Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated)

by Ann Radcliffe

  A SUMMER’S NIGHT IN WINDSOR PARK.

  EDWY, in his lonely chamber,

  Plying still his magic lore,

  Watched, when all was hushed in slumber,

  The dead planetary hour.

  Two crystal planes, three inches square,

  Steeped in the blood of milk-white fowl,

  With careful skill he did prepare,

  ‘Gainst next should hoot the midnight owl.

  One would reveal the summoned Fay,

  Who, by her-divining art

  Should on the second plane display

  Scenes to grieve, or cheer, his heart.

  Thus endowed to conjure fairie,

  He would fain have conjured sleep,

  But the god of lovers, wary,

  Hovers not o’er eyes that weep.

  Sad and restless all the morning,

  Sad and restless all the noon,

  Counting every chime of warning

  Through the longest day of June:

  Thus he lingered, thus he wandered,

  Round about his lady’s hall,

  Till his hopes were nearly foundered —

  Till a rival spoke his fall.

  In an oriel he saw her,

  Chatting, smiling, blooming gay;

  Doating, maddening, he bewailed her,

  Doubting his first doubts this day.

  Breathing lilacs after showers,

  Bending with the silver drops,

  Greenest leaves and purple flowers,

  Waving where the goldfinch hops,

  And scattering round the scented dew,

  And sparkling on the sunny air,

  Not half so fresh as Aura glow,

  Not half so graceful — half so fair.

  Too soon she vanished from his eyes,

  And Evening summoned him afar,

  Then to the high-browed Park he hies;

  There, must he meet the twilight-star.

  With magic mirrors, hazel wand,

  Eyelids touched with clearing spell,

  He sought the Court of fairie land,

  Hidden in their distant dell.

  Through the shaded walks so wide,

  That climb about the southern hill,

  Edwy passed with rapid stride.

  Nor saw one Elf — though all was still.

  With toil he gained the airy brow,

  And, panting, paused to breathe awhile;

  And throw a lingering look below

  O’er the still landscape’s parting smile.

  Crowning the long vista’s shade,

  O’ertopped with turrets, terraced high,

  Windsor all its pomp displayed,

  Beneath the glowing western sky.

  Beyond, the low, blue hills repose,

  Along the far horizon’s bound.

  How soft the hues the forest throws,

  Its leafy darkness shedding round!

  Those hills their stretching woods display

  In faint shade, through the azure veil,

  While, sweetly bright, the setting ray

  Bids many a spire once more — farewell.

  And farewell to the banner proud,

  That o’er the broad Keep floats on air,

  Proclaiming, as with trumpet loud,

  It’s royal lord reposes there.

  Pale and more pale the scene retires,

  And Windsor’s state has vanished now,

  Save one dim tower, that boldly spires

  To meet the star on twilight’s brow.

  There stood he tranced, till, in the air,

  Warbled music passed along;

  So softly sweet, so finely clear!

  This was sure a Fairie song.

  For, now no woodlark waked to sing;

  Every little eye was closed;

  On slender foot, with drooping wing,

  In it’s home each bird reposed.

  Save one, and, where he winged his way,

  Pleased, Edwy heard his strain advance,

  On his smooth neck a Fairie lay,

  Or rather did a Fairie dance.

  A veil of gossamer she wore,

  All spangled round with primrose dew;

  A star-beam for a wand she bore,

  Which she from Venus slyly drew.

  This little bird on circling pinions

  Wantoned over Edwy’s head,

  Then to its shady, loved dominions,

  With its Pairie Lady sped.

  The while his Fairie Lady trills

  “To the beech-woods follow me,

  Up the lawns and o’er the hills,

  To the high woods follow me.”

  In tiny echoes “Follow me”

  All the hills and glades prolong;

  From every bush and hollow tree

  Seemed to rise the choral song.

  And Edwy, round each hollow tree,

  Spied the motley Elves at play;

  While, thick as emmets, “Follow me,”

  They sang again, and passed away.

  O’er greenest lawns, through proudest groves,

  He pursued his feathered guide,

  O’er scenes, that silent Moonlight loves,

  To the long lake’s mossy side.

  The little bird flew o’er the lake;

  Edwy round the turf-banks went,

  Close where the silver currents break,

  And lower oaks their branches bent.

  The stream is there with rocks inlaid;

  He tripped o’er these, and reached the road,

  That, broad and turfy ‘neath the shade,

  Leads to the pleasantest abode.

  Green above green, of every hue,

  The bordering trees in vista bend,

  Shrubs lay their low leaves on the dew,

  And pine and larch on light ascend.

  Galleries of verdure! all is green,

  Here lawn and bending boughs below;

  Above ‘tis stately shade; the scene

  Seems made for glancing, Fairie show.

