17 
Come, then, sweet Fancy, playful power! 
And share with me my sylvan bower; 
Bring all thy magic to beguile 
Life’s dull realities awhile. 
Now shift the scene to moonlit glade 
Where “ dapper elves,” beneath the shade 
Of oak or elm, their revels keep, 
What time we plodding mortals sleep. 
Next, lead me to some haunted grove, 
Such as the Fauns and Dryads love; 
Or seat me by some brook, whose swell 
Makes music like a Naiad’s shell: 
Then touch the tree ’neath which I lie, 
Till it unclose to ear and eye 
Whate’er it may have heard or seen 
Since Spring first cloth’d its stems with green. 
Doubtless, sweet childhood, ever gay, 
Hath sported here through summer day ; 
Doubtless, beneath its shading boughs 
Lovers have met to breathe their vows; 
Manhood, his future path to scheme; 
Age, o’er the bygone time to dream ; 
And, haply, when day’s garish pride 
Had pass’d away — at eventide — 
c 
