Classic Poem

CAPUT III

A fantastic dream begotten
Of the summer night! As aimless
Is my song as life or love is,
As Creator, as creation!

Guided only by his pleasure,
Whether galloping or flying,
Through the realm of fancy courses
My beloved Pegasus —

No laborious, plodding cart-horse,
Virtuous toiler for the people,
But a battle-steed of party
With his wistful stamp and whinny!

Glorious, golden-shod the hoofs are
Of my white, my wingid charger,
And the reins are strings of pearls,
And I hold them loose and gaily.

Bear me forward at thy fancy
O'er the steep and merry hill-paths,
Where the torrents, loud with menace,
Warn from folly's dark abysses.

Through the silent forests bear me,
Where the solemn oaks rear upward,
And the sweet, primeval legends
From the gnarled roots distil.

I would steep mine eyes and drink there —
Ah, my soul is sick with yearning
For that shining, magic water
That bestoweth sight and knowledge!

I am blind no more! My vision
To the deepest cavern pierces —
To the hole of Atta Troll —
And I understand his language.

Strange! How curiously familiar
In mine ear this speech of bears is!
As a child have I not heard it
In my dear and distant country?