Classic Poem

A DREAM-LIKE REMEMBRANCE OF A DREAM

I T chanced three merry Fairies met
On the bridge of a mountain rivulet,
Whose hanging arch through the misty spray,
Like a little Lunar Rainbow lay,
With turf and flowers a pathway meet,
For the twinkling of unearthly feet,
For bright were the flowers as their golden tresses,
And green the turf as their Elfin-dresses
Aye the water o'er the Linn
Was mocking, with a gleesome din,
The small shrill laughter, as it broke
In peals from these night-wandering Folk;
While the stream danced on with a tinkling tune,
All happy to meet by a blink o' the moon.
Now laughing louder than before,
They strove to deaden that ceaseless roar;
And, when vanquished was the waterfall,
Loudly they shouted, one and all,
Like the chorus of a Madrigal,
Till the glen awoke from its midnight trance,
And o'er the hills in flight-like dance,
Was all the troop of echoes driven,
This moment on earth, and that in heaven.

From the silent heart of a hollow Yew,
The Owl sailed forth with a loud halloo;
And his large yellow eyes looked bright
With wonder, in the wan moonlight,
As hovering white, and still as snow,
He caught a glance of the things below,
All burning on the bridge like fire
In the sea-green glow of their wild attire.
" Halloo! Halloo! tu-whit! tu-whoo! "
Cried the gleesome Elves, and away they flew,
With mimic shriek, sob, cry, and howl,
In headlong chace of the frightened Owl.
With many a buffet they drove him onward,
Now hoisted him up, now pressed him downward;
They pulled at his horns, and with many a tweak,
Around and around they screwed his beak;
On his back they beat with a birch-spray flail,
And they tore the long feathers from his tail;
Then, like warriors mounted in their pride,
Behind his wings behold them ride!
And shouting, charge unto the war,
Each waving his soft plume-scymitar;
A war of laughter, not of tears,
The wild-wood's harmless Cuirassiers.

Through the depth of Ivy on the wall
(The sole remains of old Greystock Hall)
The Screamer is driven, half scared to death;
And the gamesome Fairies, all out of breath,
Their tiny robes in the air arranging,
And kisses in their flight exchanging;
Now slowly with the soft wind stealing
Right onwards, round about now wheeling,
Like leaves blown off in gusty weather,
To the rainbow-bridge all flock together;
And lo! on the green moss all alight,
Like a cluster of Goldfinches mingling bright.

What feats the Fairy Creatures played!
Now seeming of the height afraid,
And, folding the moss in fast embraces,
They peeped o'er the bridge with their lovely faces.
Now hanging like the fearless flowers
By their tiny arms in the Cataract-showers,
Swung back and forward with delight,
Like Pearls in the spray-shower burning bright!
Then they dropt at once into the Pool —
A moment gone! then beautiful
Ascending on slow-hovering wing,
As if with darkness dallying,
They rose again, through the smiling air,
To their couch of moss and flow'rets fair,
And rooted lay in silence there.

Down into the gulf profound
Slid the stream without a sound!
A charm had hushed the thundering shocks,
And stillness steeped the blackened rocks.
'Twas fit, where these fair things were lying,
No sound, save of some Zephyr sighing,
Should stir the gentle Solitude!
The mountain's night-voice was subdued
To far-off music faint and dim,
From Nature's heart a holy hymn!
Nor was that Universal Strain
Through Fairy-bosoms breathed in vain;
Entranced in joy the Creatures lay,
Listening the music far away,
Till One the deep'ning silence broke;
And thus in song-like murmurs spoke.


MOUNTAIN-FAIRY.


" Soon as the lingering Sun was gone,
I sailed away from my sparry throne,
Mine own cool, silent, glimmering dwelling,
Below the roots of the huge Hylvellyn
As onwards like a thought I flew,
From my wings fast fell the pearly dew,
Sweet tiny orbs of lucid ray
Rising and setting on my way,
As if I had been some Planet fair,
That ruled its own bright atmosphere
" O beauteous sight! " the Shepherd cried,
To the Shepherd slumbering at his side, —
" Look where the Mountain-Fairy flies! "
But e'er he had opened his heavy eyes,
I had flown o'er Grassmere's moonlight flood,
And the rustling swing of old Rydal-Wood,
And sunk down 'mid the heather-bells
On the shady side of sweet Furness-Fells.
'Twas but one soft wave o' my wing!
A start, and an end to my journeying.
One moment's rest in a spot so dear, —
For the Moonlight was sleeping on Windermere,
And I saw in that long pure streak of light
The joy and the sadness of the night,
And mine eyes, in sooth, began to fill,
So beautiful that Lake — so still —
So motionless its gentle breast —
Save where just rocking in their rest,
A crowd of water-lilies lay
Like stars amid the milky way.

