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Some minutes rapt, as in a trance,

After the fairy sounds were o'er, Too inly touch'd for utterance,

Now motion'd with his hand for more:

Fly to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;

But, oh the choice what heart can doubt,
Of tents with love, or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there Th' acacia waves her yellow hair, Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less For flow'ring in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silv'ry-footed antelope

As gracefully and gaily springs
As o er the marble courts of kings.

Then come-thy Arab maid will be
The oved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,-
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;

As if the very lips and eyes,
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then!

So came thy ev'ry glance and tone
When first on me they breathed and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years.

Then fly with me--if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

Come, if the love thou hast for me,
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,—
Fresh as the fountain under ground,
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.*

But if for me thou dost forsake Some other maid, and rudely break Her worshipp'd image from its base, To give to me the ruin'd place ;-

Then, fare thee well-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine!

There was a pathos in this lay,

That, ev'n without enchantment's art,
Would instantly have found its way

Deep into SELIM's burning heart;
But, breathing, as it did, a tone
To carthly lutes and lips unknown;
With every chord fresh from the touch
Of Music's Spirit,--'twas too much!
Starting, he dash'd away the cup,-
Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,

As if 'twere fix'd by magic there,And naming her, so long unnamed, So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd, "Oh NOURMAHAL! oh NOURMAHAL! "Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, "I could forget-forgive thee all, "And never leave those eyes again."

The Hudhud, or Lapwing, is supposed to have the power of disCovering water under ground.

The mask is off-the charm is wroughtAnd SELIM to his heart has caught,

In blushes, more than ever bright,
His NOURMAHAL, his Harem's Light!
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance
The charm of every brighten'd glance;
And dearer seems each dawning smile
For having lost its light awhile:
And, happier now for all her sighs,

As on his arm her head reposes, She whispers him, with laughing eyes, "Remember, love, the Feast of Roses!"

FADLADEEN, at the conclusion of this light rhapsouy, took occasion to sum up his opinion of the young Cashmeriar's poetry.--of which, he trusted, they had that evening heard the last. Having recapitulated the epithets, frivolous"—" in..armonious". 66 "nonsensical," he

proceeded to say tot, viewing it in the most favourable light, it resembled one of those Maidivian boats, to which the Princess had alluded in the relation of her dream,' a sight, gilded thing, sent adrift without rudder or ballast, and with nothing but vapid sweets and faded flowers on board. The profusion, indeed, of flowers and birds, which this poet had ready on all occasions, not to mention dews, gems, &c.-was a most oppressive kind of opulence to his hearers; and had the unlucky effect of giving to his style all the glitter of the flower-garden without its method, and all the flutter of the aviary without its song. In addition to this, he chose his subjects badly, and was always most inspired by the worst parts of thein. The charms of paganism, the merits of rebellion,-these were the themes honoured with his particular enthusiasm; and, in the poem just recited, one of his most palatable passages was in praise of that beverage of the Unfaithful, wine;" being, perhaps," said he, relaxing into a smile, as conscious of his own character in the Harem on this point, "one of those bards, whose fancy owes all its illumination to the grape, like that painted porcelain,t so curious and so rare, whose images are only visible when liquor is poured into it." Upon the whole it was his opinion, from the specimens which they had heard, and which, he begged to say, were the most tiresome part of the journey, that-whatever other merits this well-dressed young gentleman might possess-poetry was by no means his proper avocation; "and indeed," concluded the critic, "from his fondness for flowers and for birds, I would venture to suggest that a florist or a bird-catcher is a much more suitable calling for him than a poet."

They had now begun to ascend those barren mountains, which separate Cashmere from the rest of India, and, as the heats were intolerable, and the time of their encampments limited to the few hours necessary for refreshment and repose, there was an end to all their delightful evenings, and LALLA ROOKн saw no more of FERAMORZ. She now felt that her short dream of happiness was over, and that she had nothing but the recollection of its few blissful hours, like the one draught of sweet water that serves the camel across the wilderness, to be her heart's refreshment during the dreary waste of life that was before her. The blight that had fallen upon her spirits soon found its way to her cheek, and her ladies saw with regret-though not without some suspicion of the cause--that the beauty of their mistress, of which they were almost as proud as of their own, was fast van ishing away at the very moment of all when she had most need of it. What must the King of Bucharia feel when, instead of the lively and beautiful LALLA Rookh, whom the poets of Delhi had described as more perfect than the divinest images in the house of Azor,† he should

* See p. 37.

