And jasmine is blent with rhodora and rose.
O’er blooming savannas and meadows of light,
’Mid regions of summer they sweep in their flight,
And gathering the fairest, they speed to their bower,
Each one with his favorite brilliant or flower.
The hour is come,
and the fairies are seen
In their plunder arrayed on the moonlit green.
The music is breathed—’tis a soft strain of pleasure,
And the light giddy throng whirl into the measure.
[Illustration: The Fairy Dance]
’Twas a joyous dance,
and the dresses were bright,
Such as never were known till that famous night;
For the gems and the flowers that shone in the scene,
O’ermatched the regalia of princess and queen.
No gaudy slave to a fair one’s brow
Was the rose, or the ruby, or emerald now,
But lighted with souls by the playful elves,
The brilliants and blossoms seemed dancing themselves.
Of all that did
chance, ’twere a long tale to tell,
Of the dresses and waltzes, and who was the belle;
But each was so happy, and all were so fair,
That night stole away and the dawn caught them there!
Such a scampering never before was seen,
As the fairies’ flight on that island green.
They rushed to the bay with twinkling feet,
But vain was their haste, for the moonlight fleet
Had passed with the dawn, and never again
Were those fairies permitted to traverse the main.
But ’mid the groves, when the sun was high,
The Indian marked with a worshipping eye,
The humming birds, all unknown before,
Glancing like thoughts from flower to flower,
And seeming as if earth’s loveliest things,
The brilliants and blossoms, had taken wings:
And Fancy hath whispered in numbers light,
That these are the fairies who danced that night,
And linger yet in the garb they wore,
Content in our clime and more blest than before!
[Illustration: Indians’ discovery of the Humming Birds]
[Illustration: Lake Superior]
Father of Lakes! thy waters
Beyond the eagle’s utmost view,
When, throned in heaven, he sees thee send
Back to the sky its world of blue.
Boundless and deep the forests
Their twilight shade thy borders o’er,
And threatening cliffs, like giants, heave
Their rugged forms along thy shore.
Nor can the light canoes,
Across thy breast like things of air,
Chase from thy lone and level tide,
The spell of stillness deepening there.
Yet round this waste of wood
Unheard, unseen, a spirit lives,
That, breathing o’er each rock and cave,
To all, a wild, strange aspect gives.