THE FAIRY’S SEARCH. 
13 
A motley crowd, a mingled throng 
Moves slowly by, or sweeps along 
Like clouds when wild-winds blow. 
Misfortune’s child, with pallid face, 
And wasted form and weary pace, 
Moves on beside the rich and great, 
Whose happier broAvs and haughtier state 
In mournful contrast shine. 
Old asre with furrow’d brow, and eye 
Dim with the shadowy mist of Time ; 
Youth, radiant as the cloudless sky 
Of Summer in its prime ; 
And sportive childhood, fresh and gay 
As blossoms in the morning’s beam, 
All mingle in that crowded way 
Like beings of a dream. 
Long gaz’d the Fay, with wondering eye, 
And half forgot the flowers she sought 
’Til a soft breeze that wander’d by 
Their well known perfume brought: 
And now she sees a radiant throng 
Of youths and maidens sweep along. 
Their forms are deck’d in raiment bright; 
Their brows are beaming with delight; 
Their footsteps move to joyous measure ; 
Their hearts are tuned to notes of pleasure 
So gay their smiles, so pure their mirth, 
They seem not children of the Earth, 
But brighter, happier spirits, come 
From some far-off, celestial home, 
Some realm where rapture reigns supreme 
And life is all one blissful dream. 
