542 JOHN G. DUNN [1850-60. THE SPIDER-ELF. When the wolf-whelp is howling in tangle- wood deep, And the forest's low moaning hath lulled us. to sleep, The Spider-Elf sits in the whispering leaves, And he worketh, I ween, like a little philosopher ; Windward he traileth each thread as he weaves The silvery web of his delicate gossa- mer. With quick-plying fingers he hurleth it out, And carefully watcheth the varying breeze ; He whirleth, and twisteth, and flittetb about. Till he maketh it fast in the neighbor- ing trees. Quaint pranks in the moonlight he playeth, I ween, As he danceth his rope o'er the shadowy stream. And calleth his love from the opposite tree. To join in the maze of his wild revelry. Swinging, and chirping, and skipping along To the wizard-like time of the whippowil's song — Skyward, and earthward, the odorous air. Fitfully sweepeth the gibbering pair. Like a necklace of silver and diamond beads. The dew-jewels shine on the gossamer rope. Or drippetli anon o'er the floAvering weeds, Where the night moth, and all of his chirruping troop Hold rout in the blossoms and burstins; seeds. No dew-fay so glad when he windeth his horn. From his cell in the first open blossom of morn ; Nor the katydid's chittering song when she tells Her story of love in the bonnie blue-bells, Nor spirit so happy in water or wood. As the Spider-Elf perched o'er the mur- muring flood ; For the quaintest of sprites is this elfin philosopher. Building his fairy-like bridge out of gossa- mer. THE NAME IN THE AIR. The Wind, he is a crazy wight. With hollow song and meanings deep ; What waggish things he does at night When all the world is fast asleep ! Adown the street and up the lane Pie hieth on his mission chilly; Or knock(?th at the window-pane. Or calleth through the keyhole shrilly. Oh, then the sleepy servants stare. And all the gentle-folks look silly ; Gazing in the vacant air And wond'ring who was knocking there. How oft in solitary spot. When round some soft, endearing theme. We twine the mental links of thought Or tread the mazes of a dream. The prying wind comes like a thief. And breathes with hollow tone our name ! We start ! but scarcely moves a leaf Nor loiters near a living frame. He laugheth then to see us stai-e, And as he flitteth on again We gaze into the hollow air. And wonder who was whisp'ring there.
