 | The battle of Niagara |  |
Of golden straws—and slippery shells;
Of sounding pebbles—coral shells—
And flow'ret trumps with dewy rims,
Where one perpetual murmur swims;
As if some swiftly passing sound,
Were caught within its airy round;—
And droppings like the tinkling rain
Upon the crisped leaf—and strain
Of dainty wheat-stalks, split and singing;
And insect-armour sharply ringing;
And chirp of fairy birds in flight,—
One endless tune, like some young spright,
That's twittering on from morn 'till night.
With living drums, and many a fife,—
Of martial littleness and life,
And fine thin whistling tunes from grass,
Turning its edge to winds that pass;
And all the sweet fantastick sounds,
That linger on enchanted grounds:
When elfins, prisoned in a flower,
Are listening to the twilight shower,
And mock its sounds, and shout, and play
Full many a fairy-minstrel lay—
To pass their dreary time away.
Of sounding pebbles—coral shells—
And flow'ret trumps with dewy rims,
Where one perpetual murmur swims;
As if some swiftly passing sound,
Were caught within its airy round;—
And droppings like the tinkling rain
Upon the crisped leaf—and strain
Of dainty wheat-stalks, split and singing;
And insect-armour sharply ringing;
And chirp of fairy birds in flight,—
One endless tune, like some young spright,
212
With living drums, and many a fife,—
Of martial littleness and life,
And fine thin whistling tunes from grass,
Turning its edge to winds that pass;
And all the sweet fantastick sounds,
That linger on enchanted grounds:
When elfins, prisoned in a flower,
Are listening to the twilight shower,
And mock its sounds, and shout, and play
Full many a fairy-minstrel lay—
To pass their dreary time away.
| The battle of Niagara | |