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Save the faint chip of early bird,

The stars are on the moving stream, Or bleat of flocks along the hill.

And fling, as its ripples gently flow,

A' burnished length of wavy beam
I traced that rivulet's winding way ;

In an eel-like, spiral line below;
New scenes of beauty opened round, The winds are whist, and the owl is still
Where meads of brighter verdure lay,

The bat in the shelvy rock is hid ;
And lovelier blossoms tinged the ground. And naught is heard on the lonely hill

But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill “Ah, happy valley stream !” I said,

Of the gauze-winged katydid; “Calm glides thy wave amid the flowers, And the plaint of the wailing whippoorwill, Whose fragrance round thy path is shed Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings Through all the joyous summer hours. Ever a note of wail and woe,

Till morning spreads her rosy wings, 0, could my years, like thine, be passed

And earth and sky in her glances glow.
In some remote and silent glen,
Where I could dwell and sleep at last,

'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell : Far from the bustling haunts of men !”

The wood-tick has kept the minutes well;

He has counted them all with click and stroke But what new echoes greet my ear ? The village school-boy's merry call ;

Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak,

And he has awakened the sentry elve And mid the village hum I hear

Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, The murmur of the waterfall.

To bid him ring the hour of twelve, I looked ; the widening vale betrayed

And call the fays to their revelry; A pool that shone like burnished steel,

Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell Where that bright valley stream was stayed

('T was made of the white snail's pearly shell) : To turn the miller's ponderous wheel.

Midnight comes, and all is well!

Hither, hither wing your way!
Ah! why should I, I thought with shame, 'T is the dawn of the fairy-day."

Sigh for a life of solitude,
When even this stream without a name They come from beds of lichen green,
Is laboring for the common good.

They creep from the mullein's velvet screen ;

Some on the backs of beetles fly No longer let me shun my part

From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Amid the busy scenes of life,

Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks But with a warm and generous heart

high,
Press onward in the glorious strife. And rocked about in the evening breeze ;
JOHN HOWARD BRYANT.

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest,
They had driven him out by elfin power,

And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,
THE CULPRIT FAY.

Had slumbered there till the charmed hour;

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, 'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night, With glittering ising-stars inlaid ; The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright; And some had opened the four-o'-clock, Naught is seen in the vault on high

And stole within its purple shade. But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless And now they throng the moonlight glade, sky,

Above, below, on every side, And the flood which rolls its milky hue,

Their little minim forms arrayed
A river of light on the welkin blue.

In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!
The moon looks down on old Cronest;
She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, They come not now to print the lea,
And seems his huge gray form to throw

In freak and dance around the tree,
In a silver cone on the wave below.

Or at the mushroom board to sup,
His sides are broken by spots of shade,

And drink the dew from the buttercup :
By the walnut bough and the cedar made; A scene of sorrow waits them now,
And through their clustering branches dark For an ouphe has broken his vestal vow;
Glimmers and dies the firefly's spark,

He has loved an earthly maid,
Like starry twinkles that momently break And left for her his woodland shade ;
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack. He has lain upon her lip of dew,

.

'

And sunned him in her eye of blue,

And catch a drop from his silver bow. Fanned her cheek with his wing of air,

The water-sprites will wield their arms Played in the ringlets of her hair,

And dash around, with roar and rave, And, nestling on her snowy breast,

And vain are the woodland spirits' charms; Forgot the lily-king's behest.

They are the imps that rule the wave. For this the shadowy tribes of air

Yet trust thee in thy single might : To the elfin court must haste away :

If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, And now they stand expectant there,

Thou shalt win the warlock fight. To hear the doom of the culprit fay.

“If the spray-bead gem

be won, The throne was reared upon the

grass,

The stain of thy wing is washed away ; Of spice-wood and of sassafras ;

But another errand must be done On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell

Ere thy crime be lost for aye : Hung the burnished canopy,

Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell

Thou must reillume its spark. Of the tulip's crimson drapery.