"The Chinese had formerly the art of painting on the sides of por celain vessels fish and other animals, which were only perceptible when the vers was full of some liquor. They call this species Kia-tsin, tha is, azur is put in press, en account of the manner in which the azure is laid on." They are every now and then trying to recover the art of this magical painting, but to no purpose."-Dunn.

An eminent carver of idols, said in the Koran to be father to Abra bam. I bave such a lovely idols is not to be met with in the house of Azor."--- Hufz.

receive pale and inanimate victim, upon whose cheek neither health nor pleasure bloomed, and from whose eyes Love had fled,-to hide himself in her heart?

If any thing could have charmed away the melan. choly of her spirits, it would have been the fresh airs and enchanting scenery of that Valley, which the Persians so justly called the Unequalled. But neither the coolness of its atmosphere, so luxurious after toiling up those bare and burning mountains,-neither the splendour of the minarets and pagodas, that shone out from the depth of its woods, nor the grottoes, hermitages, and miraculous fountains,† which make every spot of that region holy ground, neither the countless waterfalls, that rush into the Valley from all those high and romantic mountains that encircle it, nor the fair city on the Lake, whose houses, roofed with flowers,t appeared at a distance like one vast and variegated parterre ;-not all these wonders and glories of the most lovely country under the sun could steal her heart for a minute from those sad thoughts, which but darkened, and grew bitterer every step she advanced.

The gay pomps and processions that met her upon her entrance into the Valley, and the magnificence with which the roads all along were decorated, did honour to the taste and gallantry of the young King. It was night when they approached the city, and, for the last two miles, they had passed under arches, thrown from hedge to hedge, festooned with only those rarest roses from which the Attar Gul, more precious than gold, is distilled, and illuminated in rich and fanciful forms with lanterns of the triple-coloured tortoise-shell of Pegu. Sometimes, from a dark wood by the side of the road, a display of fire-works would break out, so sudden and so brilliant, that a Brahmin might fancy he beheld that grove, in whose purple shade the God of Battles w: s born, bursting into a flame at the moment of his birth ;-while, at other times, a quick and playful irradiation continued to bright. en all the fields and gardens by which they passed, forming a line of dancing lights along the horizon; like the meteors of the north as they are seen by those hunters, who pursue the white and blue foxes on the confines of the Icy Sea.

called the Shalimar. Though never before had a nigh of more wakeful and anxious thought been passed in the Happy Valley, yet, when she rose in the morning, ano her Ladies came around her, to assist in the adjustmen of the bridal ornaments, they thought they had never seen her look half so beautiful. What she had lost of the bloom and radiancy of her charms was more than made up by that intelectual expression, that soul beaming forth from the eyes, which is worth all the rest of loveliness. When they had tinged her fingers with the Henna leaf, and placed upon her brow a small coronet of jewels, of the shape worn by the ancient Queens of Buchara, they flung over her head the rose-coloured bridal veil, and she proceeded to the barge that was to convey her across the lake ;-first kissing, with a mournful look, the little amulet of carnelian, which her father at parting bad hung about her neck.

The morning was as fresh and fair as the maid on whose nuptials it rose, and the shining lake all covered with boats, the minstrels playing upon the shores of the islands, and the crowded summer-houses on the green hills around, with shawls and banners waving from their roofs, presented such a picture of animated rejoicing, as only she who was the object of it all, did not feel with transport. TO LALLA ROOKH alone it was a melancholy pageant; nor could she have even borne to look upon the scene, were it not for a hope that, among the crowds around, she might once more perhaps catch a glimpse of FERAMORZ. So much was her imagination haunted by this thought, that there was scarcely an islet or boat she passed on the way, at which her heart did not flutter with the momentary fancy that he was there. Happy, in her eyes, the humblest slave upon whom the light of his dear looks fell!—In the barge immediately after the princess sat FADLADEEN, with his silken curtains thrown widely apart, that all might have the benefit of his august presence, and with his head full of the speech he was to deliver to the King, "concerning FERAMORZ, and literture, and the Chabuk, as connected therewith."

