The Asrai

'O LET him smile as Mortals may,
And be like Mortals fair,
And let him tread the wondrous way
Of golden earth and air;
And let the sun's celestial ray
Shine on his sense from day to day,
Far from these waters wan,
Strew flowers and fruits upon his way,
And make him blest,— like Man! '
Who prays? Who cries? Who is kneeling by night
Down in the Mere in the pale moonlight,
Where pensive Spirits come and go
In gleaming raiments as white as snow,
Walking with silent and solemn tread
That darkling bottom of silvern sands?
Like an azure heaven, far overhead,
The surface smooth of the Mere expands,
Strewn thick with glimmers of starry dew
Reflected down from the ether blue
Those Spirits behold not.

Strangely fair,
With flashing fingers and flowing hair,

Her face upturned in the rippling rays,
Down in the Mere the Spirit prays;
And on her bosom there waking lies
Her Asrai babe with glittering eyes, —
Silent, as white as a marble stone,
It lies, but utters a feeble moan.

For ere of the earth, and the air, and the dew,
And the fire, that fuseth all these to one,
Bright Man was fashion'd, and lived and grew,
And walked erect in the shining sun,
When the sun itself was eyeless and dark,
And the earth was wrapped in a starry night,
And the only lights that the eyes might mark
Were the cold still spheres of a moon snow-white;
Ev'n then, of the dew and the crystal air,
And the moonray mild, were the Asrai made;
And they walked and mused in the midnight air,
But they had no souls and they cast no shade.
They knew no hunger and mad desire,
No bitter passion of mortal birth,
For they were not fashion'd, like Man, from fire,
They were not leavened, like Man, with earth—
Cold they were as the pale moonbeam,
Cold and pure as a vestal's dream.
Serene they dwelt in a silvern world,
Where throbbing waters stole dusky-white,
Washing the feet of dark capes star-pearl'd.
And arch'd by rainbows of rippling light.

And when to the paean of living things,
To the cry of the new-born worlds around,
Out rolled the Sun, like a shape with wings,
Mighty with odour, and flame, and sound;
As the dim dew shaken from Earth's dark hair,
While she woke and gladdened supremely fair,

In the glorious gleam of the natal ray,
The pallid Asrai faded away!

And when with the sunlight's fiery breath
Bright Man was moulded, and stood supreme,
Royal, the monarch of life and death,
Shadow'd with slumber and dower'd with dream,
Their trace was lost; on the human shore
Those sad pale Spirits were seen no more!
. . . Yet far away in the darkened places,
Deep in the mountains and under the meres,
A few fair Spirits with sunless faces
Lingered on with the rolling years,
And listened, listened, luminous-eyed,
While the generations arose and died,
And watch'd, watch'd, with sad surprise,
The gleaming glory of earth and skies,
Beyond their darkness. But ever, by night,
When the moon arose with her gentle light,
The Asrai, hidden from human seeing,
Drank the moonlight that was their being, —
Stirring about with a stealthy tread
On the mountain side, on the water's bed,
Or singing low and clasping hands,
Shadowless moving on shining sands.

But Earth with the snows of time was gray,
When one of this race so meek and mild,
An Asrai mother, knelt down to pray,
To heaven uplifting her little child;
For the Asrai with passionless chilly kiss
Still mingled darkly as mortals do,
And on their bosoms bare babes like this,
With hair soft golden and eyes of blue,
Like the eyes of stars!

And she cried that night —
'Blessed indeed is the beauteous light,
And blessed are those sun-phantoms fair,
For the light turns golden on their hair,
And their faces are flowers and their breath is a fire,
And they move about with a sweet desire
In the amber day; and each night they lie
Quietly smiling beneath the sky,
Till the rubies of morning again are shaken
Upon their eyelids, and they awaken! '
And she prayed moreover— ' Could this thing be!
Could the child I nurse upon my knee,

My own pale little one, blend with clay,
And grow a thing of divinest day,
Like those fair mortals! '
Then out of the air
There came in answer unto her prayer
A gentle voice; and it whispered, ' Rise!
Steal from the water, and under the skies
Find a dead Mother, and on her bed
A new-born Babe that is aho dead;
Blend thy Babe with the mortal clay,
And the thing shall be as thou hast prayed —
Thy Child shall walk in the golden day,
Shall find a Soul, and cast a Shade!'

II.

THE CHANGELING'S BIRTH.
She rises up from the depths of the Mere
And floats away on the surface clear,
Like a swan she sails to the shadowy sands,
And soon on the moonlit earth she stands.
Moonbeam-like in the moonbeams bright,
A space she lingers upon the shore,
Then steals along through the dusky light
Up the hill and across the moor.
She sees a light that flashes afar
Through the dark like a crimson star,
Now it glimmers, and now is gone,
For shadows come and go thereon.
It comes from the shepherd's dwelling lone,
Rudely fashioned of turf and stone;
And the sheep dog barks, and the sheep o' the fold
Huddle together in wintry cold;
But within the hut the light burns low,
And mortals whispering come and go;
For there on the wretched truckle bed
The wife of the shepherd lieth dead,
And her babe new born by her side doth lie
Closing its eyes with a last faint cry.
. . . The Spirit trembles, as on her hair
Flasheth the firelight's crimson glare;
Trembles and fades; but she draweth near,
Eager to see, eager to hear.
Close to the window-pane she flees,
And looketh in!

In the room she sees,
None stir: 'tis empty; but on the bed
The child and mother are lying dead.