Good News [pp. 428-429]

GOOD NE WS.
imps which answer to the French Gobelins -seems to have survived the discipline of the stake and fagot. The
fauns, lares, penates, and nymphs have
vanished from fair Italy; and only a
lonely mermaid is occasionally seen on
her haunted shores. Of the hosts of
oreads, dryads, nereids, fauns, and satyrs, which in ancient days peopled the
vales of Hellas, the modern Greeks
have only retained the detested Nereids
-horrid female shapes, tempting the
wayfarer to answer them, in which case
they are lost, and the Stoicheids, who
are divided into the domestic (answering
to the Northern Nisser), and the wild
(who live in the open field). There are
good and bad, of either kind; and they
assume various shapes and simulachres.
The secluded and often solitary life in
wood and mountain; the silence of death
that at certain periods broods over our
gloomy northern forests, relieved, at
times, only by the dismal hootings of
the great snowy owl, which re -echo
from their mysterious depths; the angry might with which storm and tempest rage in the solitary wilderness; the
portentous shapes assumed by natural
objects, under different effects of gloom
and light, or shrouding mists, together
with the savage and awe-inspiring natural scenery-all tend to awaken in the
mind of the simple peasant a state of
feeling, which, under certain circumstances, invests the stories of his childhood with a living interest, and clothes
them with probability and even a subjective interest. The easily excited imagination has free play, and fear and ancient superstition heighten and strengthen it. These conditions suffice to explain
the fact that among the peasantry of the
Scandinavian peninsula a lingering faith
in Jutuler, Trolds, and the "underground
people," still holds its own against the
advancing wave of modern civilization
and enlightenment.
GOOD NEWS.
'Tis just the day to hear good news:
The pulses of the world are still;
The eager spring's unfolding hues
Are drowned in floods of sun, that fill
The golden air, and softly bear
Deep sleep and silence everywhere.
No ripple runs along that sea
Of warm, new grass, but all things wear
A hush of calm expectancy:
What is coming to Heart and me?
The idle clouds, that work their wills
In moods of shadow, on the hills;
The dusky hollows in the trees,
Veiled with their sun - lit'broideries;
The gate that has not swung, all day;
The dappled water's drowsy gleam;
The tap of hammers far away,
And distant voices, like a dream;
428
[Nov.