They now had entered the canal which leads from the Lake to the splendid domes and saloons of the Shalimar, and went gliding on through the gardens that ascended These arches and fire-works delighted the Ladies of from each bank, full of flowering shrubs that made the the Princess exceedingly; and with their usual good air all perfume; while from the middle of the cana rose logic, they deduced from his taste for illuminations, that jets of water, smooth and unbroken, to such a dazzling the King of Bucharia would make the most exemplary height, that they stood like tall pillars of diamond in the asband imaginable. Nor, indeed, could LALLA ROOKH sunshine. After sailing under the arches of various saerself help feeling the kindness and splendour with which loons, they at length arrived at the last and most magnihe young bridegroom welcomed her;-but she also felt ficent, where the monarch awaited the coming of his how painful is the gratitude, which kindness from these bride; and such was the agitation of her heart and we cannot love excites; and that their best blandish- || frame, that it was with difficulty she could walk up the ments come over the heart with all that chilling and marble steps, which were covered with cloth of gold for deadly sweetness, which we can fancy in the cold, odo- her ascent from the barge. At the end of the hall stood riferous wind, that is to blow over this earth in the last two thrones, as precious as the Cerulcan Throne of Cooldays. burga*, on one of which sat ALIRIS, the youthful King of Bucharia, and on the other was, in a few minutes, to be placed the most beautiful Princess in the world. Immediately upon the entrance of LALLA ROOKH into the saloon, the monarch descended from his throne to meet her; but scarcely had he time to take her hand in his, when she screamed with surprise, and fainted at his feet. It was FERAMORZ himself that stood before her!-FERAMORZ was, himself, the Sovereign of Bucharia, who in this disguise had accompanied his young bride from Delhi, and having won her love as an humble minstrel, now amply deserved to enjoy it as a King.

The marriage was fixed for the morning after her arrival, when she was, for the first time, to be presented to the monarch in that Imperial Palace beyond the lake, ||

*Kachimire be Nazeer.-Forster.

The pardonable superstition of the sequestered inhabitants has multiplied the paces of worship of Mahadeo, of Beschan, and of Brama. All Cashmere is holy land, and miraculous fountams abound.""-Major Rennel's Memoirs of a Map of Hindostan.

Than Guire mentions a fountain in Cashmere called Tirnagh, which signifies a snake; probably because some large snake had formerly been seen there."-"During the lifetime of my father, I went twice to this fountain, which is about twenty coss from the city of Cashmere. The vestiges of places of worship and sanctity are to be traced without namber amongst the ruins and the caves, which are interspersed in its neigh bourhood."-Toozek Jhangeery. -Vide Asiat. Misc., vol. ii.

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There is another account of Cashmere by Abul Fazil, the author of the Ayin-Acbaree, who,' says Major Rennel, appears to have caught some of the enthusiasm of the valley, by his description of the holy places in it." On a standing roof of wood is laid a covering of fine earth, which shelters the building from the great quantity of snow that falls in the winter season. This fence communicates an equal warmth in winter, as a refreshing coolness in the summer season, when the tops of the houses, which are planted with a variety of flowers, exhibit at a distance the spacious view of a beautifully-chequered parterre."-Forster. $"Two hundred slaves there are, who have no other office than to hunt the woods and marshes for triple-coloured tortoises for the King's Vivary. Of the shells of these also lanterns are made."--Vincent le Blanc's Travels,

For a description of the Aurora Borealis as it appears to these huntess, vide Encyclopædia This wind, which is to blow from Syria Damascena, is, according to the Mahometans, one of the signs of the Last Day's approach. Another of the signs is, "Great distress in the world, so that a man when he passes by another's grave shall say, Would to God I were in bia place-Sale's Preliminary Discourse

The consternation of FADLADEEN at this discovery was, for the moment, almost pitiable. But change of opinion is a resource too convenient in courts for this experienced

