BOOK II

A FAUN'S HOLIDAY

TO MY BROTHER PHILIP NICHOLS

'_O Fantaisie, emporte-moi sur tes ailes pour désennuyer ma tristesse!_'

FLAUBERT.

Roughly planned in Spring, 1914, at Oxford. "Midday in Arcadia" composed July, 1914; "Catch for Spring" adapted from version of 1912 during the same month: both at Grayshott. Taken up again in February, 1916, continued at the Hut, Bray, and, after being frequently interrupted, finished on February 18, 1917, at Ilsington.

The author intends the "hulli" and the "lulli" of the Faun's call in 'Faun's Rally' to be pronounced as if they rhymed with such a word as "fully."

A FAUN'S HOLIDAY

I

Hark! a sound. Is it I sleep? _Of the Faun's Wake I? or do my senses keep Awakening._ Commune yet with thoughtful night And dream they feel, not see, the light That, with a chord as if a lyre Were upward swept by tongues of fire, Spreads in all-seeing majesty Over crag, dale, curved shore, and sea?

If this be sleep, I do not sleep. I hear the little woodnote weep Of a shy, darkling bird which cries In a sweet-fluted, sharp surprise At glimpse of me, the faun-beast, sleeping Nigh under her. My crook'd leg, sweeping Some dream away, perhaps, awoke her, For dew shook from a bough doth soak her.

And all elsewhere how still it is!-- The mist beyond the precipice Smokes gently up. The bushes hang Over the gulph 'cross which I sprang Last midnight,--though the unicorn, Who with clanged hooves and lowered horn Raging pursued, now hidden lies Amid the cragside dewberries And sweats his frosty flanks in sleep, Dreaming he views again my leap Thrice hazardous. The silver chasm Sighs, and many a blithe phantasm Turns in the sunlight's quivering ray. I couch in peace. Thoughts fond and gay Feed on my sense of maiden hours And earth refreshed by suns and showers Of nightly dew and heavy quiet.-- Though last night rang with dinning riot: Dionysos in headlong mood Ranged through the labyrinthine wood; Fleet maids sped, yelping, on with him, Brandishing a torn heifer's limb, Dissonant cymbals, or black bowl Of wine and blood; a wolfish howl Fled ululant with them.... Now there is Depth, the white mist, the great sun, peace.

Too numb such sunshine!--Let me hence _Of the Faun's Out of the solemn imminence Descent from Of yon chill spire whose shadow creeps the Mountain._ Toward me from the stagnant deeps Of the ravine. For now I will Descend and take again my fill Of fancy wild and musing joy, Such as each dawn brings to alloy The long affliction of a spirit Who a complete world did inherit, And feels it crumbling. I will down Whither twin bluffs of sheer stone frown Over sunk seas of billowing pine Terrace on terrace, line on line, Below whose heads the broad downs slope Away, away till senses grope At something rather felt than seen: The sea,--not wave-tops, but a sheen Under the dazed and distant sky.... Curled on a cliff-top let me lie. (For yonder, hap, a breeze is blowing, And the sun's first gleam is showing Under far wreckage: since our height Inherits day while yet their light Quakes gold under the low clouds' rift.) Down, then! Miraculously swift These limbs the gods have given me!... Couched mid the gorse, anon I see, Opposing this my bluff, the face Of the sheer rock, and 'long it trace A sill scarce ample for a goat, Yet midway in the ledge-path note A cave's mouth, which thick creepers hide Fallen in a silvery tide From a slant crevice overhead. And, lo! the creeper stirs, is shed-- And all falls quiet. Till at last Issues a voice deep, young and vast:

II

_Centaur._ Up! the ag'd centaurs lie yet sleeping, While crouch I palled of this cavern lair THE CENTAUR'S And watch the stretched sea-eagle sweeping MORNING SONG. Down the grey-blue drizzling air. The sea-nymphs, too, will now be waking, If sickle-eyed they have not played Across the moonlight sets me aching, Longing and slinking, half afraid, Down the feathery, tawny sand On sighing tread Deep into banks of glistering shell, To halt in dread Lest my hoof-scrunch break the spell Of the syren-chants that swell From the dim shoals toward the land.

But this morn the breeze is blowing Freshly: I hear lightly flowing From the bending giant beam Bars the forehead of our door The golden raindrops in a stream Pattering on the steamy floor.

