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 katydid;
And the plaint of the wailing whippoorwill,
Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings
Ever a note of wail and woe,

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

'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 tinkling bell
('T was made of the white snail's pearly shell):
Midnight comes, and all is well!

66

Hither, hither wing your way! 'T is the dawn of the fairy-day."

They come from beds of lichen green,

They creep from the mullein'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
high,

And rocked about in the evening breeze;
Some from the hum-bird's downy nest, -
They had driven him out by elfin power,

And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast.
Had slumbered there till the charméd 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 scene 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 snowy 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.

The throne was reared upon the grass,
Of spice-wood and of sassafras ;
On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell
Hung the burnished canopy,
And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell
Of the tulip's crimson drapery.

The monarch sat on his judgment-seat,

On his brow the crown imperial shone,

The prisoner fay was at his feet,

And catch a drop from his silver bow.
The water-sprites will wield their arms
And dash around, with roar and rave,
And vain are the woodland spirits' charms;
They are the imps that rule the wave.
Yet trust thee in thy single might:
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right,
Thou shalt win the warlock fight.

"If the spray-bead gem be won,

The stain of thy wing is washed away; But another errand must be done

Ere thy crime be lost for aye: Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, Thou must reillume its spark.

Mount thy steed, and spur him high

To the heaven's blue canopy;

And when thou seest a shooting star,
Follow it fast, and follow it far,

He waved his sceptre in the air,

He looked around and calmly spoke;

His brow was grave and his eye severe,
But his voice in a softened accent broke :

"Fairy fairy! list and mark:
Thou hast broke thine elfin chain;
Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,
And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain,
Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity

In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye;
Thou hast scorned our dread decree,

And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high. But well I know her sinless mind

Is pure as the angel forms above,
Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind,

Such as a spirit well might love.
Fairy had she spot or taint,
Bitter had been thy punishment :
Tied to the hornet's shardy wings;
Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings;
Or seven long ages doomed to dwell
With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell;
Or every night to writhe and bleed
Beneath the tread of the centipede ;
Or bound in a cobweb-dungeon dim,
Your jailor a spider, huge and grim,
Amid the carrion bodies to lie

Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly:
These it had been your lot to bear,

Had a stain been found on the earthly fair.
Now list, and mark our mild decree,

Fairy, this your doom must be :

"Thou shalt seek the beach of sand

Where the water bounds the elfin land;

Thou shalt watch the oozy brine

Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, Then dart the glistening arch below,

Shall light the elfin lamp again. Thou hast heard our sentence, fay; Hence to the water-side, away!"

The goblin marked his monarch well; He spake not, but he bowed him low, Then plucked a crimson colen-bell,

And turned him round in act to go. The way is long, he cannot fly,

His soiled wing has lost its power,
And he winds adown the mountain high,
For many a sore and weary hour.
Through dreary beds of tangled fern,
Through groves of nightshade dark and dern,
Over the grass and through the brake,
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake;
Now o'er the violet's azure flush

He skips along in lightsome mood;

And now he thrids the bramble-bush, Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the brier, He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. He had fallen to the ground outright,

For rugged and dim was his onward track,
But there came a spotted toad in sight,

He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist,
And he laughed as he jumped upon her back;
He lashed her sides with an osier thong;
And now, through evening's dewy mist,
With leap and spring they bound along,
Till the mountain's magic verge is past,
And the beach of sand is reached at last.

Soft and pale is the moony beam,
Moveless still the glassy stream;
The wave is clear, the beach is bright

With snowy shells and sparkling stones; The shore-surge comes in ripples light,

In murmurings faint and distant moans; And ever afar in the silence deep Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap, And the bend of his graceful bow is seen, A glittering arch of silver sheen, Spanning the wave of burnished blue, And dripping with gems of the river-dew.

The elfin cast a glance around,

As he lighted down from his courser toad, Then round his breast his wings he wound,

And close to the river's brink he strode; He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Above his head his arms he threw, Then tossed a tiny curve in air,

And headlong plunged in the waters blue.

Up sprung the spirits of the waves

From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves;
With snail-plate armor, snatched in haste,
They speed their way through the liquid waste;
Some are rapidly borne along

On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong;
Some on the blood-red leeches glide,
Some on the stony star-fish ride,
Some on the back of the lancing squab,
Some on the sideling soldier-crab;
And some on the jellied quarl, that flings
At once a thousand streamy stings;
They cut the wave with the living oar,
And hurry on to the moonlight shore,
To guard their realms and chase away
The footsteps of the invading fay.

Fearlessly he skims along,

His hope is high, and his limbs are strong; He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing, And throws his feet with a frog-like fling; His locks of gold on the waters shine,

At his breast the tiny foam-bees rise,
His back gleams bright above the brine,

And the wake-line foam behind him lies.
But the water-sprites are gathering near
To check his course along the tide ;
Their warriors come in swift career

And hem him round on every side;
On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold,
The quarl's long arms are round him rolled,
The prickly prong has pierced his skin,
And the squab has thrown his javelin ;
The gritty star has rubbed him raw,
And the crab has struck with his giant claw;
He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain;
He strikes around, but his blows are vain;
Hopeless is the unequal fight,
Fairy naught is left but flight.

