Noon-day Dreaming

THERE danceth adown the mountain
The Child of a lofty race,
A Streamlet fresh from its Fountain

Hies towards the valley apace.

Some fairy hath whispered u Follow
And I have obeyed her well:

I thread the Blossomy Hollow
With my pilgrim staff and shell.

On, on, behold me straying,
And ever beside the stream,

As I list its murmurous playing,
And mark how its wavelets gleam.

Can this be the path I intended?

O, Sorceress! what shall I say?
Thy dazzle and music blended

Have wiled my reason away!

No mortal sounds are winging

Their wonted way along;
Oh, no! some Naiad is singing

A flattering summer song!

And loudlier doth she flatter,
And loudlier, loudlier still, —

Hark! hark! — how merrily clatter
The wheels of the village-mill!