Culprit Fay and Other Poems | Page 4

to lie,
Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly:

These it had been your lot to bear,
Had a stain been found on the
earthly fair.
Now list, and mark our mild decree -
Fairy, this your
doom must be:
VIII.
"Thou shalt seek the beach of sand
Where the water bounds the elfin
land,
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine
Till the sturgeon leaps in the
bright moonshine,
Then dart the glistening arch below,
And catch a
drop from his silver bow.
The water-sprites will wield their arms

And dash around, with roar and rave,
And vain are the woodland
spirits' charms,
They are the imps that rule the wave.
Yet trust thee
in thy single might,
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right,
Thou
shalt win the warlock fight.
IX.
"If the spray-bead gem be won,
The stain of thy wing is washed away,

But another errand must be done
Ere thy crime be lost for aye;

Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,
Thou must re-illume its
spark.
Mount thy steed and spur him high
To the heaven's blue
canopy;
And when thou seest a shooting star,
Follow it fast, and
follow it far -
The last faint spark of its burning train
Shall light the
elfin lamp again.
Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay;
Hence! to the
water-side, away!"
X.
The goblin marked his monarch well;
He spake not, but he bowed
him low,
Then plucked a crimson colen-bell,
And turned him round
in act to go.
The way is long, he cannot fly,
His soiled wing has lost
its power,
And he winds adown the mountain high,

For many a sore
and weary hour.
Through dreary beds of tangled fern,
Through

groves of nightshade dark and dern,
Over the grass and through the
brake,
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake;
Now o'er the
violet's azure flush
He skips along in lightsome mood;
And now he
thrids the bramble bush,
Till its points are dyed in fairy blood.
He
has leapt the bog, he has pierced the briar,
He has swum the brook,
and waded the mire,
Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak,

And the red waxed fainter in his cheek.
He had fallen to the ground
outright,
For rugged and dim was his onward track,
But there came
a spotted toad in sight,
And he laughed as he jumped upon her back;

He bridled her mouth with a silk-weed twist;
He lashed her sides
with an osier thong;
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,
Moveless still the glassy stream,

The wave is clear, the beach is bright
With snowy shells and
sparkling stones;
The shore-surge comes in ripples light,
In
murmurings faint and distant moans;
And ever afar in the silence
deep
Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap,
And the bend of his
graceful bow is seen -
A glittering arch of silver sheen,
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,
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;
Some are rapidly borne along
On the
mailed shrimp or the prickly prong,
Some on the blood-red leeches
glide,
Some on the stony star-fish ride,
Some on the back of the
lancing squab,
Some on the sidelong soldier-crab;
And some on the
jellied quarl, that flings
At once a thousand streamy stings -
They
cut the wave with the living oar
And hurry on to the moonlight shore,

To guard their realms and chase away
The footsteps of the
invading Fay.
XIV.
Fearlessly he skims along,
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;
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.
But the
water-sprites are gathering near
To check his course along the tide;

Their warriors come in swift career
And hem him round on every side;

On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold,
The quarl's long arms are
round him roll'd,
The prickly prong has pierced his skin,
And the
squab has thrown his javelin,
The gritty star has rubbed him raw,

And the crab has struck with his giant claw;
He howls with rage, and
he shrieks with pain,
He strikes around, but his blows are vain;

Hopeless is the unequal fight,
Fairy! nought is left but flight.
XV.
He turned him round and fled amain
With hurry and dash to the
beach again;
He twisted over from side to side,
And laid his cheek
to the cleaving tide.
The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet,

And
with all his might he flings his feet,
But the water-sprites are round
him