Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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The Fountain Spirit.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
The Fountain Spirit.
The fountain leaped up silver-pillared, melting as it rose to rain,
Splashing on the marble basin, in a shower of pearly grain,
Music rising, music falling, ebbing, flowing o'er again.—
Oh! the music ever mounting of that ever singing fountain
Seemed a merry mingled measure, joyful, yet still racked with pain.
Splashing on the marble basin, in a shower of pearly grain,
Music rising, music falling, ebbing, flowing o'er again.—
Oh! the music ever mounting of that ever singing fountain
Seemed a merry mingled measure, joyful, yet still racked with pain.
Did it call to birds in heaven to come down to it and drink?
Did it bid the sallow roe-deer from the forest to its brink?
Had it consciousness, that water? Had it life, and could it think?
Was it rising type of hope? If not sorrow, why then sink?—
Sure the music ever mounting of that ever-singing fountain
Was the voice of water siren, who had heart and brain to think.
Did it bid the sallow roe-deer from the forest to its brink?
Had it consciousness, that water? Had it life, and could it think?
Was it rising type of hope? If not sorrow, why then sink?—
Sure the music ever mounting of that ever-singing fountain
Was the voice of water siren, who had heart and brain to think.
Ripple, ripple, shooting skyward, like a silver arrow, springing
Like a fresh-born water angel, seeking heaven and still singing,
Chained to earth, yet leaping skyward in a vain desire of winging.—
Sure the music ever mounting of that ever-singing fountain
Was the voice of new-born angel, all its bounty round it flinging.
Like a fresh-born water angel, seeking heaven and still singing,
Chained to earth, yet leaping skyward in a vain desire of winging.—
Sure the music ever mounting of that ever-singing fountain
Was the voice of new-born angel, all its bounty round it flinging.
Like a young king, free and lavish of his newly-welcomed treasure,
Feeding lilies with the manna of its cool and pearly pleasure,
Flinging right and left its coin, like a spendthrift sick of leisure.—
Sure the music ever mounting of that ever singing fountain,
Was a Mine God's cleaving earth to bear up his silver treasure.
Feeding lilies with the manna of its cool and pearly pleasure,
Flinging right and left its coin, like a spendthrift sick of leisure.—
Sure the music ever mounting of that ever singing fountain,
Was a Mine God's cleaving earth to bear up his silver treasure.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |