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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
303
THE LUTIN-STEED.
Old Margaret's wither'd features
Gleam in the red firelight:
“Now stay with me, my grandsons three;
Why wend ye forth to-night?
Gleam in the red firelight:
“Now stay with me, my grandsons three;
Why wend ye forth to-night?
“The Mistral's mighty wing—
Hark! how it shakes the roof!
This eve the fairy Sabbath is,
And souls should keep aloof.
Hark! how it shakes the roof!
This eve the fairy Sabbath is,
And souls should keep aloof.
“The Lutins are abroad,
In thousand forms of might,
To mock the feeble faith of man;—
Ye shall not forth to-night!”
In thousand forms of might,
To mock the feeble faith of man;—
Ye shall not forth to-night!”
Out spake the eldest proudly,
And toss'd his cluster'd curls,—
“I go to meet my Jacqueline,
My blue-eyed girl of girls!”
And toss'd his cluster'd curls,—
“I go to meet my Jacqueline,
My blue-eyed girl of girls!”
304
Out spake the second loudly,
“Nor Lutin, elf, or fay,
Shall keep me from the beach to-night,
Where foams the flashing spray!”
“Nor Lutin, elf, or fay,
Shall keep me from the beach to-night,
Where foams the flashing spray!”
“And thou, my fair-hair'd darling,
My beautiful and bright!
Of stories fine, great store have I,—
Thou wilt not forth to-night?”
My beautiful and bright!
Of stories fine, great store have I,—
Thou wilt not forth to-night?”
“Nay, grandam!” lisp'd the loved one,
With playful, pleading look,
“Thy legends keep till I come back
With blossoms from the brook!”
With playful, pleading look,
“Thy legends keep till I come back
With blossoms from the brook!”
[OMITTED]
“They're gone!” old Margaret murmur'd,
And fierce the Mistral blew,
And spirit voices echo'd round,
“Gone! gone!” the long night through.
And fierce the Mistral blew,
And spirit voices echo'd round,
“Gone! gone!” the long night through.
[OMITTED]
305
“She talk'd of wind and tempest,”
The careless wanderers cried,—
“Now never walk'd the moon in heaven
With more resplendent pride.
The careless wanderers cried,—
“Now never walk'd the moon in heaven
With more resplendent pride.
“Ha! there's old Caspar's horse,
His mane like midnight flows;
Mount! mount! away, my little steed!
How gallantly he goes!
His mane like midnight flows;
Mount! mount! away, my little steed!
How gallantly he goes!
“He'll bear us to the fountain;
We'll have a glorious ride!”
“Oh! brothers dear—I fear—I fear!”
The youthful Adolphe cried,—
We'll have a glorious ride!”
“Oh! brothers dear—I fear—I fear!”
The youthful Adolphe cried,—
“He goes not to the fountain;
I hear the sea-waves roar;
And hark! the tempest raves above;
And see! the rain doth pour!
I hear the sea-waves roar;
And hark! the tempest raves above;
And see! the rain doth pour!
“Oh! turn him!—turn him homeward!
How wild—how fast he flies!
It is—it is—a Lutin-steed!
And he who rides him—dies!”
How wild—how fast he flies!
It is—it is—a Lutin-steed!
And he who rides him—dies!”
306
They strove in vain to turn him,
They strove to check his speed;
The lightning glares—the thunder howls
Around the demon-steed!
They strove to check his speed;
The lightning glares—the thunder howls
Around the demon-steed!
The ocean heaves before him—
He neighs with fiendish joy;
His flaming hoofs have touch'd the beach—
Heaven save that hapless boy!
He neighs with fiendish joy;
His flaming hoofs have touch'd the beach—
Heaven save that hapless boy!
The cold waves kiss their white lips,
And deeper yet they go;
The cold waves close above their heads,—
And drown that shriek of wo!—
And deeper yet they go;
The cold waves close above their heads,—
And drown that shriek of wo!—
[OMITTED]
The maiden at her lattice,—
The grandam at her door,—
And morning on the misty hills!—
But they come never more!
The grandam at her door,—
And morning on the misty hills!—
But they come never more!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |