Flashing, like streams of falling stars, A myriad million minim Lars, With terror painted on each face, Stood, shuddering in that solemn place. And from the farthest sphere of even, From every sun (whose name is heaven, And whose inhabitants are kings,) Was heard the rushing of their wings. Some stood attired in elfin steel, With sword on hip, and spur at heel, And crimson cheeks, and brows aflame; Some in long, flowing garments came,— Sages, whose sunken eyes had caught From ceaseless study quenchless thought— Maidens, with timid, trembling lips, Their beauties purple with eclipse; Mothers, within whose matron eyes Dwelt all the depth of tropic skies, Clasping their offspring, as the rose Enfolds its heart at evening close. Some stood alone, with drooping wings; Some gathered here and there in rings, But each one felt, though far apart, The beating of his neighbor’s heart. And each one, with a sad surmise, Gazed wistfully in his fellow’s eyes, And turned, and doubtfully bowed his head, Despairing at the lore he read. Each seemed to wonder why that hour Beheld them in that ancient bower, Where tree, and leaf, and grass, and stone, Spoke audibly of ages gone. Where shining, ghostly, through the trees, Were idols, fern-clad to the knees, And scattered round, in pale decay, The ruins of old temples lay. Altars of many a mythic age, Forgotten even on history’s page, With sacrificial knife and brand, Arose, like tombs, on either hand. And each one seemed to ask, though not A word disturbed that haunted spot, For some one, who, with eye of lynx, Would read this riddle of the Sphynx; And with oracular voice and air Declare why they were summoned there— Why called from worlds that felt no flood To tremble in that ancient wood— That wood which from the birth of time Had gone on growing, through the chime Of falling spheres,—a Druid sage, Unwearied with life’s pilgrimage. While standing thus in mute amaze, Sadly, along the forest ways Came slowly toward the appointed place The Fathers of the Fairy Race. And as, by sacred instinct urged, From gloom to light their forms emerged, It seemed as if unnumbered years Of elfin lore had made them seers.