Mount thy steed, and spur him high
The monarch sat on his judgment-seat,

To the heaven's blue canopy ;
On his brow the crown imperial shone, And when thou seest a shooting star,
The prisoner fay was at his feet,

Follow it fast, and follow it far,
And his peers were ranged around the throne. The last faint spark of its burning train
He waved his sceptre in the air,

Shall light the elfin lamp again.
He looked around and calmly spoke;

Thou hast heard our sentence, fay; His brow was grave and his eye severe,

Hence! to the water-side, away !” But his voice in a softened accent broke : “Fairy ! fairy ! list and mark :

The goblin marked his monarch well ;

He spake not, but he bowed him low, Thou hast broke thine elfin chain ;

Then plucked a crimson colen-bell, Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,

And turned him round in act to go. And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain,

The way is long, he cannot fly, Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity

His soiléd wing has lost its power, In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye ;

And he winds adown the mountain high, Thou hast scorned our dread decree,

For many a sore and weary hour. And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high.

Through dreary beds of tangled fern, But well I know her sinless mind

Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, Is pure as the angel forms above,

Over the grass and through the brake, Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind,

Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake; Such as a spirit well might love.

Now o'er the violet's azure flush Fairy ! had she spot or taint,

He skips along in lightsome mood; Bitter had been thy punishment :

And now he thrids the bramble-bush, Tied to the hornet's shar rings ;

Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings ;

He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the brier, Or seven long ages doomed to dwell

He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell ;

Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, Or every night to writhe and bleed

And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. Beneath the tread of the centipede ;

He had fallen to the ground outright, Or bound in a cobweb-dungeon dim,

For rugged and dim was his onward track, Your jailor a spider, huge and grim,

But there came a spotted toad in sight, Amid the carrion bodies to lie Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly: He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist,

And he laughed as he jumped upon her back; These it had been your lot to bear,

He lashed her sides with an osier thong ; Had a stain been found on the earthly fair.

And now, through evening's dewy mist, Now list, and mark our mild decree,

With leap and spring they bound along, Fairy, this your doom must be :

Till the mountain's magic verge is past, “Thou shalt seek the beach of sand

And the beach of sand is reached at last.
Where the water bounds the elfin land ;
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine

Soft and pale is the moony beam,
Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, Moveless still the glassy stream;
Then dart the glistening arch below,

The wave is clear, the beach is bright

With snowy shells and sparkling stones ; | He turned him round, and fled amain, The shore-surge comes in ripples light, With hurry and dash, to the beach again;

In murmurings faint and distant moans; He twisted over from side to side, And ever afar in the silence deep

And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide ; Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's lear, The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And the bend of his graceful bow is seen, And with all his might he flings his feet, A glittering arch of silver sheen,

But the water-sprites are round him still, Spanning the wave of burnished blue,

To cross his path and work him ill. And dripping with gems of the river-dew. They bad: the wave before him rise ;

They flung the sea-fire in his eyes ; The elfin cast a glance around,

And they stunned his ears with the scallop-stroke, As he lighted down from his courser toad, With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak. Then round his breast his wings he wound, O, but a weary wight was he

And close to the river's brink he strode ; When he reached the foot of the dogwood-tree. He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, Above his head his arms he threw,

He laid him down on the sandy shore ; Then tossed a tiny curve in air,

He blessed the force of the charmed line, And headlong plunged in the waters blue. And he banned the water-goblins' spite,

For he saw around in the sweet moonshine Up sprung the spirits of the waves

Their little wee faces above the brine, From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves ; Giggling and laughing with all their might With snail-plate armor, snatched in haste, At the piteous hap of the fairy wight. They speed their way through the liquid waste ; Some are rapidly borne along

Soon he gathered the balsam dew On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong;

From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud; Some on the blood-red leeches glide,

Over each wound the balm he drew, Some on the stony star-fish ride,

And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood. Some on the back of the lancing squab,

The mild west-wind was soft and low, Some on the sideling soldier-crab;

It cooled the heat of his burning brow; And some on the jellied quarl, that flings

And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, At once a thousand streamy stings ;

As he drank the juice of the calamus-root; They cut the wave with the living oar,

And now he treads the fatal shore And hurry on to the moonlight shore,

As fresh and vigorous as before. To guard their realins and chase away

Wrapped in musing stands the sprite ; The footsteps of the invading fay.