_Faun._ It is the Centaur's voice I hear! Young and lusty, deep and clear: And the Panisks at his voice In their fastnesses rejoice, Emerging from the creviced crag Or cave beneath the mountain's jag, Merry, shaggy, light of hoof, To run along the narrow roof, And upon the shelvèd height Dance before the swimming light.

_Centaur._ And I see upon the ledge, Astir over the hanging edge, THE CENTAUR'S A russet briar cold with dew MORNING SONG And beyond, forlornly pent (_continued_) In a grey cloud's gliding rent, A pure pool of the brightest blue: So near it seems I've but to cast A flint out on the forward vast To mark it flashing blithely through!

And now at last! At last The great Sun, The Sudden One, Stamps upon the cloudy floor; The heavens are split, and through the floor Heaven's golden treasures tumbling pour.... And the Sun himself, divine, Doth descend In such a bursting blaze of shine That his glorious hair is shook Over the wide world's craggiest end! And, even I, I dare not look.

* * * * *

I will shout! I will ramp! Just three bounds: then out and stamp Where the air like water is Eddying up over the precipice;-- Wind with an edge to it, sea-damp, Blowing from the canyon's race Where the dripping sea-wind heaves Through a tunnel of the rocks Sea-water up in thunderous sheaves Against the precipitous water-rapids, To whip from off th' high-hurtled shocks Bursts of mist which soak the leaves Of each scented bush that cleaves To the cliffs. Till Fauns and Lapiths Dance in the sun-bewildered brakes, Till even flushed Silenus wakes, And--with a short deep-throated troll To the wind and to the wine, Both delirious, both divine!-- Starts, as he drains the tilted bowl, At din, to rolling uproar grown, Of rocks dislodged and bounding down, With splinter of pines and flint-shocked flashes, From the ridge whereon we dance In a loud exuberance Of rattling hoofs whose echoes drown The squealing joy or reedy pining Of Pan's pipe, where Pan reclining Plays in the clouded mountain's crown!

III

_Faun._ It is the Centaur's voice I hear. The creeper tresses toss with fear, _The Faun hails Then part before a pow'rful hand. the Centaur._ See, see, O see the Centaur stand With ruggëd head erect and proud, Whose rounded mouth yet chants aloud The Joy of Mind fulfilled in Force: Glory of Man, glory of Horse.

Hail thou, the sov'reign of the hill! Hail thou, upon whose locks distil Fresh dews when mid majestic night Thou pacest, hid, along the height. Thine are the solitudes of snow Between bare peaks, thy hooves also Are heard within the dusk defile Where Titans of a sunless while Fashioned huge sphinxes in whose eyes The Kite now skulks or, girding, cries. Thine, too, the sole and sinking pine Burned by the sunset--ay, and thine The ledges whence a sudden sift Of snow sighs downward, thine the swift Uproar of avalanche and all The mountain echoes. To thee call, When the snow melts and there are seen Crocuses blazing mid the green Of the dewed grass, the Sylvan folk: The Dryads from the leafless oak Or budded elder, that at length Thou mayst release them by the strength Of thy tough fingers; 'tis on thee The nymphs cry should the runnels be Exhausted of the midsummer sun, Sith, stamping, thou canst make to run The hoarded waters of the wold. And among men thou art of old Thought's emblem: for to thee belong All gifts of deep, wise, epic song. Hail, then, whom Earth and mankind hails. And Ocean, whose high-spouting whales And dripping serpents, that arise Swinging their gold crests to the skies To drink in all thy bold descant Hail, though they cannot view thee chant, As I who now behold in sooth Thy lighted eyes and singing mouth.

O grape-hung locks! glorious face, _Of the Centaur's Capacious frame, sinewy grace Beauty._ Of arm that lifts a skully lyre Whose dithyramb whirls ever higher! Deep breast-bone, belly, curvèd thews-- Such as the tussling oak doth use Upon the crumbled scarp to grip-- Striking from trunk down through the hip Into the stallion's massive shoulders Glossy as moonlit ice-bound boulders! Stiff, stalwart forelegs, heavy hoof Yet fleeter far on heights aloof Than ev'n such doubled hares as race Blue 'thwart dim fells, or, speck in space, Osprey, gale-swept across the tides! Thy man's trunk glisters; on thy sides A soft and silver shagginess, Inviting slim hands to caress, Hangs dewy----

_Centaur._ Faun, Faun, art thou near?

