Faëry

The feaſts that under-ground the Faëry did him make, / And there how he enjoy’d the lady of the lake.

No faëry or any other living being was near, except Olivia, who was at my side, and who said in as composed a voice as though nothing at all out of the common routine of every day life had occurred:—[…]

Seven faëries dwelt in the king’s country, and all these were invited to be the princess’s godmothers; […] Each faëry had a golden dish, with a knife, a fork, and a spoon, set with diamonds, and all of the finest and most curious patterns.

But there is a faëry always folded away in our souls, like a bright butterfly chrysalised, and sailing eastward, layer after layer of propriety, moderation, deference to public opinion, safety of sentiment, and all the thick crusts of compromise and convention roll away, and bending southward up the Nile, you may feel that faëry fairly flutter her wings.