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    The Culprit Fay and Other Poems
    The Culprit Fay and Other Poems
    The Culprit Fay and Other Poems
    Ebook90 pages54 minutes

    The Culprit Fay and Other Poems

    By Joseph Rodman Drake

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013

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      Book preview

      The Culprit Fay and Other Poems - Joseph Rodman Drake

      The Culprit Fay, by Joseph Rodman Drake

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Culprit Fay, by Joseph Rodman Drake

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: The Culprit Fay

      and Other Poems

      Author: Joseph Rodman Drake

      Release Date: January 18, 2007 [eBook #317]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CULPRIT FAY***

      Transcribed from the 1836 George Dearborn edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

      the

      CULPRIT FAY,

      and

      OTHER POEMS

      by joseph rodman drake.

      New York:

      george dearborn, publisher.

      1836.

      [Entered according to the Act of Congress of the United States of America, October 31, 1835, by George Dearborn, in the Clerk’s Office of the Southern District of New-York.]

      SCATCHERD AND ADAMS,

      PRINTERS,

      No. 38 Gold-street.

      To

      her father’s friend,

      FITZ-GREENE HALLECK,

      these poems are

      respectfully inscribed,

      by the author’s daughter.

      Index.

      The Culprit Fay

      To a Friend

      Leon

      Niagara

      Song

      Song

      Lines written in a Lady’s Album

      Lines to a Lady

      Lines on leaving New Rochelle

      Hope

      Fragment

      To ---

      Lines

      To Eva

      To a Lady with a Violet

      Bronx

      Song

      To Sarah

      The American Flag

      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 high

      But 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 throw

      In 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 dark

      Glimmers and dies the fire-fly’s spark—

      Like starry twinkles that momently break

      Through 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 hill

      But 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 fly

      From 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 arrayed

      In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!

      V.

      They come not now to print the lea,

      In freak and dance

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