Classic Poem

I.

Where sweeping torrents foam, and pour
Through forest-shades with sullen roar,
Where gathering floods pursue their way
To join the woody winding bay,
There, where if mortal feet presume
The pathless wilds to tempt, or tread
The dismal glens, where endless gloom
And ever-during dusk is spread,
Straight flitting forms and shades appear
To daunt the rash resolves with fear;

II.

By tangled boughs and brakes concealed,
There is my cavern, unrevealed
As yet to ken of human eyes;
And there the glow-worm's lamp supplies
The beam that lights my sparry dome,
And thousand fire-flies shining bright,
Have made my pleasant cave their home:
My pleasant cave they cheer with light,
Along the fretted roof they blaze,
And dart their many twinkling rays.

III.

My cavern walls, so bright and fair,
Are crusted o'er with jewels rare;
There all the treasures of the mine,
Arranged in radiant order, shine;
The flaming topaz there is seen,
The glowing ruby, sapphire blue,
The emerald there of lively green,
The opal with its changing hue;
And spiral columns stand beneath,
Bedecked with many a diamond wreath.

IV.

Each fragrant leaf and beauteous flower
Gives bloom, gives odour to my bower;
And Nature's softest, sweetest bed,
The verdant moss, beneath is spread;
And in the centre of my cave
A little silver fountain flows;
Its grassy margin while they lave,
Its waters lull me to repose,
With murmur and melodious sound,
And throw a grateful coolness round.

V.

In dewy cot or cool arcade
I rest, till twilight's welcome shade
Has veiled the welkin, till the blaze
And fervid glow of noon-tide rays
Is quenched by the soft breath of eve:
But when the night-air stirs the trees,
My loved retreat I gladly leave,
To snuff the fragrance of the breeze,
To see the western wave on fire,
To see the sun's last light expire.

VI.

I dearly love to view the beam
Of moonlight dancing on the stream,
To hear the strangely-whispered sounds,
With which the night's first hour abounds;
To hear the sweetly-warbled tune
Of nightingales, that pour their song
Beneath the cold and silent moon,
The shrubs and tangled brakes among:
Oh sweet it is, when breezes play
And cool the air, to hear their lay.

VII.

Nor less when fearful whirlwinds swell
The blast that howls through my lone dell;
When, shooting down with vivid flash,
Against the crags blue lightnings dash,
I gambol madly in the storm;
And while the shades of many a cloud
With horrid gloom the skies deform,
While torrents roar, and winds blow loud,
I frolic in the rushing rain,
And dance upon the heaving main.

VIII.

Then, as my watchful rounds I keep,
I skim the surface of the deep,
And mark where bends the labouring mast
Beneath the fury of the blast;
I see the vessel work her way
Through eddying foam; I see her plough
The rolling waves, while dashing spray
Drives o'er her sides, and hides her prow,
And, mingling with the wind's deep moan,
I hear the seaman's fearful groan.

IX.

And then, with guardian hands, I guide
The vessel steadying through the tide;
With hope the seaman's breast I fill,
And bid the stormy waves be still;
The ocean's furious rage I quell,
And bid the gentler breezes flow;
They breathe, subsiding, soon the swell
Is hushed, and smooth the waters flow:
Once more serene, old Ocean smiles,
Rejoicing with his thousand isles.

X.

And if I come too late to save
The vessel from the whelming wave,
I seek the sinking crew, I bear
The half-drowned sailor by the hair,
I row him through the briny surge
To where, with woods and green fields crowned,
From Ocean's azure breast emerge
Fair smiling isles in circling round,
Then bid the tepid breezes flow,
And dry his wet locks as they blow.

XI.

Then point I out the squirrel's hoard,
Then point I out what trees afford
Safe nourishment and wholesome food
Among the treasures of the wood.
I guide to where sweet berries grow,
Where earth-nuts in the turf abound,
Where limpid rills and fresh streams flow,
And beauteous blossoms deck the ground:
And midst the thicket's maze I roam
To seek the wood-bee's nectared comb.

XII.

When thirst is slaked, and hunger gone,
When pain and weariness are flown,
I hide me in some winding shell,
And bid its lips with music swell;
Then ditties fill the air around,
Then choral strains together rise,
Now one soft-flowing single sound
Is heard, then at a distance dies;
That warbling is my melody,
It is the seaman's lullaby.

XIII.

At night, when thick white fogs arise,
When no star glimmers in the skies;
When the moon huddles up her horn,
I watch the traveller forlorn;
Lost and bewildered on his way,
He knows not where to turn, the wood
Is dark and drear, and wild dismay
And terror freeze his curdling blood:
As through the gloom his footsteps roam,
He thinks upon his cheerful home;

XIV.

And then, when every bleeding thought
With anguish and despair is fraught,
I come to lend a friendly ray,
To light him on his dismal way:
I dissipate the mists that clog
The loaded air; the fires I call
That dance o'er moor, o'er fen, and bog;
I call them, they are present all
To do my bidding, and to lend
Their light to him whom I befriend.

XV.

Sometimes, a night-fire in each hand,
Upon his horse's neck I stand,
And thus I guide his longing eyes
To where the path, seen clearly, lies;
And oft along the mazy way,
In radiant panoply, I dance;
Around my helm bright meteors play,
A blazing meteor is my lance:
My lance and brightening helmet lend
Their light to him whom I befriend.

XVI.

But if no meteors dance about,
If all the night-fires are gone out,
And all is gloomy, thick, and dark,
I counterfeit the watch-dog's bark;
And first I strike his watchful ear
As if from far, and then I pour
A dinning peal, that seems quite near;
I lead him onward with my roar
Till from some cottage seen, a light
Directs his footsteps through the night.

