Classic Poem

Weary to tell and weary to hear
Were the mortal life for many a year
Of that changeling child; but he grew on earth,
Knowing nought of his mystic birth,
And ever waxed more strong and fair,
With the glory of daylight on eyes and hair.

And the poor pale Mother Spirit smiled
From far away on her happy child,
Thinking, " He thrives, and the golden hours
Fill his lap with their fruit and flowers,
And he feels the sun, and he drinks its light,
Growing on to a mortal's height."
And ever nightly unseen she came
And kiss'd him asleep, to her heart's desire,
Though his breath met hers with the fever'd flame
Of a fatal fire.

She watched him still with a hunger keen,
Stronger than mortal mothers know;
She hover'd o'er him, unheard, unseen,
Wherever his feet might come and go,
In the sunless hours; and all the day
She marked his motion from far away,
And heard his voice, through the shine and the shower,
Like the voice of a bird!

But there came an hour
When the Shepherd who called him son lay dead,
And when he was buried the Changeling said —
" I will take my staff, and will leave this place,
And seek new fortunes — God give me grace
That I prosper well!" And away he went,
Humming an old tune, well-content,
Hopeful and fearless, merry and gay,
Over the hills and far away;
And all alone!