Poems (Spofford)/Witchwork
WITCHWORK.
Undiné and all her troopAre out to-night; the tides are high;Like spray far thrown across the moon,The clouds go sailing through the sky.The showers sweep down and shroud the worldOn darkling rainbows skim afar;The brooks burst up beside the way,And great winds strip some naked star,—Great winds, mad winds, winds of March,That, streaming from the void and vast,Make mortals feel the impotenceOf atoms borne before the blast.But Ariel holds them in his leash;All the Wild Ladies follow him;The great Ghandarvas blow their tunesFrom silver peaks and valleys dim;Witch and warlock, imps and elves,The urchins of the misty dale,And echoes mocking all the stir, Ride down the long gust of the gale!Hark! do you catch the Banshee's cry?That is the hammering trolls you hear!Turn not too swiftly, lest you startThe Lurley singing in your ear!Powers of earth and powers of airAre all abroad; the night is quickWith strange and subtile sorceries,Bred of the storm, and swarming thickAs bees about a blooming branch,Honey dripping, dew besprent,Steeped in sunshine underneathThe blue of some great morning's tent.Each enchantment of the sphere,Blown from the sea and blown from shore,Works its wild will and wizardryWhile darkness wraps the gay uproar,Till rosy dawn shall set the spell;When, lo! the bare boughs of yestreenConfess the magic of the March,And wave such veils of callow greenAs clad, in the old mystic tale,The rods that Jannes and Jambres throw,To break in blossom as they fall Before the feet of Pharaoh!For the fierce tempest, with its shockOf wind and sleet that midnight cloaks,Like some old thaumaturge who makesA mighty marvel, now evokes,—The violet on her dewy locks,The sunlight on her lifted wing,The clouds of incense floating by,—The Apparition of the Spring!