The moth-fly, as he shot in air, Crept under the leaf, and hid her there; The katy-did forgot its lay, The prowling gnat fled fast away, The fell moscheto checked his drone And folded his wings till the Fay was gone, And the wily beetle dropped his head, And fell on the ground as if he were dead; They crouched them close in the darksome shade, They quaked all o’er with awe and fear, For they had felt the blue-bent blade, And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear; Many a time on a summer’s night, When the sky was clear and the moon was bright, They had been roused from the haunted ground, By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound; They had heard the tiny bugle-horn, They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string, When the vine-twig boughs were tightly drawn, And the nettle shaft through air was borne, Feathered with down of the hum-bird’s wing. And now they deemed the courier ouphe, Some hunter sprite of the elfin ground; And they watched till they saw him mount the roof That canopies the world around; Then glad they left their covert lair, And freaked about in the midnight air. XXVII. Up to the vaulted firmament His path the firefly courser bent, And at every gallop on the wind, He flung a glittering spark behind; He flies like a feather in the blast Till the first light cloud in heaven is past, But the shapes of air have begun their work, And a drizzly mist is round him cast, He cannot see through the mantle murk, He shivers with cold, but he urges fast, Through storm and darkness, sleet, and shade, He lashes his steed, and spurs amain, For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, And flame-shot tongues around him played, And near him many a fiendish eye Glared with a fell malignity, And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, Came screaming on his startled ear. His wings are wet around his breast, The plume hangs dripping from his crest, His eyes are blurred with the lightning’s glare, And his ears are stunned with the thunder’s blare, But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew, He thrust before, and he struck behind, Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through, And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind; Howling the misty spectres flew, They rend the air with frightful cries, For he has gained the welkin blue, And the land of clouds beneath him lies. XXIX.