Canto Iii

Dream of summer nights! How vain Is my fond fantastic song. Quite as vain as Love and Life, And Creator and Creation.

Subject to his own sweet will, Now in gallop, now in flight, So my Pegasus, my darling, Revels through the realms of myth.

Ah, no plodding cart-horse he! Harnessed up for citizens, Nor a ramping party-hack Full of showy kicks and neighs.

For my little wingèd steed's Hoofs are shod with solid gold And his bridle, dragging free, Is a rope of gleaming pearls.

Bear me wheresoe'er thou wouldst-- To some lofty mountain-trail Where the torrents toss and shriek Warnings over folly's gulf.

Bear me through the silent vales Where the solemn oaks arise From whose twisted roots there well Ancient springs of fairy lore.

There, oh, let me drink--mine eyes Let me lave--Oh, how I thirst For that flashing wonder-spring, Full of wisdom and of light.

All my blindness flees. My glance Pierces to the dimmest cave, To the lair of Atta Troll, And his speech I understand!

Strange it is--this bearish speech Hath a most familiar ring! Once, methinks, I heard such tones In my own dear native land.