ÆGLE

The moonbeams were lighting the watery way, That rimpled And dimpled,— The Nymphs were at play;

’Neath willows whose branches were kissing the stream So lightly And brightly, It almost would seem The lovely young Naiads were swaying the tree, To lash it And dash it, In frolicking glee.

I rested my oars on my frail little boat, Still gliding, Dividing The cresses afloat. When lo! a fair vision arose on the tide; A maiden All laden With lilies to hide

Her love-dimpled blushes from glances too bold; A daughter Of water, Like Venus of old. She stood for one moment admiring herself; Uprising, Surprising A young woodland Elf,

Who left his own forest in mirth-loving glee, To ramble And gambol In wild ecstasy. On a tree-top he sat, with a quizzical face, Ne’er tiring Admiring The beauty and grace

Of Ægle, who saw, mirrored close by her side, The young Elf By herself Impressed on the tide. She instantly sank amid ripples of light, That, laving, Seemed waving Her form from his sight.

Three lovely young Naiads arose on the tide, While swimming Were trimming And drawing aside A budding branch, cedar, that shaded so well, Reposing, And closing The Nymph’s caverned cell.

So charming she looked in her fairy-queen pride, And kindly, He blindly Plunged into the tide. The water was instantly lashed into spray; Half drowning, And frowning, The Elf got away.

The Naiads had vanished like flashes of light; No daughter Of water Condoled his sad plight. But ripples of laughter were heard everywhere, With singing And ringing Of fairy-bells there.

The echoes trilled back from the grottos down deep, “Young Elfin, Thyself in Thy element keep!” Then home to his wild-wood returned the young Elf Most gladly, Though madly, While drying himself.

He plumed his gay cap on his queer little head, All dripping And skipping He o’er the bank sped.

I suddenly woke from my nap by the stream, Astounded! Confounded! Behold! ’Twas a dream.