'T is the middle wane of night;

His task is hard, his way is far, Fearlessly he skims along,

But he must do his errand right His hope is high, and his limbs are strong ;

Ere dawning mounts her beamy car, He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing,

And rolls her chariot wheels of light; And throws his feet with a frog-like fling;

Ind vain are the spells of fairy-land,
His locks of gold on the waters shine,

He must work with a human hand.
At his breast the tiny foam-bees rise,
His back gleams bright above the brine, He cast a saddened look around ;

And the wake-line foam behind him lies. But he felt new joy his bosom swell,
But the water-sprites are gathering near When, glittering on the shadowed ground,
To check his course along the tide ;

He saw a purple muscle-shell ; Their warriors come in swift career

Thither he ran, and he bent him low, And hem him round on every side;

He heaved at the stern and he heaved at the bow, On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold, And he pushed her over the yielding sand The quarl's long arms are round him rolled, Till he came to the verge of the haunted land. The prickly prong has pierced his skin, She was as lovely a pleasure-boat And the squab has thrown his javelin;

As ever fairy had paddled in,
The gritty star has rubbed him raw,

For she glowed with purple paint without,
And the crab has struck with his giant claw ; And shone with silvery pearl within ;
He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain ; A sculler's notch in the stern he made,
He strikes around, but his blows are vain ; An oar he shaped of the bootle-blade ;
Hopeless is the unequal fight,

Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap, Fairy! naught is left but flight.

And launched asar on the calm, blue deep.

The imps of the river yell and rave.

Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave, They had no power above the wave;

With snowy arms half swelling out, But they heaved the billow before the prow, While on the glossed and gleamy wave

And they dashed the surge against her side, Their sea-green ringlets loosely float.
And they struck her keel with jerk and blow, They swim around with smile and song;

Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide. They press the bark with pearly hand,
She whimpled about to the pale moonbeam, And gently urge her course along
Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed stream ; Toward the beach of speckled sand,
And momently athwart her track

And, as he lightly leaped to land,
The quarl upreared his island back,

They bade adieu with nod and bow ; And the fluttering scallop behind would float, Then gayly kissed each little hand, And patter the water about the boat ;

And dropped in the crystal deep below. But he bailed her out with his colen-bell,

And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread, A moment stayed the fairy there ; While on every side, like lightning, fell

He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer ; The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. Then spread his wings of gilded blue,

And on to the elfin court he flew.
Onward still he held his way,

As ever ye saw a bubble rise,
Till he came where the column of moonshine lay, And shine with a thousand changing dyes,
And saw beneath the surface dim

Till, lessening far, through ether driven,
The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim ; It mingles with the hues of heaven ;
Around him were the goblin train,

As, at the glimpse of morning pale,
But he sculled with all his might and main, The lance-fly spreads his silken sail,
And followed wherever the sturgeon led, And gleams with blendings soft and bright
Till he saw him upward point his head ; Till lost in the shades of fading night,
Then he dropped his paddle-blade,

So rose from earth the lovely fay ;
And held his colen-goblet up

So vanished, far in heaven away! To catch the drop in its crimson cup.

Up, fairy ! quit thy chickweed bower, With sweeping tail and quivering fin

The cricket has called the second hour; Through the wave the sturgeon flew,

Twice again, and the lark will rise And, like the heaven-shot javelin,

To kiss the streaking of the skies, He sprung above the waters blue.

Up! thy charmed armor don,
Instant as the star-fall light

Thou 'lt need it ere the night be gone.
He plunged him in the deep again,
But he left an arch of silver bright,

He put his acorn helmet on;
The rainbow of the moony main.