He turned him round, and fled amain,
With hurry and dash, to the beach again;
He twisted over from side to side,
And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide;
The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet,
And with all his might he flings his feet,
But the water-sprites are round him still,
To cross his path and work him ill.
They bade the wave before him rise;
They flung the sea-fire in his eyes;
And they stunned his ears with the scallop-stroke,
With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak.
O, but a weary wight was he

When he reached the foot of the dogwood-tree.
Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore,
He laid him down on the sandy shore ;
He blessed the force of the charméd line,

And he banned the water-goblins' spite,
For he saw around in the sweet moonshine
Their little wee faces above the brine,
Giggling and laughing with all their might
At the piteous hap of the fairy wight.
Soon he gathered the balsam dew

From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud; Over each wound the balm he drew,

And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood The mild west-wind was soft and low, It cooled the heat of his burning brow; And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, As he drank the juice of the calamus-root; And now he treads the fatal shore As fresh and vigorous as before. Wrapped in musing stands the sprite; 'Tis the middle wane of night;

His task is hard, his way is far, But he must do his errand right

Ere dawning mounts her beamy car, And rolls her chariot wheels of light; And vain are the spells of fairy-land, – He must work with a human hand.

He cast a saddened look around;

But he felt new joy his bosom swell,
When, glittering on the shadowed ground.
He saw a purple muscle-shell;
Thither he ran, and he bent him low,

He heaved at the stern and he heaved at the bow,
And he pushed her over the yielding sand
Till he came to the verge of the haunted land.
She was as lovely a pleasure-boat

As ever fairy had paddled in,
For she glowed with purple paint without,
And shone with silvery pearl within;

A sculler's notch in the stern he made,
An oar he shaped of the bootle-blade;
Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap,
And launched afar on the calm, blue deep.

The imps of the river yell and rave.
They had no power above the wave;
But they heaved the billow before the prow,
And they dashed the surge against her side,
And they struck her keel with jerk and blow,
Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide.
She whimpled about to the pale moonbeam,
Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed stream;
And momently athwart her track

The quarl upreared his island back,
And the fluttering scallop behind would float,
And patter the water about the boat;
But he bailed her out with his colen-bell,

And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread, While on every side, like lightning, fell

The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade.

Onward still he held his way,

Till he came where the column of moonshine lay
And saw beneath the surface dim
The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim;
Around him were the goblin train,
But he sculled with all his might and main,
And followed wherever the sturgeon led,
Till he saw him upward point his head;
Then he dropped his paddle-blade,
And held his colen-goblet up
To catch the drop in its crimson cup.
With sweeping tail and quivering fin
Through the wave the sturgeon flew,
And, like the heaven-shot javelin,

He sprung above the waters blue.
Instant as the star-fall light

He plunged him in the deep again,
But he left an arch of silver bright,
The rainbow of the moony main.
It was a strange and lovely sight
To see the puny goblin there;
He seemed an angel form of light,
With azure wing and sunny hair,
Throned on a cloud of purple fair,
Circled with blue and edged with white,
And sitting, at the fall of even,
Beneath the bow of summer heaven.

Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave, With snowy arms half swelling out, While on the glossed and gleamy wave

Their sea-green ringlets loosely float. They swim around with smile and song; They press the bark with pearly hand, And gently urge her course along Toward the beach of speckled sand, And, as he lightly leaped to land, They bade adieu with nod and bow;

Then gayly kissed each little hand,
And dropped in the crystal deep below.

A moment stayed the fairy there;
He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer;
Then spread his wings of gilded blue,
And on to the elfin court he flew.
As ever ye saw a bubble rise,
And shine with a thousand changing dyes,
Till, lessening far, through ether driven,
It mingles with the hues of heaven;
As, at the glimpse of morning pale,
The lance-fly spreads his silken sail,
And gleams with blendings soft and bright
Till lost in the shades of fading night,
So rose from earth the lovely fay;
So vanished, far in heaven away!

.

Up, fairy! quit thy chickweed bower,
The cricket has called the second hour;
Twice again, and the lark will rise
To kiss the streaking of the skies,
Up! thy charméd armor don,

Thou 'It need it ere the night be gone.

He put his acorn helmet on;

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down;
The corselet plate that guarded his breast
Was once the wild bee's golden vest;

His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,

Was formed of the wings of butterflies;
His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,
Studs of gold on a ground of green ;
And the quivering lance which he brandished
bright

Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
Swift he bestrode his firefly steed;

He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;

He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,

And away like a glance of thought he flew

To skim the heavens, and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.

The moth-fly, as he shot in air,

Crept under the leaf, and hid her there;

The katydid forgot its lay,

The prowling gnat fled fast away,

The fell mosquito checked his drone

And folded his wings till the fay was gone.