III.

Or the cowslip on the bent Lift her head, Or the glow-worm's lamp be spent, Whitely dead: 'Neath lank ferns I laughing lie, 'Neath the ferns full warily Hid away, Where the drowsy musk-rose blows And a fussy runnel flows, Sleeping with the Faëry Under leafy canopy All the holyday.

THE NIXES' SONG.

Vague, vague 'neath darkling waves, With emerald-curving caves For the arched skies, Red-walled with dark dull gold The Nixes' city old Deep-glimmering lies. And thro' the long green nights the spangling spars Twinkle like milky stars.

Where the wind-ripple plays On tufts of dipping sprays Sparkling we rock; With blooming fingers bare Comb down our golden hair In many a lock; While, poured o'er naked ease of cool, moist limbs, An amber glamour swims.

Or in the middle night When cold damp fire-flies light Pale flitting brands Down all the woodland aisles, With swift mysterious smiles Link we white hands, And where the moonlight haunts the drowsy lake Bask in its silver wake.

Come join, come join our dance While the warm starbeams glance, And the kind moon Spills all her flowers of light At the dark feet of Night, And soon, full soon, Thou'lt sleep in shadowy halls where dim and cold Our city's walled with gold.

"THE FAIRY RADE."

Ai me! why stood I on the bent When Summer wept o'er dying June! I saw the Fairy Folk ride faint Aneath the moon.

The haw-trees hedged the russet lea Where cuckoo-buds waxed rich with gold; The wealthy corn rose yellowly Endlong the wold.

Betwixt the haw-trees and the mead "The Fairy Rade" came glimmering on; A creamy cavalcade did speed O'er the green lawn.

The night was ringing with their reins; Loud laughed they till the cricket hushed; The whistles on their coursers' manes Shrill music gushed.

The whistles tagged their horses' manes All crystal clear; on these a wind Forever played, and waked the plains Before, behind.

These flute-notes and the Fairy song Took the dim holts with many a qualm, And eke their silver bridles rung A far-off psalm.

All rid upon pale ouphen steeds With flying tails, uncouthly seen; Each wore a scarf athwart his weeds Of freshest green.

And aye a beam of silver light Fairer than moonshine danced aboon, And shook their locks--a glimmering white Not of the moon.

Small were they that the hare-bell's blue Had helmeted each tiny head; Save one damsel, who, tall as two, The Faeries led.

Long tresses floated from a tire Of diamond sparks, which cast a light, And o'er her white sark shook, in fire Rippling the night.

I would have thrown me 'neath her feet, And told her all my dole and pain, There while her rein was jingling sweet O'er all the plain.