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 ‘She will not come; she's one of us; she's mine!’ the Brown Dwarf said;
‘The day is set, the cake is baked, to-morrow we shall wed.’
‘The fell fiend fetch thee!’ Deitrich cried, “and keep thy foul tongue still.
Quick! open, to thy evil world, the glass door of the hill!”
The Dwarf obeyed; and youth and Troll down the long stair-way passed,
And saw in dim and sunless light a country strange and vast.
Weird, rich, and wonderful, he saw the elfin under-land,—
Its palaces of precious stones, its streets of golden sand.
He came unto a banquet-hall with tables richly spread,
Where a young maiden served to him the red wine and the bread.
How fair she seemed among the Trolls so ugly and so wild!
Yet pale and very sorrowful, like one who never smiled!
Her low, sweet voice, her gold-brown hair, her tender blue eyes seemed
Like something he had seen elsewhere or something he had dreamed.
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