Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE FAIRIES, by GEORGE DARLEY Poet's Biography First Line: Suffice to say, that smoother glade Last Line: Wild as the rings they trace along. Subject(s): Fairies; Elves | ||||||||
SUFFICE to say, that smoother glade, Kept greener by a deeper shade, Never by antler'd form was trod; Never was strown by that white crowd Which nips with pettish haste the grass; Never was lain upon by lass In harvest time, when Love is tipsy, And steals to coverts like a gipsy, There to unmask his ruby face In unreproved luxuriousness. 'Tis true, in brief, of this sweet place, What the tann'd moon-bearer did feign Of one rich spot in his own Spain: The part just o'er it in the skies Is the true seat of Paradise. Have you not oft, in the still wind, Heard sylvan notes of a strange kind, That rose one moment, and then fell, Swooning away like a far knell? Listen! -- that wave of perfume broke Into sea-music, as I spoke, Fainter than that which seems to roar On the moon's silver-sanded shore, When through the silence of the night Is heard the ebb and flow of light. Oh, shut the eye and ope the ear! Do you not hear, or think you hear, A wide hush o'er the woodland pass Like distant waving fields of grass? -- Voices! -- ho! ho! -- a band is coming, Loud as ten thousand bees a-humming, Or ranks of little merry men Tromboning deeply from the glen, And now as if they changed, and rung Their citterns small, and riband-slung. Over their gallant shoulders hung! -- A chant! a chant! that swoons and swells Like soft winds jangling meadow-bells; Now brave, as when in Flora's bower Gay Zephyr blows a trumpet-flower; Now thrilling fine, and sharp, and clear, Like Dian's moonbeam dulcimer; But mix'd with whoops, and infant laughter, Shouts following one another after, As on a hearty holyday When youth is flush and full of May; Small shouts, indeed, as wild bees knew Both how to hum, and holloa too. What! is the living meadow sown With dragon-teeth, as long agone? Or is an army on the plains Of this sweet clime, to fight with cranes! Helmet and hauberk, pike and lance, Gorget and glaive through the long grass glance Red-men, and blue-men, and buff-men, small, Loud-mouth'd captains, and ensigns tall, Grenadiers, lightbobs, inch-people all, They come! they come! with martial blore Clearing a terrible path before; Ruffle the high-peak'd flags i' the wind, Mourn the long-answering trumpets behind, Telling how deep the close files are -- Make way for the stalwarth sons of war! Hurrah! the bluff-cheek'd bugle band, Each with a loud reed in his hand! Hurrah! the pattering company, Each with a drum-bell at his knee! Hurrah! the sash-capt cymbal swingers! Hurrah! the klingle-klangle ringers! Hurrah! hurrah! the elf-knights enter, Each with his grasshopper at a canter! His tough spear of a wild oat made, His good sword of a grassy blade, His buckram suit of shining laurel, His shield of bark, emboss'd with coral; See how the plumy champion keeps His proud steed clambering on his hips, With foaming jaw pinn'd to his breast, Blood-rolling eyes, and arched crest; Over his and his rider's head A broad-sheet butterfly banner spread, Swoops round the staff in varying form, Flouts the soft breeze, but courts the storm. Hard on the prancing heel of these Come on the pigmy Thyades; Mimics and mummers, masqueraders, Soft flutists and sweet serenaders Guitarring o'er the level green, Or tapping the parch'd tambourine, As swaying to, and swaying fro, Over the stooping flowers they go, That laugh within their greeny breasts To feel such light feet on their crests, And ev'n themselves a-dancing seem Under the weight that presses them. But hark! the trumpet's royal clangour Strikes silence with a voice of anger: Raising its broad mouth to the sun As he would bring Apollo down, The in-back'd, swoln, elf-winder fills With its great roar the fairy hills; Each woodland tuft for terror shakes, The field-mouse in her mansion quakes, The heart-struck wren falls through the branches, Wild stares the earwig on his haunches; From trees which mortals take for flowers, Leaves of all hues fall off in showers; So strong the blast, the voice so dread, 'T would wake the very fairy dead! Disparted now, half to each side, Athwart the curled moss they glide, Then wheel and front, to edge the scene, Leaving a spacious glade between; With small round eyes that twinkle bright As moon-tears on the grass of night, They stand spectorial, anxious all, Like guests ranged down a dancing hall, Some graceful pair, or more to see Winding along in melody. Nor pine their little orbs in vain, For borne in with an oaten strain Three pretty Graces, arm-entwined, Reel in the light curls of the wind; Their flimsy pinions sprouted high Lift them half-dancing as they fly; Like a bright wheel spun on its side The rapt three round their centre slide, And as their circling has no end Voice into sister voice they blend, Weaving a labyrinthian song Wild as the rings they trace along. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAERY FOREST by SARA TEASDALE THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE FAIRIES by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE FAIRY CHILD by JOHN ANSTER THE FORSAKEN MERMAN by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE LITTLE ELF-MAN by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS TAM O' SHANTER by ROBERT BURNS A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 19. THE FAIRY QUEEN PROSERPINA by THOMAS CAMPION A PROPER NEW BALLAD [ENTITLED THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL] by RICHARD CORBET ETHELSTAN: RUNILDA'S CHANT by GEORGE DARLEY |
|