THE CULPRIT FAY. His locks of gold on the waters shine, At his breast the tiny foam-beads rise, His back gleams bright above the brine, And the wake-line foam behind him lies. And hem him round on every side; The gritty star has rubbed him raw, And the crab has struck with his giant claw; Fairy! nought is left but flight. XV. He turned him round and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beach again, 29 30 THE CULPRIT FAY. They bade the wave before him rise; They flung the sea-fire in his eyes, And they stunned his ears with the scallop stroke, When he reached the foot of the dogwood tree THE CULPRIT FAY. 31 XVI. 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, XVII. 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. XVIII. He cast a saddened look around, But he felt new joy his bosom swell, 32 THE CULPRIT FAY. 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, As ever fairy had paddled in, For she glowed with purple paint without, Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap, XIX. The imps of the river yell and rave; They had no power above the wave, She wimpled about in 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, THE CULPRIT FAY. And spatter 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. XX. 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: But he sculled with all his might and main, To catch the drop in its crimson cup. XXI. With sweeping tail and quivering fin, And, like the heaven-shot javelin, He plunged him in the deep again, 33 |