But what had I with the Lake to do?
So off to the misty hills I flew,
And in dark ravines, and creviced rocks,
With my finger I counted my thousand flocks,
And each little Lamb by name I blest,
As snow-white they lay in their innocent rest.
When I saw some weak cold tottering Lamb
Recline 'gainst the side of its pitiful Dam,
Who seemed to have some wildering fear
Of Death, as of a Foe that was near,
I shone like a sunbeam soft and warm
Till the fleece lay smooth on its strengthened form,
And the happy Creatures lay down together
Like waves on the sea in gentle weather,
And in contentment calm and deep
Sank faintly-bleating into sleep.
In the soft moonlight glow I knew
Where the herbs that hold the poison grew;
And at the touch of my feathery foot
They withered at once both stalk and root,
But I shook not the gracious tears of night
From the plants most dear to the Shepherd's sight,
And with mellower lustre bade them spring
In the yellow round of the Fairy's ring,
Till, methought, the hillside smiled afar
With the face of many a verdant Star.
I marked the Fox at the mouth of his den,
And raised the shadows of Hunter-men,
And I bade airial beagles rave,
And the horn twang through the Felon's cave,
Then buried him with Famine in his grave.

The Raven sat upon Langdale-Peak
With crusted blood on his ebon-beak,
And I dashed him headlong from the steep,
While the murderer croaked in his sullen sleep.
Away I sailed by the Eagle's nest
And the Eaglets couched warm beneath her breast,
But the Shepherd shall miss her cry at morn,
For her eyes are dim and her plumage torn,
And I left in their Eyrie the Imps accurst
To die in their hunger, and cold, and thirst.

All, all is well with my lovely Flocks!
And so I dropt suddenly down the rocks,
From Loughrig-top, like a falling Star,
Seen doubtless through the mists afar
By a hundred Shepherds on the Hill
Wandering among the Moonlight still,
And with folded wings and feet earth-bound
I felt myself standing o'er the sound
Of this Waterfall, and with joy espied
A Sister-Elf at either side!
My Tale is told — nor strange nor new —
Now, sweet Lady Bright-Eyes! what say you? "

As some wild Night-Flower through the dew
Looks to the Moon with freshened hue,
When a wandering breath of air
Hath lifted up its yellow hair,
And its own little glade grows bright
At the soft revealment of its light,
Upsprung, so sudden and so sweet,
The Mountain -F AIRY to her feet;
And, looking round her with a smile,
Silent the Creature paused awhile,
Uncertain what glad thoughts should burst
In music from her spirit first,
Till, like a breath breathed clear from Heaven,
To her at once a voice was given,
And through the tune the words arose
As through the fragrant dew the leaflets of the Rose.

COTTAGE -FAIRY.


" Sisters! I have seen this night
A hundred Cottage-Fires burn bright,
And a thousand happy faces shining
In the bursting blaze, and the gleam declining.
I care not I for the stars above,
The lights on earth are the lights I love:
Let Venus bless the Evening-air,
Uprise at morn Prince Lucifer,
But those little tiny stars be mine
That through the softened copse-wood shine,
With beauty crown the pastoral hill,
And glimmer o'er the sylvan rill,
Where stands the Peasant's ivied nest,
And the huge mill-wheel is at rest
From out the honeysuckle's bloom
I peeped into that laughing room,
Then, like a hail-drop, on the pane
Pattering, I stilled the din again,
While every startled eye looked up;
And, half-raised to her lips the cup,
The rosy Maiden's look met mine!
But I veiled mine eyes with the silken twine
Of the small wild roses clustering thickly;
Then to her seat returning quickly,
She 'gan to talk with bashful glee
Of Fairies 'neath the greenwood Tree
Dancing by moonlight, and she blest
Gently our silent Land of rest.
The Infants playing on the floor,
At these wild words their sports gave o'er,
And asked where lived the Cottage-Fairy;
The maid replied, " She loves to tarry
Oftimes beside our very hearth,
And joins in little Children's mirth
When they are gladly innocent;
And sometimes beneath the leafy Tent,
That murmurs round our Cottage-door,
Our overshadowing Sycamore,
We see her dancing in a ring,
And hear the blessed Creature sing —
A Creature full of gentleness,
Rejoicing in our happiness. "
Then plucked I a wreath with many a gem
Burning — a flowery Diadem;
And through the wicket with a glide
I slipped, and sat me down beside
The youngest of those Infants fair,
And wreathed the blossoms round her hair.
" Who placed these flowers on William's head? "
His little wondering Sister said,
" A wreath not half so bright and gay
Crowned me, upon the morn of May,
Queen of that sunny Holiday. "
The tiny Monarch laughed aloud
With pride among the loving crowd,
And, with my shrillest voice, I lent
A chorus to their merriment;
The with such murmur as a Bee
Makes, from a flower-cup suddenly
Borne off into the silent sky,
I skimmed away, and with delight
Sailed down the calm stream of the night,
Till gently, as a flake of Snow,
Once more I dropt on earth below,
And girdled as with a rainbow zone,
The Cot beloved I call mine own.