  But, closer bowered, their noonday haunt

  Rests in a hollow, beechen dell;

  It’s marge no human hand could plant,

  It’s shadows seem to breathe a spell.

  Now, would you view the Fairies’ scene,

  Where twilight-dances print the lawn,

  Where it spreads out in softest green,

  To gaps, whence distant landscapes dawn,

  Hie to the western fprest-gate;

  There Claudian beauty melts around;

  There Elfin-turrets keep their state,

  And tell, at once, ‘tis Fairie ground.

  Or, at that later Evening-hour;

  When the turf gladdens with the dew,

  That almost darkens Windsor’s tower,

  And gives near hills a distant blue.

  And oh! if Silence could be seen,

  Thus would she look, so meek, so pale,

  The image of this very scene,

  When Evening glances on the vale.

  Now Edwy reached the wood-walks wild,

  That open from the watery glade,

  Where sweet vale-lilies, violets mild,

  And primrose tufts the grass inlaid.

  Climbing the spiky blades and stems;

  Gathering dews, were Elves a million,

  Diamond drops and crystal gems,

  To fringe their Fairie Queen’s pavilion.

  And see what flaming lights appear!

  Flashed through the foliage arching high;

  What silver horn winds, sweet and dear,

  As breathing from the lips of Joy!

  Sudden the elves, on flower and blade,

  Forsake their task, and, with a bound,

  Touch the green turf, and down the glade

  Take hands and trip a welcome round.

  But Edwy hears no more the strain

  Of his fleeting, tiny lady,

  And watches for her bird, in vain,

  To lead
him through the alleys shady.

  By him an elfin-courier speeds

  On grasshopper his forest-ways;

  Brushing the humble cowslip heads,

  While each its trembling homage pays.

  And next, a winged beetle came,

  Sounding deep his herald-horn,

  The fairy sovereign to proclaim,

  And evil sprites away to warn.

  There, whisked an Indian lanthorn-fly

  Quick flashing forth it’s emerald sheen;

  Dancing low and dancing high,

  In many a ring of fiery green.

  Then came a creeping, stilly breeze,

  That made the crisped waters live,

  That shivered all the sleeping trees,

  And bade the leaves their essence give.

  But see, the birds on every bough

  Awake and stretch their ruffled wings;

  And o’er the dewy turf below

  His starry glance the glowworm flings;

  And the whole woodbank’s flowery couch.’

  Is sprinkled now with glimmering bands,

  Waiting their tiny Queen’s approach,

  Her guards and lights to Fairie lands.

  Again, that horn of Joy breathes fine,

  Again, the moonlight-light waters shake;

  Where’er the foaming tips combine,

  Rises a fairy of the lake.

  Half veiled within the sparkling strife,

  His inexperienced eyes scarce see

  The pale forms changing into life,

  Till all is glowing pageantry.

  True to their sovereign’s summons they,

  Upon the lake’s enchanted shore,

  Await her presence proud and gay,

  Where rides the fleet to waft her o’er.

  And now a spicy, rare perfume,

  Such as breathes from Indian dells,

  Fills all the high-wood’s leafy dome,

  And the fine Fairie presence tells.

  And faint aerial strains are-heard,

  As through the rich, festooning ways,

  The Queen in moonlit-pomp appeared,

  Amongst ten thousand dancing Fays.

  By gold and purple butterflies

  Her rose-leaved car was drawn in air;

  Above, two birds of Paradise

  Arch o’er her head their plumage rare.

  While, far around her, dancing beams,

  That with bright rainbow colours glow,

  Strike on the gloom in transient gleams,

  And all her elfin-escort show.

  All in the busy air around

  Pert eyes and little wings are seen,

  And voices whisper, feathers sounds

  Attendant on their elfin-queen.

  A robe of silvery snow she wore,

  Frosted with magic art so true,

  That the hot breath of Midsummer

  Could never change it into dew.

  And, wafted by her happy bird,

  A courtier-fairy oft proclaims,

  “Now let the mirthful song be heard;

  Our lady queen a welcome claims.”

  The little bird too ‘gan to sing,

  And then the fairy tried her voice;

  As gaily as the airs of Spring

  Did that poor little bird rejoice.

  The measure changed, a languid call,

  Sweet with sorrow, thrice it sounded,

  Concluding in a dying fall,

  Softer than e’er fountain rounded.

  “O Nightingale! it was thy song

  Sent through the woods that dying dose;

  I know thee now; the note prolong;

  Oh! speak again those tender woes!”

  Under the boughs, the elfin-train

  Mutely listened to the measure;

  But, when he trilled his joy again,

  They beat the ground in antic pleasure.

  “O bird of feeling, various, sweet!

