Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 1848

He moves with more than human grace;
His eyes are filled with earnest joy,
And Heaven is in his beauteous face.

And whether bred the stars among,
Or in that luminous palace born,
Around his airy footsteps hung
The light of an immortal morn.

From steep to steep he fearless springs,
And now he glides the throng amid.
So light, as if still played the wings
That 'neath his tunic sure are hid!

A fairy flute is in his hand —
He parts his bright, disordered hair,
And smiles upon the wondering band,
A strange, sweet smile, with tranquil air.

Anon, his blue, celestial eyes
He bent upon a youthful maid,
Whose looks met his in still surprise,
The while a low, glad tune he played —

Her heart beat wildly – in her face
The lovely rose-light went and came;
She clasped her hands with timid grace,
In mute appeal, in joy and shame!

Then slow he turned – more wildly breathed
The pleading flute, and by the sound
Through all the throng her steps she wreathed,
As if a chain were o'er her wound.

All mute and still the group remained,
And watched the charm, with lips apart,
While in those linkéd notes enchained,
The girl was led, with listening heart: —

The youth ascends the rocks again.
And in his steps the maiden stole,
While softer, holier grew the strain,
Till rapture thrilled her yearning soul!

And fainter fell that fairy tune;
Its low, melodious cadence wound,
Most like a rippling rill at noon,
Through delicate lights and shades of sound;

And with the music, gliding slow,
Far up the steep, their garments gleam;
Now through the palace gate they go;
And now – it vanished like a dream!

Still frowns above thy waves, oh Rhine!
The mountain's wild terrific height,
But where has fled the work divine,
That lent its brow a halo-light?

Ah! springing arch and pillar pale
Had melted in the azure air!
And she – the darling of the dale —
She too had gone – but how – and where?

Long years rolled by – and lo! one morn,
Again o'er regal Rhine it came,
That picture from the dream-land borne,
That palace built of frost and flame.

Behold! within its portal gleams
A heavenly shape – oh! rapturous sight!
For lovely as the light of dreams
She glides adown the mountain height!

She comes! the loved, the long-lost maid!
And in her hand the charméd flute;
But ere its mystic tune was played
She spake – the peasants listened mute —

She told how in that instrument
Was chained a world of wingéd dreams;
And how the notes that from it went
Revealed them as with lightning gleams;

And how its music's magic braid
O'er the unwary heart it threw,
Till he or she whose dream it played
Was forced to follow where it drew.

She told how on that marvelous day
Within its changing tune she heard
A forest-fountain's plaintive play,
A silver trill from far-off bird;

And how the sweet tones, in her heart,
Had changed to promises as sweet,
That if she dared with them depart,
Each lovely hope its heaven should meet.

And then she played a joyous lay,