XVII.

Thus oft I use my friendly power:
But if in evening's dusky hour
Some crafty carl, or cheating knave,
Draws near the precincts of my cave,
I bid dun wreathing mists arise;
Dun wreathing mists soon spread around,
And hide the twilight of the skies.
Then raise I many a fearful sound,
I bid the owl's loud whoop combine
With the lone hedge-pig's sullen whine.

XVIII.

The culprit feels his way in dread,
Creeping along with cautious tread;
Then in his ear I whistle loud,
And hurrying sounds together croud;
Deep noises follow him behind,
Which way he turns a noise is there,
It shifts about in every wind;
Frantic he grows and wild with fear:
Against his feet rolls some strange heap
And down he falls in swooning sleep.

XIX.

Or else, to lead the wretch astray,
I roll blue fen-fires in his way;
Before him on his path they glide,
As if his erring steps to guide;
Till all at once their flames go out,
Then with swift whirl, and dazzling light,
They tumble round, and whiz about,
Then scatter wide, then re-unite;
And many a sad and weary round
They lead through mire and plashy ground.

XX.

Or else I lead him to and fro,
Where thorny brakes and brambles grow,
Till in some quagmire fixt at last,
Or reedy fen, I leave him fast;
Then hissing snakes his arms confine
With strict embrace, and round him draw
Their icy scales in sinuous twine,
And warty newts his fingers gnaw;
While in his ear the owlet sings,
And flaps him with her heavy wings.

XXI.

Thus oft, in evening's dusky hour,
I joy to exercise my power;
I scare the pirate on the flood,
I fright the robber in the wood;
And if, defiled by dark deceit,
Oppression, avarice, or fraud,
Some wretch approaches my retreat,
I send my elfin sprites abroad;
With speed my elfin sprites obey,
And fly to haunt him in his way:

XXII.

I bid the rain in torrents pour,
I bid the mighty whirlwinds roar;
They roar, the rocking forest groans,
The glens resound with hollow moans;
Seen by the blood-red lightning's flash,
Fast flitting shades, that substance seem,
Rush through the storm, and madly dash
Where caverns yawn, where foams the stream;
While, by the red bolt's glare descried,
Each gaping gulph appears more wide.

XXIII.

Then, when despair and horror roll
Their mingled tempest o'er his soul,
I give dark visions of the night,
And hideous phantoms, to his sight;
Then fiendish faces with fixt stare
Pass on before him; thousand eyes
Are fast on him with ghastly glare,
Around, above, below, they rise,
And, though they fill him with dismay,
He cannot turn his face away.

XXIV.

And oft, quick whirling round, a flood
Of rolling fire, like seas of blood,
Bursts out at once; a goblin rout
Swim to and fro, and in and out;
They coil about in wreaths like snakes,
And swarm thick-clustering in the light,
Then dash the fire about in flakes,
And skirmish with well-mimicked fight;
And oft the fire-flood shifts its hue,
Green, purple, yellow, red, or blue.

XXV.

And now with gentle flow they glide
In mazes through the blazing tide,
Then all at once they hurry about,
With winding course and bustling rout;
Oh! better far it is to die
Than see those faces grim and sad,
There is a terror in their eye
To turn who looks upon them mad;
And though red flames these shapes enfold,
Their skins seem slippery, moist, and cold.

XXVI.

But if my spell-fraught wand I rear
The charm dissolves, they disappear;
Then thickest darkness reigns around,
And silence, hushed and still as death,
That makes the heart for fear beat fast;
Then throbs the pulse, the very breath
Suspended pauses; all aghast
Stands the lost wretch: no fearful sound
So fearful as that pause is found.

XXVII.

And then, at once I bid a groan,
Just like some death-sound, rise alone,
And soon a distant glimmering light
Shines dimly through the murky night,
It burns with blue sulphureous sheen;
On either side the gloom retires,
Then hideous forms are plainly seen
Walking around infernal fires;
Full in the midst a caldron stands,
In which they plunge red hissing brands.

XXVIII.

The fierce flames curl and lick its side,
With crusted blood and mixt smoke dyed;
The caldron boils, it bubbles loud,
Its steams rise up in many a cloud,
Then, then begin the rites abhorred
Practised by those who league with hell;
The rites begin, with one accord
Those fiendish forms pronounce their spell;
One look, one motion have they all,
And with one sound their voices call.

XXIX.

But who to mortal ear shall tell
Those horrid rites, that cursed spell?
No mortal tongue those rites has told,
No mortal eye can long behold
Those sights that spirits dread to see;
Nor long can man's weak mind sustain
The dreadful weight of agony
With which these things oppress the brain;
In pity then I raise my wand,
All melts in air at my command.

XXX.

This is the way in which my power
Is exercised in night's still hour;
And though I rather choose my cave
Where all the forest-giants wave
Thickest their branches, yet I find
A path through ocean, earth, and air....
Not to one element confined,
I traverse all, all own my care:
The wicked own my power with dread,
But virtue smiles where'er I tread.

XXXI.

Mortal! thou who hear'st my strain,
Keep thy dealings free from stain,
Keep thy conscience pure and clean,
Or be not near my cavern seen.
But if no dark dishonest deed
Has tainted thy fair fame, my lay,
My oft-heard lay shall be thy meed,
While thus shall sing the Forest F AY :
" Mortal, thou who hear'st my strain,
" Keep thy dealings free from stain. "