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; It was a strange and lovely sight

The corselet plate that guarded his breast To see the puny goblin there ;

Was once the wild bee's golden vest ; He seemed an angel im light,

His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, With azure wing and sunny hair,

Was formed of the wings of butterflies ; Throned on a cloud of purple fair,

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, Circled with blue and edged with white,

Studs of gold on a ground of green; And sitting, at the fall of even,

And the quivering lance which he brandished Beneath the bow of summer heaven.

bright

Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. A moment, and its lustre fell ;

Swift he bestrode his firefly steed; But ere it met the billow blue

He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue ; He caught within his crimson bell

He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, A droplet of its sparkling dew,

And away like a glance of thought he flew Joy to thee, fay! thy task is done,

To skim the heavens, and follow far
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won, The fiery trail or the rocket-star.
Cheerly ply thy dripping oar,
And haste away to the elfin shore.

The moth-fly, as he shot in air,

Crept under the leaf, and hid her there ; He turns, and, lo! on either side

The katydid forgot its lay, The ripples on his path divide ;

The prowling gnat fled fast away, And the track o'er which his boat must pass The fell mosquito checked his drone Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass.

And folded his wings till the fay was gone,

And the wily beetle dropped his head,

The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, And fell on the ground as if he were dead; The sphered moon is past, They crouched them close in the darksome shade, The earth but seems a tiny blot

They quaked all o'er with awe and fear, On a sheet of azure cast. For they had felt the blue-bent blade,

0, it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear. To tread the starry plain of even ! Many a time, on a summer's night,

To meet the thousand eyes of night, When the sky was clear, and the moon was bright, And feel the cooling breath of heaven! They had been roused from the haunted ground But the elfin made no stop or stay By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound; Till he came to the bank of the Milky Way ; They had heard the tiny bugle-horn,

Then he checked his courser's foot, They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string, and watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn,

And the needle-shaft through air was borne, Sudden along the snowy tide Feathered with down of the hum-bird's wing. That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall, And now they deemed the courier ouphe The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide, Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground,

Attired in sunset's crimson pall ; And they watched till they saw him mount the roof Around the fay they weave the dance, That canopies the world aronnd ;

They skip before him on the plain, Then glad they left their covert lair,

And one has taken his wasp-sting lance, And freaked about in the midnight air.

And one upholds his bridle-rein ;

With warblings wild they lead him on Up to the vaulted firmament

To where, through clouds of amber seen, His path the firefly courser bent,

Studded with stars, resplendent shone And at every gallop on the wind

The palace of the sylphid queen. He flung a glittering spark behind ;

Its spiral columns, gleaming bright, He flies like a feather in the blast

Were streamers of the northern light; Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. Its curtain's light and lovely flush

But the shapes of air have begun their work, Was of the morning's rosy blush ; And a drizzly mist is round him cast;

And the ceiling fair that rose aboon, He cannot see through the mantle murk; The white and feathery fleece of noon. He shivers with cold, but he urges fast;

Through storm and darkness, sleet and shade, But, o, how fair the shape that lay He lashes his steed, and spurs amain,

Beneath a rainbow bending bright! For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, She seemed to the entrancéd fay

And flame-shot tongues around him played, The loveliest of the forms of light; And near him many a fiendish eye

Her mantle was the purple rolled Glared with a fell malignity,

At twilight in the west afar ; And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear,

'T was tied with threads of dawning gold, Came screaming on his startled ear.

And buttoned with a sparkling star.

Her face was like the lily roon His wings are wet around his breast,

That veils the vestal planet's hue ;
The plume hangs dripping from his crest, Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon,
His eyes are blurred with the lightning's glare, Set floating in the welkin blue.
And his ears are stunned with the thunder's blare. Her hair is like the sunny beam,
But he gave a shout, and his blade he «lrew, And the diamond gems which round it glean

He thrust before and he struck behind, Are the pure drops of dewy even
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through, That ne'er have left their native heaven.

And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind :
Howling the misty spectres flew,

She was lovely and fair to see, They rend the air with frightful cries ; And the elfin's heart beat fitfully ; For he has gained the welkin blue,

But lovelier far, and still more fair, And the land of clouds beneath him lies. The earthly form imprinted there ;

Naught he saw in the heavens above Up to the cope careering swift,

Was half so dear as his mortal love, In breathless motion fast,

For he thought upon her looks so meek, Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift,

And he thought of the light flush on her cheek. Or the sea-roc rides the blast,

Never again might he bask and lie

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