The Chiefs of the Air

Their wise little heads with scorning         They laid the covers between:     "Do they think we stay here till morning?"         Said Rory and Aileen.          When out their bright eyes came peeping         The room was no longer there,     And they fled from the dark world creeping         Up a twilight cave of air.          They wore each one a gay dress,         In sleep, if you understand,     When earth puts off its grey dress         To robe it in faeryland.          Then loud o'erhead was a humming         As clear as the wood wind rings;     And here were the air-boats coming         And here the airy kings.          The magic barks were gleaming         And swift as the feathered throng:     With wonder-lights out-streaming         They blew themselves along.          And up on the night-wind swimming,         With pose and dart and rise,     Away went the air fleet skimming         Through a haze of jewel skies.          One boat above them drifted         Apart from the flying bands,     And an air-chief bent and lifted         The children with mighty hands.          The children wondered greatly,         Three air-chiefs met them there,     They were tall and grave and stately         With bodies of purple air.          A pearl light with misty shimmer         Went dancing about them all,     As the dyes of the moonbow glimmer         On a trembling waterfall.          The trail of the fleet to the far lands         Was wavy along the night,     And on through the sapphire starlands         They followed the wake of light.          "Look down, Aileen," said Rory,         "The earth's as thin as a dream."     It was lit by a sun-fire glory         Outraying gleam on gleam.          They saw through the dream-world under         Its heart of rainbow flame     Where the starry people wander;         Like gods they went and came.          The children looked without talking         Till Roray spoke again,     "Are those our folk who are walking         Like little shadow men?          "They don't see what is about them,         They look like pigmies small,     The world would be full without them         And they think themselves so tall!"          The magic bark went fleeting         Like an eagle on and on;     Till over its prow came beating         The foam-light of the dawn.          The children's dream grew fainter,         Three air-chiefs still were there,     But the sun the shadow painter         Drew five on the misty air.          The dream-light whirled bewild'ring,         An air-chief said, "You know.     You are living now, my children,         Ten thousand years ago."          They looked at themselves in the old light,         And mourned the days of the new     Where naught is but darkness or cold light,         Till a bell came striking through.          "We must go," said the wise young sages:         It was five at dawn by the chimes,     And they ran through a thousand ages         From the old De Danaan Times. --August 15, 1896