"On Mahommed Shaw's return to koolburga (the capital of Delkan) he made a great festival, and mounted this throne with much pomp and maguificence, calling it Firozel or Cerulean. I have heard some old persons, who saw the throne Firozeh in the reign of Sultan Ma mood Bhamenee, describe it. They say that it was in length nine feet, and three in breadth; made of ebony, covered with plates of pure gold, and set with precious stones of immense value Every prince of the house of Blainenee, who possessed this throne, made a point of adding to it some rich stones; so that when, in the reign of Sultan Mamood, it was taken to pieces, to remove some of the jewels to be set in vases and cups, the jewellers valued it at one corore of oons, (nearly four millions sterling.) I learned also that it was called Firozeh from being partly enamelled of a sky-blue olbur, which was in time totally concealed by the number of jewik.” Ferishta

courtier not to have learned to avail himself of it. His criticisms were all, of course, recanted instantly: he was seized with an admiration of the King's verses, as unbounded as, he begged him to believe, it was disinterested; and the following week saw him in possession of an additional place, swearing by all the Saints of Islam that never had there existed so great a poet as the Monarch ALIRIS, and, moreover, ready to prescribe his favour

ite regimen of the Chabuk for every man, woman, and child that dared to think otherwise.

Of the happiness of the King and Queen of Bucharia, after such a beginning, there can be but little doubt; and, among the lesser symptoms, it is recorded of LALLA RooкH, that, to the day of her death, in memory of their delightful journey, she never called the King by any other name than FERAMORZ.

SONGS WRITTEN IN AMERICA IN 1806-7.

I KNEW BY THE SMOKE.

I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near,

And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world,
A heart that was humble might hope for it here!"
It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd around
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee;
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound

But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree. And Here in this lone little wood," I exclaim'd, "With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if I blamed,

"How blest could I live, and how calm could I die!

By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips "In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, "And to knew that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, "Which had never been sigh'd on by any but mine!"

CANADIAN BOAT SONG.

FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;
But, when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Utawas' tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.

ALONE BY THE SCHUYLKILL. ALONE by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, And bright were its flowery banks to his eye; But far, very far were the friends that he loved, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh.

Oh Nature, though blessed and bright are thy rays, O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, Yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays

In a smile from the heart that is fondly our own.

Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain

Unblest by the smile he had languish'd to meet; Though scarce did he hope it would sooth him again, Till the threshold of home had been press'd by his feet.

But the lays of his boyhood had stol'n to their ear,
And they loved what they knew of so humble a

uame

And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, That they found in his heart something better than fame.

Nor did woman-oh woman! whose form and whose soul

Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue; Whether sunn'd in the tropics or chill'd at the pole, If woman be there, there is happiness too :Nor did she her enamoring magic deny,That magic his heart had relinquish'd so long,Like eyes he had loved was her eloquent eye, Like them did it soften and weep at his song. Oh, blest be the tear, and in memory oft

May its sparkle be shed o'er the wand'rer's dream,
Thrice blest be that eye, and may passion as soft,
As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam!
The stranger is gone-but he will not forget,
When at home he shall talk of the toils he has
known,

To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met,
As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. They tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was rever afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses."-Anon.

"La Poésie a ses monstres comme la nature."-D'ALEMBERT.

"THEY made her a grave, too cold and damp "For a soul so warm and true;

"And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, "Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,

"She paddles her white canoe.

"And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
"And her paddle I soon shall hear;
"Long and loving our life shall be,
"And I'll hide the maid in a cypress-tree,
"When the footstep of death is near."
Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds-
His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear and nightly steep

The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake,

And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, "Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake,

"And the white canoe of my dear?"

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright
Quick over its surface play'd-
"Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light."
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night,
The name of the death-co'd maid.

When calms delay, or breezes blow

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from shore;
Far, far he follow'd the meteor spark,

The wind was high and the clouds were dark,
And the boat return'd no more.

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp, This lover and maid so true

Are seen at the hour of midnight damp To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, And paddle their white canoe!

THE SNOW SPIRIT.

No, er did the wave in its elements steep
An island of lovelier charms;

It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep,
Like Hebe in Hercules' arms.

The blush of your bowers is light to the eye,
And their melody balm to the ear;

But the fiery planet of day is too nigh,

And the Snow Spirit never comes here.

The down from his wing is as white as the pearl
That shines through thy lips when they part,
And it falls on the green earth as melting, my girl,
As a murmur of thine on the heart.
Oh! fly to the clime, where he pillows the death,
As he cradles the birth of the year;
Bright are your bowers and balmy their breath,
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here.