" Sweet Cot! that on the mountain-side
Looks to the stars of Heaven with pride,
And then flings far its smiling cheer
O'er the radiant Isles of Windermere, —
Blest! ever blest! thy sheltered roof!
Pain, grief, and trouble, stand aloof
From the shadow of thy green Palm-Tree!
Let nought from Heaven e'er visit Thee,
But dews, and rays, and sounds of mirth;
And ever may this happy Earth
Look happiest round thy small domain!
Thee were I ne'er to see again,
Methinks that agony and strife
Would fall even on a Fairy's life,
And nought should ever bless mine eyes
Save the dream o that vanished Paradise.
— The hush'd bee-hives were still as death —
And the sleeping Doves held fast their breath,
Nestling together on the thatch;
With my wing-tip I raised the latch,
And there that lovely Lady shone,
In silence sitting all alone,
Beside the cradle of her Child!
And ever as she gazed, she smiled
On his calm forehead white as snow;
I rock'd the cradle to and fro,
As on the broom a Linnet's nest
Swings to the mild wind from the west;
And oft his little hands and breast,
With warm and dewy lips I kist.
" Sweet Fairy! " the glad Mother said,
And down she knelt as if she prayed —
While glad was I to hear our name
Bestowed on such a beauteous frame,
And with my wings I hid mine eyes,
Till I saw the weeping kneeler rise
From her prayer in holy extacies! "

The COTTAGE -FAIRY ceased; and Night,
That seem'd to feel a calm delight
In the breath of that sweet-warbling tongue,
Was sad at closing of the song,
And all her starry-eyne look'd dull,
Of late so brightly beautiful;
Till on the Fox-glove's topmost cup
The Fairy of the L AKE leapt up,
And with that gorgeous column swinging,
By fits a low wild prelude singing,
And gracefully on tip-toe standing,
With outstretched arm, as if commanding,
The beauty of the Night again
Revived beneath her heavenly strain —
Low, sad, and wild, were the tones I heard,
Like the opening song of the hidden Bird,
E'er music steeps th' Italian vales
From the heart of a thousand Nightingales;
But words were none; the balmy air
Grew vocal round that Elfin fair,
And, like her fragrant breath, the song
Dropp'd dewily from that sweet tongue,
But 'twas a language of her own,
To grosser human sense unknown;
And while in blissful reverie
My soul lived on that melody;
In a moment all as death was still:
Then, like an echo in a Hill
Far off one melancholy strain!
Too heavenly pure to rise again, —
And all alone the dreamer stood
Beside the disenchanted flood,
That rolled the rocky bands along
With its own dull, slow, mortal song
— What wafted off the Fairies? hush!
The storm comes down the glen — crush — crush —
And as the blackening rain-cloud broke,
The Pine Tree groans to the groaning Oak!
Thunder is in the waving wood —
And from Rydal-mere's white-flashing flood
There comes through the mist an angry roar,
Loud as from the great sea-shore.
Well, I ween, the Fairies knew
The clouds that the sudden tempest brew,
And had heard far-off the raging rills,
As they leapt down from a hundred hills, —
And the ghostlike moan that wails and raves
From the toppling crags and the sable caves, —
Ere the night-storm in his wrath doth come,
And bids each meaner sound be dumb —
So they sailed away to the land of rest,
Each to the spot that it loved the best,
And left our noisy world!