my child, draw near.

He flew to the forest so decked in shade,
And beheld a sign of mankind made,
“Be warned all travelers, the whisp’ring glade,
Come hither my child, draw near.”

He thought naught of the warning dire,
And calling forth some blue elven fire,
He followed the voice and the lyre,
Come hither my child, draw near.

Puck followed the voice and the song,
Upon the winding moss trail that went long,
The sweet whisper ever grew strong,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The woodland boy skipped on his way,
And upon his panpipe he began to play,
And being weary found a glade to stay,
Come hither my child, draw near.

And as the music spread in the forest dark,
Creatures came to him: hind, rabbit, and lark,
And lay at his feet his own miniature ark,
Come hither my child, draw near.

And flowers opened in the music’s wake,
Glowing mushrooms ripe for the boy to take,
While the ivy crept closer like a snake,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The boy sat resting neath an old oak,
And made himself merry with his clever joke,
And heard while resting by the tree’s leafy cloak,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The vines of ivy had grown all ‘round Puck,
And began tickling the boy full of pluck,
And his laughter leapt forth like a buck,
Come hither my child, draw near.

Then the grasping hands of the ivy vines,
Took hold round his wrists like strong lines,
And against the tree the ivy Puck binds,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The sprite-boy cried out with great fright
And fought the foliage with all his might,
Wilts the words echoed through the night,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The leafy rope circle round his head,
Silencing him like one of the dead,
And again the whisper filling him with dread,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The vines and leaves grew ever faster,
The old tree groaned, their wicked master,
Reeling in his catch, the green line caster,
Come hither my child, draw near.

Suddenly the tree’s wood veil did part,
And the boy was drawn deeper by its art,
Then it closed when he reached the green heart,
Come hither my child, draw near.

The moonlit night shone cool and eerie
The world was bathed in light so dreary,
The words were soft and spoken clearly,
Come hither my child, draw near.