_Faun._ Behold me stand, proud Centaur, here Upon the bluff where 'neath me lies The sunned pool of the precipice.

_Centaur._ Faun, in my veins the blood 'gins race, The new sun sweats upon my face, _Of the Dazzles my pupils, golden swims Centaur's Over my flushed and fervid limbs. Ardour._ I feel in me my spirit rise Griffon-like flogging up tall skies. Now is the Morning of the World, And through my heart a flood is hurled Of onerous joyance, of desire To clutch the sun and spill its fire Down heaven's blue bulwarks! to snatch life And drain its lusty full in strife Of all my body with the bent Wrestle of every element: Close with the whirlwind, front the tide And turn its moony press aside.

But in the world I cannot find A match in strength, a foe in mind.... At dawn, at eve the waters burn; All night the constellations turn Round the dark pole, and none knows why.... None seeks to know save only I And thou, O Faun. We are alone.... Yet sometimes, when the wind is gone And all below shines sunned and still, I feel depart from me the will Merely to know, to know and wait: I would do more: I would create. Though what I know not; but I would Spend this my mind and hardihood. Yet find no means save physic force:-- Sing as a man, stride as a horse. Then stride I? Swift I overcome The fleetest. Sing I? All are dumb. Natheless my heart demands in grief Ardour, endurance and relief; Asks, but receives not.

_Faun._ Shall not I Echo thy pain, whom Fates deny Answer to thought,--as they to thee The lust-of-action's fill? But we Accept too much, O Sire. 'Twere best, Though idly, to fulfil our zest.

Four leagues this canyon runs between _Of the Us twain or ever there is seen Challenge._ The arch of rock whose massy grace Bridges yon gap of golden space. Deignest thou, then, to race with me From such tall eyries to the sea, If even now I upward leap?

_Centaur._ Leap then! I catch thee e'er the steep Subsides in woodland or in down.

IV

Away! My rapping footfalls drown _And of the All but the sobbing of the wind Manner of Within my ears and loud behind the Running._ The thunder of the Centaur's hooves Where, like a hailstorm, down he moves. Past me the spun pines rock and hiss, Behind my feet stones pelted whizz, Hills rise before me, backward flow, The bare downs, bright'ning, mount below.... On. On. Down. Down. But, ah, no more! My breath comes keener than the frore Indraught of age-long mountain frost; My head turns dizzy, feet are lost. Yet scamper feet! A rock--a mound: Rap! Rap! I soar it at a bound. On. On. Down. Down. A sudden brook, And now--in mid-air--lo! there look Laughingly up at me the eyes Of Hyads, and their fading cries Ring in my ears. Can they have seen The Centaur hurtle by between Them and the clouds? The downs up-fly. Now earth's bowl rocks and reels the sky And through my chilly flaming tears The molten sun swoops, bursts, and veers....

Still rap my hoofs, though but the sound Tells me they yet rocket the ground. The uproar loudens more behind. My crook'd legs cross, my eyes go blind. I claw the sky: for, O! I can Scarce lurch. I feel the sudden fan Of the great Centaur's galey breath Upon my nape, and like chill death His hand descends. But, ah! he laughs Even as Bacchus when he quaffs In jest or taunt a double bowl. I, choking, reel, and, tripping, roll _The Faun Wildly aside. See! as I fall falls._ A rampant shape majestical Storms vehement by, and, storming, swings Hand across rushing lyre, which rings To strains, like rolling breakers tossed High o'er an adamantine coast, In praise of elemental Mirth, Strength, Beauty and the Golden Earth!

V

Beyond the rocks, below the trees, _Of Downs The great downs lie; nought but the breeze beloved Is heard upon them. All day long by Pan._ The shadows of the great clouds throng Across their sides: a noiseless rout. Sometimes a peewit, blown about By airy surge, cries a lone cry Ere hurtled down the clarid sky; Sometimes is heard a shepherd's voice Shouting, and after it the noise Of many-pattering crowded sheep Herded within the gay dog's keep, Who also, barking, shouts. Save these Nought breaks the breezy silences Of the green sun-swept, cloud-swept spaces....

