The Song of a Sprite

In the sightless air I dwell,

On the sloping sun-beams play;

Delve the cavern's inmost cell,

Where never yet did day-light stray.

Dive beneath the green-sea waves,

And gambol in the briny deeps;

Skim every shore that Neptune laves,

From Lapland's plains to India's steeps.

Oft I mount with rapid force

Above the wide earth's shadowy zone;

Follow the day-star's flaming course

Through realms of space to thought unknown;

And listen to celestial sounds,

That swell the air, unheard of men,

As I watch my nightly rounds

O'er woody steep, and silent glen.

Under the shade of waving trees.

On the green bank of fountain clear,

At pensive eve I sit at ease,

While dying music murmurs near.

And oft, on point of airy clift,

That hangs upon the western main,

I watch the gay tints passing swift,

And twilight veil the liquid plain.

Then, when the breeze has sunk away,

And ocean scarce is heard to lave,

For me the sea-nymphs softly play

Their dulcet shells beneath the wave.

Their dulcet shells! I hear them now;

Slow swells the strain upon mine ear;

Now faintly falls---now warbles low,

'Till rapture melts into a tear.

The ray that silvers o'er the dew,

And trembles through the leafy shade,

And tints the scene with softer hue,

Calls me to rove the lonely glade;

Or hie me to some ruin'd tow'r,

Faintly shewn by moon-light gleam,

Where the lone wand'rer owns my pow'r

In shadows dire that substance seem;

In thrilling sounds that murmur woe,

And pausing silence makes more dread;

In music breathing from below

Sad, solemn Strains, that wake the dead.

Unseen I move---unknown am fear'd!

Fancy's wildest dreams I weave;

And oft by bards my voice is heard

To die along the gales of eve."