And, moreover he tasked me to tell him in rhyme.
Anon at the word, there first came one daughter,
And then came another, to second and third

The request of their brother, and to hear how the water
Comes down at Lodore, with its rush and its roar,

As many a time they had seen it before.

So I told them in rhyme, for of rhymes I had store:

And 'twas in my vocation for their recreation

That so I should sing, because I was laureate to them and

the King.

From its sources which well in the Tarn on the fell;
From its fountains in the mountains,

Its rills and its gills,-through moss and through brake
It runs and it creeps for awhile, till it sleeps
In its own little Lake. And thence at departing,
Awaking and starting, it runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade, and through the wood-shelter,
Among crags in its flurry, helter-skelter,

Hurry-skurry. Here it comes sparkling,

And there it lies darkling; now smoking and frothing
Its tumult and wrath in, till, in this rapid race
On which it is bent, it reaches the place

Of its steep descent.

The Cataract strong then plunges along,
Striking and raging, as if a war waging

Its caverns and rocks among; rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping, swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing, flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing, eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking, turning and twisting,
Around and around with endless rebound!
Smiting and fighting, a sight to delight in;

Confounding, astounding, dizzying, and deafening
The ear with its sound.

Collecting, projecting, receding and speeding,

And shocking and rocking, and darting and parting,
And threading and spreading, and whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping, and hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining, and rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking, and pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving, and tossing and crossing,
And flowing and going, and running and stunning,
And foaming and roaming, and dinning and spinning,
And dropping and hopping, and working and jerking,
And guggling and struggling, and heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning;

And glittering and flittering, and gathering and feathering, And whitening and brightening, and quivering and shiver

ing,

And hurrying and skurrying, and thundering and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding,

And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,

And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
And clattering and battering and shattering;

Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,

And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,

And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
And this way the Water comes down at Lodore.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

THE CULPRIT FAY

'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."

They come from beds of lichen green,

They creep from the mullein'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 rocked 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 rising stars inlaid;
And some had opened the four-o'-clock
And stole within its purple shade.
And now they throng the moonlit glade:
Above-below-on every side,

Their little minim forms arrayed

In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!

He put his acorn helmet on;

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;
The corselet plate that guarded his breast
Was once the wild bee's glittering vest;

His cloak of a thousand mingled dyes,
Was formed of the wings of butterflies;

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,

Studs of gold on the ground of green;

And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,

Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.

Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;

He bared his blade of the bent grass blue,

He drove his spurs of cockle-seed,

And away like a glance of thought he flew

To skim the heavens and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.

The moth-fly, as he shot in air,

Crept under the leaf, and hid her there;
The katydid forgot its lay,

The prowling gnat fled fast away,

The fell mosquito checked his drone,
And folded his wings till the Fay was gone;
And the wily beetle dropped his head,
And fell on the ground as if he were dead.

They crouched them close in the darksome shade, They quaked all o'er with awe and fear,

For they had felt the blue-bent blade, And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear. Many a time on a summer's night,

When the sky was clear and the moon was bright, They had been roused from the haunted ground By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound; They had heard the tiny bugle-horn,

They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn, And the needle-shaft through air was borne, Feathered with down of the hum-bird's wing; And now they deemed the courier Ouphe

Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground,

And they watched till they saw him mount the roof
That canopies the world around;

Then glad they left their covert lair,
And freaked about in the midnight air.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.