Classic Poem

Higher and higher,
Flamed our camp-fire,
Casting a glow
Over the snow,
A circle of light
Surrounded by night.

Sudden each heart stood still:
Over the vale and the hill,
Sounding from regions remote,
A long-drawn mystical note
Swelled on the air and dropped —
Softly it sank and stopped.

Then, through the branches,
Swift avalanches
Of music and song
Hurried along
From this side and that
All round where we sat.

While yet the forest rang
Into our midst there sprang
Ghost-like, a figure bright,
Robed like the winter night;
Backward her tresses flung,
Softly this song she sung:

Queen of the wood-land,
Angel of wild things,
Spirit of Freedom, I am
Come to my good land,
Drink of its mild springs,
Rest in its quiet and calm.

Rich your reward is,
Ye who obey me,
Ye who answer my call.
What your reward is,
No need to say ye:
Ye yourselves know of it all.

Ceasing, she whirled around,
Rose from the snowy ground,
Leaving no foot-print or mark —
Vanishing into the dark;
While the last long mystical note
Was echoed in regions remote.