  Thee and thy guardian-friend I hail;

  I KNOW THEE NOW, and gladly greet

  The Love-Fay and her nightingale.

  All fly before the elfin-queen,

  Toward the lake’s high-crowned head,

  Near where the forest-oaks begin

  A reverential gloom to spread.

  With thousand sparks the woodbank swarms:

  Her glowworm knights, in long array,

  Marshalled by Fire-fly — King at Arms,

  Guard her and light her on her way.

  Where’er they move, the drowsy flowers

  Unclose their leafy curtains far;

  And Fays, asleep within their bowers,

  Leap forth, and dance before her car;

  Dance to that crystal lake’s green side,

  That winds through fir-crowned lawns and woods,

  Whose beeches old, in giant pride,

  Fling their broad shadows on the floods.

  And oft they wantoned with the surge,

  That, flowing near the Fairie court,

  It’s silver line on line did urge,

  As if to tempt and share their sport;

  As if to woo the elfin-queen,

  To float upon its moonlight breast;

  Pleased to unfold each margent scene.

  And bear her to her bower of rest.

  The smile, that played upon it’s face,

  She seemed by magic lore to read;

  And, with a kind and sportive grace,

  She bade her tiny sailors speed.

  A fleet of pleasure-boats lay there;

  Such vessels as befit a sprite;

  The water-lilies schooners were,

  Leaf after leaf outspreading white.

  There skiffs, fresh gathered from the lime;

  There acorn-barges broad and deep;

  So safe, that, e’en in tempest-time,

  An Elf upon his oars might sleep,

  And in his HEART of OAK could go,

  His tiny Dreadnought, singing gay,

  Spite of the winds and rocks below,

  Round every fairy cliff and bay.

  Sweet wherries of long lavender,

  Blossoms of every shape and stain,

  From blue-bell yachts to bird-pepper,

  Attended for the courtier-train.

  But their bright Queen more proudly sailed

  In a pearl-shell ship of the line:

  By water mouse-ear was she veiled,

  And she was fanned with eglantine.

  Her canopy, bedropped with gold,

  Had floated on the Indian tide;

  A lotos-leaf, with ample fold,

  Swelled for her sail, in snowy pride.

  The cordage was of silver thread

  Spun of fine bark of ashen tree;

  The mast of sandal wood; the head

  A living dolphin seemed to be.

  Her green knights watched upon the shrouds,

  Or ranged them far along the prow;

  Stood round their Queen, in radiant crowds,

  Or gleamed far on the wave below.

  And others, ranked as on a cone,

  Stage above stage, of towery height,

  Moved on the lake around her throne,

  Proud, floating pyramids of light.

  Above them all, then might you spy,

  In busy care, high o’er the mast,

  Their king-at-arms, Sir Lanthom-fly,

  Ordering the pageant, as it past;

  And, glancing down the moonlight air,

  He checked the lily-schooner’s way;

  And, whisking here and whisking there,

  Recalled each blossom-sail astray.

  Then, self-triumphant, in the van,

  In airy circles pleased he danced;

  Yet, while he led the revel on,

  Back, for his Queen’s applauses glanced.

  And thus in gliding state she went

  O’er the long windings of the wave,

  Where many a watchful eye was beat,

 
From hollow oak and secret cave.

  The screech-owl and the snake were then.

  The boding raven, cruel kite,

  That fill the timid heart with care,

  And love to prowl in moonless night.

  But chief on the old Forest’s bound,

  Where the still waters sink away,

  Such evil agents walk their round,

  Or lurk within the oaks so grey.

  Bewildered in the wild-wood glades,

  Edwy oft lost the long lake’s side;

  Till, through some deep grove’s opening shades,

  He saw the splendid vision glide.

  Low glanced the silver oars along,

  Quick came the spires of glowworm light,

  That round their Queen’s tall galley throng,

  Shooting long beams aslant the night;

  These, trembling through the branches’ dome,

  Touching each leaf with transient joy,

  Now seen, now lost, from gloom to gloom,

  Showed like the stars, when clouds fleet by.

  Then, over banks and under woods,

  Edwy pursued the pageant’s way;

  Till, having reached the smiling floods,

  The frolick shores his hopes betray.

  For, winding back, his course they mar,

  Leaving him on some jutting steep,

  ‘Mid the lone waters, while afar

  The inmost bay the Fairies sweep.

  And thus through wilds and woods he toiled,

  Lured by short glimpse of that bright train,

  Which through the distant shadows smiled,

  As if in mockery of his pain.

  Till, once again, he heard remote

  That gentle bird, faithful to lovers;

  And, following the high-warbled note,

  Again the Fairie fleet discovers:

  Just as it touched the farther shore,