How sweet to behold him, when borne on the gale,
And brightening the bosom of morn,

He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil
O'er the brow of each virginal thorn.
Yet think not the veil he so chillingly casts
Is the veil of a vestal severe;

No, no, thou wilt see, what a moment it lasts,
Should the Snow Spirit ever come here.

But fly to his region--lay open thy zone,
And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim,
To think that a bosom, as white as his own,
Should not melt in the daybeam like him.
Oh! lovely the print of those delicate feet

O'er his luminous path will appear-
Fly, fly, my beloved! this island is sweet,
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here.

THE FIRE-FLY.

AT morning, when the earth and sky
Are glowing with the light of spring,
We
We see thee not, thou humble fly!
Nor think upon thy gleaming wing.
But when the skies have lost their hue,
And sunny lights no longer play,
Oh then we see and bless thee too
For sparkling o'er the dreary way.
Thus let me hope, when lost to me

The lights that now my life illume, Some milder joys may come, like thee, To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom!

THE STEERSMAN'S SONG. WHEN freshly blows the northern gale, And under courses snug we fly; Or when light breezes swell the sail, And royais proudly sweep the sky; 'Longside the wheel, unwearied still I stand, and, as my watchful eye Doth inark the needle's faithful thrill, I think of her I love, and cry,

Port, my boy, port!

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I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
Was pity for those who were wiser than I.

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire
The pearl of the soul may be melted away;
How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire

We inherit from heav'n, may be quench'd in the clay

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame,
That Pleasure no more night its purity dim;
So that, sullied but little, or brightly the same,

I might give back the boon I had borrow'd from his
How blest was the thought! it appear'd as if Heav'n
Had already an opening to Paradise shown;
As if, passion all chasten'd and error forgiven.
My heart then began to be purely its own

I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky, Which morning had clouded, was clouded no more. "Oh! thus," I exclaim'd, “ may a heavenly eye "Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before!"

WELL-PEACE TO THY HEART.
WELL-peace to thy heart, though another's it be,
And health to that cheek, though it bloom not for me!
To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves,
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves,
And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet
Their allurements forgive and their splendour forget

Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;
May spring to eternity hallow the shade,
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has stray'd.
And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam
Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy home,
Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done,
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun,

I have led thee along, and have told by the way
What my heart all the night had been burning to say➡
Oh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times,
And a blessing for me to that alley of limes.

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Trs the middle watch of a summer's night-
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright;
Naught is seen in the vault on high

But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky,
And the flood which rolls its milky hue,
A river of light on the welkin blue.
The moon looks down on old Cronest,

She mellows the shades, on his shaggy breast,
And seems his huge gray form to throw
In a silver cone on the wave below;
His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar made,
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark-
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.

II.

The stars are on the moving stream,
And fling, as its ripples gently flow,

A burnished length of wavy beam
In an eel-like, spiral line below;

The winds are whist, and the owl is still,
The bat in the shelvy rock is hid.
And naught is heard on the lonely hill

But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill
Of the gauze-winged katy-did;

And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and wo,

Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow.

III.

Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell;
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well;
He has counted them all with click and stroke
Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak,
And he has awakened the sentry elve

Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,
To bid him ring the hour of twelve,
And call the fays to their revelry:
Twelve small strokes on his kling bell-

('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell; "Midnight comes, and all is well!

Hither, hither, wing your way! "Tis the dawn of the fairy-day."

IV.

They come from beds of lichen green,
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen;
Some on the backs of beetles fly

From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,

Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks nigh, And rocked about in the evening breeze;

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest

They had driven hin. out by elfin power,

And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,
Had slumbered there 'ill the charmed hour;
Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,

With glittering ising-stars inlaid;

And some had opened the four-o'clock, And stole within its purple shade.

And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above-below-on every side,

Their little minim forms arrayed In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!

They come not now to print the lea,
In freak and dance around the tree,
Or at the mushroom board to sup,
And drink the dew from the buttercup;-
A seene of sorrow waits them now,
For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow;
He has loved an earthly maid,
And left for her his woodland shade;
He has lain upon her lip of dew,
And sunned him in her eye of blue,
Fanned her cheek with his wing of air,
Played in the ringlets of her hair,
And, nestling on her зnowy breast,
Forgot the lily-king's behest.
For this the shadowy tribes of air

To the elfin court must haste away :-
And now they stand expectant there,
To hear the doom of the culprit Fay.

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