Such downs Pan loves, and ofttime places His lonely altars on them. I One of such now behold. A high Mound bears it, and its nakedness Of festal fruit and fragrant dress Hints 'tis new-built. Up, then, and sound A rally to the sacred ground:

_Faun._ Come ye, merry shepherds all, Hulli-lulli-li-lo! FAUN'S RALLY. Listen to my piping call: Hulli-li-lo! Hasten to Pan's festival; Leave your sheep. Cannot Pan a shrewd watch keep O'er his own? Safe are they as pent in stall; Safe are they, for Pan has thrown Fear about them like a wall.

Wherefore, shepherds, hither run.

I have set my pipes to lip; Now they cry despondingly As mid shaken locks I dip. Now shrill--as hark!--I lift them high To swirl the tune about the sky! Up and down and round the sky Till want I further force to blow.... Wherefore, shepherds, hither run, Dance behind me as I skip; Strike the tóssed támbours in únison, Dance, dance and make to dance the sun To your Hulli-li-lo!

_Shepherds._ Faun, I come. I hear. We hear--

_Faun._ This my Hulli-li-lo: Now afar and now anear.

_Shepherds._ Never sped the midnight deer Half so fast 'Fore Diana's star-ringed spear As now haste we to appear At thy Hulli-li-lo!

_Faun._ Joy, O shepherds, at the sound: Hulli-lulli-li-lo! Pan's new altar I have found: Hulli-li-lo! Cowslips prank its holy mound, With ivy have I wreathed it round-- But not yet Is the altar's dress complete Till with flowers its horns are bound.

_Shepherds._ Faun, we hear, and from the brook Flags are pulled; and now we hook Honeysuckle high, low Down to us with shepherd's crook; Breathing floss, Clematis twines, rushy stook, Apple blossom, down is shook At thy Hulli-li-lo!

_Faun._ Wreathe the pedestal anew; Hulli-lulli-li-lo! Scatter violets scattering dew; Hulli-li-lo! Honey that the brown bees brew Pour, and rosy blossoms strew; Spill such wine As in dim-bloomed clusters grew On your father's father's vine. Dance you now. I my pipe cease--thus--to blow: Dance you on. Dance about the sacred mound, Dance when every sound is gone.... Now the timbrels softly, sprightly Beat, and foot it gaily, lightly; Tiptoe o'er the secret ground, Dance the round.

Next, to the sole, trilling flute And your own subduèd laughter Flutter all in throngs and mazes, Chase in streams of ardent faces, With bright eyes and oped mouth mute. Now alone, One by one, Dance and dream, and dreaming float Till the multitude drifts after, And I wake a quicker note: Clap your hands aloft and cry; Surge in line tumultuously; Cry, and with a whirl of voices Fright the pigeons whickering by! Praise the God of field and fold! Shout until the hills have told, By their sudden echoes flying, Flying, crying, falling, dying, That upon his name we call, Who beside the river lying Hears us keep his festival.

VI

Wearied of solitary hills, _The Faun enters On which the wannish sunlight spills, the Valley._ And which the glooms of high clouds cross, Clouds wandering ever at a loss About th' immeasurable sky, I will descend. And by-and-by Glimpse beneath the shouldered down A hamlet reeking golden-brown; Creep through a willow copse to view Under an orchard avenue, A lithe girl in a sun-splashed smock Calling her perchëd pigeon flock, And as they coo and flutter over Laughing and carolling of her lover.

_Girl._ '_Little pigeon, grave and fleet_'-- All the golden grain you'd eat, Greedy! let the little bird Pick some. Sweet, your cooing's heard; You shall have this. There! Be bolder: Light you now upon my shoulder.... Cooroo? Cooroo in my ear? Darling, yes, I hear, I hear: From this hand, then, you shall pluck it. Foolish love! your wings have struck it, Spilt the grain the grass among. --Flutter! Flutter!--where's my song? '_Little pigeon, grave and fleet_'-- Too late now your wings you beat By my face: look in the ground; There, they say, all gold is found.

Little pigeon, grave and fleet, THE PIGEON SONG. Eye-of-fire, sweet Snowy-wings, Think you that you can discover On what great green down my lover Lies by his sunny sheep and sings?

If you can, O go and greet Him from me; say: She is waiting.... Not for him, O no! but, sweet, Say June's nigh and doves, remating, Fill the dancing noontide heat With melodious debating.

Say the swift swoops from the beam; Soon the cuckoo must cease calling; Kingcups flare beside the stream, That not glides now but runs brawling; That wet roses are asteam In the sun and will be falling.

