A-walking home at waning day
thru rushes green
and bows of bay,
I spied a stream like golden braid
as bright as any blushing maid.
Beside it I
in mallow laid.
The sun at rest,
linger’d long
at world’s brim.
He winked at me
and I winked at him.
At long, afar
a crystal star
crown’d branches birch,
with silver fire.
I dreamt and whiled away the hour.
As slow as milk
a fog crep’d round,
like hound with snout
on scented ground.
I, in the nook, awoke and shook,
my path was nowhere that I looked.
I drew my cloak
while clawing dusk,
drew swiftly round the hallow’d brook.
Alone, a lantorn drew I near.
A rustle caught my nervous ear,
a creeping growth
like searching root,
like squirming earthworm under foot.
Up from from the earth,
the quick loam boiled,
my lantorn doused,
though freshly oiled.
A sharp-eyed mongrel
in shadows stoop’d,
wolven mawed
and cloven hoov’d,
with bangl’d wrists and tatter’d cloak,
his movements soft and slow as smoke.
He jingled as he scuffled bout,
searching low with curled snout.
Amazed, afeared, alone, agape,
I stowed myself in shadowed nape,
and prayed to hasten my escape.
He sung a faint, unearthly tune,
in tongue unknown,
in light of moon.
He danced in twisted, circling ways.
With wand he drew a dev’lish maze
upon the earth,
and so came furth
a glim’ring fire like blazing hearth.
I gasp’d,
and quick as broken glass,
I captur’d was within his grasp.
His smell was sweet as sour fruit,
his eyes were black as chimney soot,
but swiftly shaped his awful look
to succor sweet,
he wep’d,
he brushed my cheek,
and bowed as deep as sunken fleet.
With gilded, lilting syllables,
he beg’d forgiveness for flaws.
He guiding, took my hand and pled,
extolling me he promised
to lead me to a sacred place,
to halls of glass and silver’d lace.
Amaz’d I followed in his wake,
down bounding brook
to stoney gape,
thru crevice crack’d,
o’er boulders lep’d,
thru caverns deep
where spiders slept,
down tunnels long
with stairways winding,
thru ancient ways not meant for finding,
to doorway tall as aged oak,
where umber shadow’d words he spoke.
“Ae’lil e nothre, glimr’n yjill.
Daijun si dornje, silsvn gyuill.”
A golden light rose thru the cove,
a glinting golden goblin trove,
baubles, goblets, swords, hoards,
rubied staves from noble lords,
jeweled crowns from distant realms,
platters piled with silver helms.
And o’er it all a fire glimmer’d,
the smell of roasting savors simmer’d,
and rumbling laughter, glasses clinking,
cackling, smoking, choking, drinking.
A troupe of wicked alder kin,
grabbed and pinched and pulled me in.
“Sit! Join! Eat! Drink!
Our food is fine, our wine is sweet!”
They sat me on a cushioned throne,
by broiled boar and basted bones,
by pickled plums and candied scones.
They crowed and bowed, and bade me drink,
and rapt me with a downy mink.
“Our king! Our King!
Our wond’rous cruel and wicked king!”
I stood and held my glass in toast,
embraced the fondness of my hosts.
I told them I would join their hoard
and be their grinning goblin lord.
And now I am the goblin king,
a fattened vile wild thing.
You think perhaps you’d run away?
All men are wicked in their way.
So stay!
Join! Eat! Drink!
Our food is fine, our wine is sweet!