The moon looks down on old Cro'nest; She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, Like starry twinkles that momently break The stars are on the moving stream, And the plaint of the wailing whippoorwill, Till morning spreads her rosy wings, "T is 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! 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; From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, 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 charmed 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 They come not now to print the lea, And left for her his woodland shade; He has lain upon her lip of dew, For this the shadowy tribes of air To the elfin court must haste away: The throne was reared upon the grass, The prisoner fay was at his feet, And his peers were ranged around the throne. He waved his sceptre in the air, He looked around and calmly spoke; His brow was grave and his eye severe, 66 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, 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, Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly: 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, And catch a drop from his silver bow. "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 re-illume its spark. Mount thy steed, and spur him high To the heaven's blue canopy; And when thou seest a shooting star, The last faint spark of its burning train The goblin marked his monarch well; And turned him round in act to go. His soiled wing has lost its power, Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, 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, |