Say the chestnut sheds his bloom; Honey from straw hivings oozes; There's a nightjar in the coombe; Venus nightly burns, and chooses Most to blaze above my room; That the laggard 'tis that loses.

Say the nights are warm and free, And the great stars swarm above him; But soon starless night must be. Yet if all these do not move him, Tell, O tell--but not too plainly!-- That I long for him and love him.

Little pigeon, grave and fleet, Fly you swiftly, tell him this; And I'll give you grain so golden Midas' self has ne'er beholden Aught so gold, and--yes!--a kiss.

Smiling at her eager voice, I will grant the girl her choice, Whispering to the pigeon: "Lo! Yon's the way for you to go: Over the willows, past the copse, To where a sylph-like lime-tree tops A lonely knoll; then on and on Toward where yesternight there shone A silver comet, scarce descried, Against the fainting eventide."

VII

Away then! crashing through the wood, _Of the Faun's Prancing in a whimsey mood, Whimseys._ To yowl as a she-wolf does at dark Until th' infuriate watch-dogs bark; Or bid hushed tales of ghosts go round, Of warnings heard, but nothing found, By whistling at the village boor; Or poke my rogue face round a door And scare a huffy wife to fits, Who swears, "'Tis Pan himself!" or, "It's That grizzled sailor-man who slew His mate 'twixt Bogs and Dead Man's Yew!" Next through the dairy steal to slake My thirst with cream, with honeycake Cram my sweet maw; slip in the churn A farm cat, that the tub may turn And fright maid Molly. I will seek Strawberries and stain chin, mouth and cheek With nuzzling in their scarlet bowl; Then in the goodman's bed I'll roll Because he loves me not; I'll sing Until the crowded rafters ring The while about my ears I hang Bobbed cherries.... Lastly I will clang Among the clattering pots and pans, Shout, cry "Oh help!" snatch up a man's Cloak, and slip out. Whoop! Whoop! They run: _The Pursuit._ The hare once spied, the hunt's begun!-- Goodman and goodman's wife, pert Polly, Clown Colin, Wiggen and maid Molly, Pant, crying, "Thief!" The while behind Shrunk Dorcas hops, and fills the wind With apish merriment, shrill malice, And cries of--"Well run, Poll! Run, Alice! Run, child! The master's cloak and all! How sad the goodman's ta'en a fall! Mistress down, too--he! he! what pity! Run, Alice child, my bird, my pretty; Show 'em how nimble thou canst be,-- Ay, but the girl runs prettily. Run, Hobbinol, thou gawky man! Thou mayest kiss if catch thou can! Odd's me! and what's it all about? A thief? That mischief Faun!" A shout Startles the pigeons from the croft: "We've circled him!" "He's in the loft." But as they, silent, crowd unto 't I jump. For am not I a goat? From out the hayloft's height I leap O'er their craned heads into the deep Grass of the orchard. Thence I run Across lush meadows. One by one They fall behind.... A scarecrow I Now seek, and 'bout it carefully Enwrap the newly pilfered cloak.... Scarecrows are such poor crazy folk....

VIII

So to a thorny thicket dense _The Faun With rosy-coloured may-bloom, whence hides._ I can hear a torrent rumble, And, peering forth, behold it tumble Cumbrously into a pool whose white Tumult sears the giddied sight. There, half dozed, silent, smile to hear A babble of voices drawing near, Spy many a boy and laughing lass Racing hands-linked across the grass.

_Boys and Girls._ Now has the blue-eyed Spring Sped dancing through the plain. A CATCH Girls weave a daisy chain; FOR SPRING. Boys race beside the sedge; Dust fills the blinding lane; May lies upon the hedge: All creatures love the spring!

The clouds laugh on, and would Dance with us if they could; The larks ascend and shrill; A woodpecker fills the wood; Jays laugh crossing the hill: All creatures love the spring!

The lithe cloud-shadows chase Over the whole earth's face, And where winds ruffling veer O'er wooded streams' dark ways Mad fish upscudding steer: All creatures love the spring!

Into the dairy cool Run, girls, to drink thick cream! Race, boys, to where the stream Winds through a rumbling pool, And your bright bodies fling Into the foaming cool! For we'll enjoy our spring!

