Dream of summer nights! How vain
Is my fond fantastic song.
Quite as vain as Love and Life,
And Creator and Creation.
Subject to his own sweet will,
Now in gallop, now in flight,
So my Pegasus, my darling,
Revels through the realms of myth.
Ah, no plodding cart-horse he!
Harnessed up for citizens,
Nor a ramping party-hack
Full of showy kicks and neighs.
For my little wingèd steed's
Hoofs are shod with solid gold
And his bridle, dragging free,
Is a rope of gleaming pearls.
Bear me wheresoe'er thou wouldst--
To some lofty mountain-trail
Where the torrents toss and shriek
Warnings over folly's gulf.
Bear me through the silent vales
Where the solemn oaks arise
From whose twisted roots there well
Ancient springs of fairy lore.
There, oh, let me drink--mine eyes
Let me lave--Oh, how I thirst
For that flashing wonder-spring,
Full of wisdom and of light.
All my blindness flees. My glance
Pierces to the dimmest cave,
To the lair of Atta Troll,
And his speech I understand!
Strange it is--this bearish speech
Hath a most familiar ring!
Once, methinks, I heard such tones
In my own dear native land.
[Illustration]