THE CULPRIT FAY. And now through evening's dewy mist, With leap and spring they bound along, Till the mountain's magic verge is past, And the beach of sand is reached at last. XI. Soft and pale is the moony beam, In murmurings faint and distant moans; Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap Spanning the wave of burnished blue, And dripping with gems of the river dew. XII. The elfin cast a glance around, As he lighted down from his courser toad, Then round his breast his wings he wound, And close to the river's brink he strode; He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Above his head his arms he threw, 27 Then tossed a tiny curve in air, And headlong plunged in the waters blue. XIII. Up sprung the spirits of the waves, From sea-silk beds in their coral caves, With snail-plate armour snatched in haste, They speed their way through the liquid waste; On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong, Some on the stony star-fish ride, Some on the back of the lancing squab, Fearlessly he skims along, XIV. His hope is high, and his limbs are strong, He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing, And throws his feet with a frog-like fling; 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 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. 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, |