The Culprit Fay and Other Poems

The Culprit Fay and Other Poems By Joseph Rodman Drake THE CULPRIT FAY. "My visual orbs are purged from film, and lo! "Instead of Anster's turnip-bearing vales"I see old fairy land's miraculous show! "Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales,"Her Ouphs that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the breeze, "And fairies, swarming-" Tennant's Anster Fair. I. 'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night-The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright;Nought is seen in the vault on highBut the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue.The moon looks down on old Cronest, She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throwIn a sliver cone on the wave below;His sides are broken by spots of shade, By the walnut bough and the cedar made, And through their clustering branches darkGlimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark-Like starry twinkles that momently breakThrough the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack. II. The stars are on the moving stream, And fling, as its ripples gently flow, A burnished length of wavy beam In an eel-like, spiral line below;The winds are whist, and the owl is still, The bat in the shelvy rock is hid, And nought is heard on the lonely hillBut the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged katy-did;And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and wo, Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow. III. 'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell: The wood-tick has kept the minutes well;He has counted them all with click and stroke, Deep in the heart of the mountain oak, And he has awakened the sentry elve Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, To bid him ring the hour of twelve, And call the fays to their revelry;Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell-('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell: -)"Midnight comes, and all is well!Hither, hither, wing your way!'Tis the dawn of the fairy day." IV. They come from beds of lichen green, They creep from the mullen's velvet screen; Some on the backs of beetles flyFrom the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, And rock'd about in the evening breeze; Some from the hum-bird's downy nest-They had driven him out by elfin power, And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, With glittering ising-stars inlaid; And some had opened the four-o'clock, And stole within its purple shade. And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above-below-on every side, Their little minim forms arrayedIn the tricksy pomp of fairy pride! V. They come not now to print the lea, In freak and dance around the tree, Or at the mushroom board to sup, And drink the dew from the buttercup;-A scene of sorrow waits them now, For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow; We are delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive Classic Library collection. Many of the books in our collection have been out of print for decades, and therefore have not been accessible to the general public. The aim of our publishing program is to facilitate rapid access to this vast reservoir of literature, and our view is that this is a significant literary work, which deserves to be brought back into print after many decades. The contents of the vast majority of titles in the Classic Library have been scanned from the original works. To ensure a high quality product, each title has been meticulously hand curated by our staff. Our philosophy has been guided by a desire to provide the reader with a book that is as close as possible to ownership of the original work. We hope that you will enjoy this wonderful classic work, and that for you it becomes an enriching experience.