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       # 2023-01-20 - Ægle and the Elf by M.B.M. Toland
       
 (IMG) Naiads were swaying the tree
       
       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.
       
 (DIR) Gutenberg ebook
       
       tags: poem
       
       # Tags
       
 (DIR) poem