And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream
That rolls its whitening foam aboon,
And ride upon the lightning's gleam,
And dance upon the orbèd moon!
We'll sit upon the Pleiad ring,

We'll rest on Orion's starry belt,
And I will bid my sylphs to sing

The song that makes the dew-mist melt;
Their harps are of the umber shade,
That hides the blush of waking day,
And every gleaming string is made

Of silvery moonshine's lengthened ray;
And thou shalt pillow on my breast,
While heavenly breathings float around,
And, with the sylphs of ether blest,
Forget the joys of fairy ground."

XXXIII.

She was lovely and fair to see,
And the elfin's heart beat fitfully;
But lovelier far and still more fair,
The earthly form imprinted there;
Naught he saw in the heavens above
Was half so dear as his mortal love,

For he thought upon her look so meek,

And he thought of the light flush on her cheek;

Never again might he bask and lie

On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye,

But in his dreams her form to see,

To clasp her in his revery,

To think upon his virgin bride,

Was worth all heaven, and earth beside.

XXXIV.

"Lady," he cried, "I have sworn to-night, On the word of a fairy knight,

To do my sentence-task aright;

My honor scarce is free from stain,
may
not soil its snows again;
Betide me weal, betide me woe,

I

Its mandate must be answered now."
Her bosom heaved with many a sigh,
The tear was in her drooping eye;
But she led him to the palace gate,

And called the sylphs who hovered there, And bade them fly and bring him straight Of clouds condensed a sable car.

With charm and spell she blessed it there,
From all the fiends of upper air;

Then round him cast the shadowy shroud,
And tied his steed behind the cloud;
And pressed his hand as she bade him fly
Far to the verge of the northern sky,
For by its wan and wavering light
There was a star would fall to-night.

XXXV.

Borne afar on the wings of the blast,
Northward away he speeds him fast,
And his courser follows the cloudy wain
Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain.
The clouds roll backward as he flies,
Each flickering star behind him lies,
And he has reached the northern plain,
And backed his firefly steed again,
Ready to follow in its flight

The streaming of the rocket-light.

XXXVI.

The star is yet in the vault of heaven,
But it rocks in the summer gale;

And now 'tis fitful and uneven,

And now 'tis deadly pale;

And now 'tis wrapped in sulphur-smoke,
And quenched is its rayless beam,
And now with a rattling thunder-stroke
It bursts in flash and flame.

As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance
That the storm-spirit flings from high,
The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue,
As it fell from the sheeted sky.

As swift as the wind in its trail behind
The elfin gallops along,

The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud,
But the sylphid charm is strong;

He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire,
While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze;
He watches each flake till its sparks expire,
And rides in the light of its rays.

But he drove his steed to the lightning's speed,
And caught a glimmering spark;

Then wheeled around to the fairy ground.
And sped through the midnight dark.

Ouphe and Goblin! Imp and Sprite!
Elf of eve! and starry Fay!
Ye that love the moon's soft light,
Hither, hither wend your way;

Twine ye in a jocund ring,

Sing and trip it merrily,

Hand to hand, and wing to wing,

Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

Hail the wanderer again

With dance and song, and lute and lyre,

Pure his wing and strong his chain,

And doubly bright his fairy fire.

Twine ye in an airy round,
Brush the dew and print the lea;
Skip and gambol, hop and bound,
Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

The beetle guards our holy ground,
He flies about the haunted place,
And if mortal there be found,

He hums in his ears and flaps his face;
The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay,
The owlet's eyes our lanterns be;
Thus we sing, and dance, and play,
Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

But, hark! from tower on tree-top high,
The sentry-elf his call has made:
A streak is in the eastern sky,

Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade!
The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring,
The skylark shakes his dappled wing,
The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn,
The cock has crowed,-and the Fays are gone.

BRITISH FOLK-LORE.

THE ancient Britons and the Celts of the Continent were governed and taught by the DRUIDS, a powerful order of bards, vates (seers), and priests. The Druids possessed neither temples nor books. They worshiped generally in sacred groves, and held in special reverence the oak and the mistletoe. They set up huge stones in great circles. The most famous of these remaining is Stonehenge, on Salisbury plain. The Druids were possessed of considerable learning, all of which was transmitted orally. Human sacrifices were offered upon their altars to appease offended deities. Their order was abolished by the Romans. The English festivals of May Day, Midsummer Eve, and Harvest-home are supposed to have had their origin in Druidical observances.

NORMA, in Bellini's opera of that name, is a Druid priestess of the god IRMINSUL, in Gaul (France).

The mythical history of England commences many centuries before the time of Christ, when the island was ruled by the giant ALBION, a son of Neptune (see Grecian mythology).

BRUTUS, or Brute, a great-grandson of Æneas (the hero of Vergil's Æneid), is the fabled founder of London (Trojanova, or Troynovant), and with his followers of Trojan descent is said to have exterminated the few remaining giants in the island.1

1 Our Jack the Giant-Killer is clearly the last modern transmutation of the old British legend, told in Geoffrey of Monmouth, of Corinëus the Trojan, the companion of the Trojan Brutus when he first settles in Britain; which Corinëus, being a very strong man, and particularly good-humored, is satisfied with