Classic Poem

Come, dance, elfins, dance! for my harp is in tune,
The wave-rocking gales are all lulled to repose;
And the breath of this exquisite evening in June,
Is scented with laurel and myrtle and rose.

Each lily that bends to the breast of my stream,
And sleeps on the waters transparently bright,
Will in ecstasy wake, like a bride from her dream,
When my tones stir the dark plumes of silence and night.

My silken-winged bark shall career by the shore,
As calmly as yonder white cloud on the air;
And the notes ye have heard with such rapture before,
Shall impart new delight to the young and the fair.

The banks of my stream are enamelled with flowers—
Come, shake from their petals the sweet, starry dew;
Such music and incense can only be ours,
While clear falls the summer sky's curtain of blue!

Come, queen of the revel—come, form into bands
The elves and the fairies that follow your train;
Tossing your tresses, and wreathing your hands,
Let your dainty feet glance to my wave-wafted strain!

'Tis the Stromkerl who calls you, the boy of the stream,
I hear the faint hum of your voices afar—
Come, dance! I will play till the morn's rosy beam
Into splendor shall melt the last lingering star!