THE FAIRY'S SEARCH 19 



With inspiration high ! 



But ah he vainly longs for this— 



Not his the lot, not his the hliss 



To dwell where he might rove at will 



By nmrnmring stream or mossy hill, 



And feel their charms his spirit thrill 



With thought's sublimest strains. 



And, thus, denied the lot he loves, 



He feels as exil'd from his home 



And cherishes the lowliest thing 



That can a shadowy picture bring 



Of the beloved and beauteous scenes 



He visits only in his dreams. 



Thus How ers, to him, are like the chime 



Of his own native melodies 



To wanderer in a foreign clime ; 



They image to his soul the light 



Of lOvely scenes afar 



As truly as the tranquil lake 



Reflects the twilight Star. 



Tho' voiceless, for his ear they have 



A language all their own. 



And, as the shell from ocean's cave 



Still murmurs in melodious tone 



Of its far distant home, 



So, eloquently whisper they 



Of their bright birth-place far away. 



No marvel then the poet loves 



These " children of the Sun and shower," 



No marvel then their presence moves 



His spirit with resistless power. 



The Fairy mark'd tlie holy flame 



