When, glittering on the shadowed ground, 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, XIX. The imps of the river yell and rave; 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 But left an arch of silver bright The rainbow of the moony main. With azure wing and sunny hair, Throned on a cloud of purple fair, Circled with blue and edged with white, And sitting at the fall of even Beneath the bow of summer heaven. XXII. A moment and its lustre fell, But ere it met the billow blue, He caught within his crimson bell, A droplet of its sparkling dew THE CULPRIT FAY. 35 Joy to thee, Fay! thy task is done, Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won― Cheerly ply thy dripping oar, And haste away to the elfin shore. XXIII. He turns, and lo! on either side The ripples on his path divide; And the track o'er which his boat must pass Their sea-green ringlets loosely float; They swim around with smile and song; And, as he lightly leaped to land, And dropped in the crystal deep below. XXIV. A moment stayed the fairy there; He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer, Then spread his wings of gilded blue, And shine with a thousand changing dies, * Up, Fairy! quit thy chick-weed bower, To kiss the streaking of the skies— Up! thy charmed armour don, Thou 'lt nced it ere the night be gone. XXV. He put his acorn-helmet on; It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down; Was once the wild-bee's golden vest; |