The voice died away in the breeze; yet still I listened, in the hope of
hearing again those accents, as pure, distinct, and musical, as were the
small, sweet harps which, seated on the greensward at no great distance
from me, a group of Fays were tuning, whilst sundry light and rapid
flourishes seemed to prelude an intended song. The bells of the City
of the Fairies sunk one by one into silence; the scented breeze flowed
languidly as dropping into slumber; a hush of nature pervaded the
blessed region; and sad was my spirit to think that it could not dwell
in this Elfin Eden for ever! A stream of melody now broke the holy
quietness of the land, which resembled the aspirations of those who know
neither sorrow nor sin. The breathing instruments sighed, rather than
distinctly uttered, tones, according well with those fine and delicate
voices which, as they stole in gentle words upon my entranced senses,
were sweet and penetrating as the aroma of unfading flowers:--

THE ELFIN EVENING SONG.


Farewell! farewell! departing sun!
Thy disk is dim, thy course is run;
Long hast thou lit our land of flowers,--
Now, night must veil our hallow'd bowers.

Farewell bright sun! farewell sweet day!
We mourn not that ye glide away,
Since ev'ry fleeting hour doth bless
Where days and dreams are numberless.

Farewell bright sun! thou'lt wander forth