“Dreadful” she said “are the elementals who live in the hidden waters:  they rule the dreaming heart:  their curse is forgetfulness; they lull man to fatal rest, with drowsy fingers feeling to put out his fire of life.  But the most of all, dread the powers that move in air; their nature is desire unquenchable; their destiny is—­never to be fulfilled—­never to be at peace:  they roam hither and thither like the winds they guide; they usurp dominion over the passionate and tender soul, but they love not in our way; where they dwell the heart is a madness and the feet are filled with a hurrying fever, and night has no sleep and day holds no joy in its sunlit cup.  Listen not to their whisper; they wither and burn up the body with their fire; the beauty they offer is smitten through and through with unappeasable anguish.”  She paused for a moment; here terrible breath had hardly ceased to thrill them, when another voice was heard singing; its note was gay and triumphant, it broke the spell of fear upon the people,

“I never heed by waste or wood
        The cry of fay or faery thing
Who tell of their own solitude;
        Above them all my soul is king.

The royal robe as king I wear
        Trails all along the fields of light;
Its silent blue and silver bear
        For gems the starry dust of night.

The breath of joy unceasingly
        Waves to and fro its fold star-lit,
And far beyond earth’s misery
        I live and breathe the joy of it.”

The priestess advanced from the altar, her eyes sought for the singer; when she came to the centre of the opening she paused and waited silently.  Almost immediately a young man carrying a small lyre stepped out of the crowd and stood before her; he did not seem older than the priestess; he stood unconcerned though her dark eyes blazed at the intrusion; he met her gaze fearlessly; his eyes looked into hers—­in this way all proud spirits do battle.  Her eyes were black with almost a purple tinge, eyes that had looked into the dark ways of nature; his were bronze, and a golden tinge, a mystic opulence of vitality seemed to dance in their depths; they dazzled the young priestess with the secrecy of joy; her eyes fell for a moment.  He turned round and cried out, “Your priestess speaks but half truths, her eyes have seen but her heart does not know.  Life is not terrible but is full of joy.  Listen to me.  I passed by while she spake, and I saw that a fear lay upon every man, and you shivered thinking of your homeward path, fearful as rabbits of the unseen things, and forgetful how you have laughed at death facing the monsters who crush down the forests.  Do you not know that you are greater than all these spirits before who you bow in dread; your life springs from a deeper source.  Answer me, priestess, where go the fire-spirits when winter seizes the world?”