IX

Seaward my forest way I'll take, _Of the Faun's And at a pool's lit quietude slake Journey to the Sea._ My thirst, and feel a dull flame creep Like the first flux of tidal sleep Through all my limbs. Yet, when I sink Sleepward, start wide-eyed up to drink The sunned wood's wet deliciousness, Touch flowers, and feel the sun's caress About my locks, and wander on, Or pause to smile up at the sun, Guarding my eyes with glowing hand, Or, leaned against a beech-trunk, stand Watching between the branches' rift, As they gently wave and lift To the bland breeze softly blowing, The noiseless clouds serenely going Slowly to the hid, low sea I can hear breathing slumberously. Till from the woodland I emerge, Greeted by a louder surge, And from the bushy cliff-top spy How the hollow bay doth lie One quiver and murmur under the sun, And how the lightsome wind-puffs run Chasing each other crookedly, Over the idly heaving sea.

Next I will turn my eyes, perhaps, _Of the To where the languid waters lapse Sea-Horses._ Glittering over a sunburned rock Round which the shrieking white gulls flock.... Thus browsing in my solitude, I may remember I've a feud With the Sea-Horses, once who drave Me from the sea-light of their cave. Enough! and, crashing down, I come To find them drowsing in their home.... So creep I with a crooked stick To where a blinding pool is quick With green electric water-snakes. Sprawling across a rock which bakes I stir the molten till they boil And up my hawthorn kick and coil; Then scamper, rocketing, to the cave, Hurl the stick in. Hark! how they rave, And plunge up clattering, kicking, neighing, Till Triton on his horn 'gins braying, And each hasteneth to belabour With hooves or tear with teeth his neighbour, And from the cavern's blueness rush Into the simmering beach's hush, To stand, with heaving flanks, agaze At the hot stones and still sea's blaze: Then stampede, scattering high and wide A hail of stones and glittering tide.

X

I will walk the sunny wood, _Of the Faun Deep and tranquil as my mood, in his And watch how the honeyed sunlight is Meditation._ Hung in the great boughs of the trees, And the pattern the branchwork weaves Under the panoply of leaves, And how high up two butterflies Pass, vaulting, out into the skies. Or, entering a silent glade, Draw a sharp breath and stand dismayed At beauty which doth straight present Such a spasm of ravishment Sight is confused, and doth confess Her wreck in voiceless tenderness: Seeing the flower-decked cherry-trees-- Unruffled ever by any breeze, Unburned by bright dawn's fiery chill-- Standing celestially still....

Or lay me down 'neath chestnut boughs, And drowse and dream and dream and drowse, Drunk with the greenness overhead, Until a blossom of sharp red, Shook from her high and scalding place, Splash with chill scent my upturned face.

XI

But, lo! amid the woodland green _Of the What mantles of strange blue are seen? Philosopher._ What sage is he who slowly leads Disciples on and little heeds The holiness of sylvan haunt, Where even the silver bird dare chant But seldom? where the sunlight lies Here scalding gold, and yonder dies Into a humid, still, green gloom? Hath not he in the forum room To vent himself, that now with rude Rabble he scareth Solitude From her ultimate hiding-place? Now steps he forward a slow pace, And 'gins his discourse. Hear him prate, O woods, to silence consecrate; Hear him, O flowers, whose golden eyes Speak more than all Man's orat'ries!--

_Philosopher._ Meanwhile, though nations in distress Cower at a comet's loveliness _And his Shaken across the midnight sky; Oration._ Though the wind roars, and Victory, A virgin fierce, on vans of gold Stoops through the cloud's white smother rolled Over the armies' shock and flow Across the broad green hills below, Yet hovers and will not circle down To cast t'ward one the leafy crown; Though men drive galleys' golden beaks To isles beyond the sunset peaks, And cities on the sea behold Whose walls are glass, whose gates are gold, Whose turrets, risen in an hour, Dazzle between the sun and shower, Whose sole inhabitants are kings Six cubits high with gryphon's wings And beard and mien more glorious Than Midas or Assaracus; Though priests in many a hill-top fane Lift anguished hands--and lift in vain-- Toward the sun's shaft dancing through The bright roof's square of wind-swept blue; Though 'cross the stars nightly arise The silver fumes of sacrifice; Though a new Helen bring new scars, Pyres piled upon wrecked golden cars, Stacked spears, rolled smoke, and spirits sped Like a streaked flame toward the dead: Though all these be, yet grows not old Delight of sunned and windy wold, Of soaking downs aglare, asteam, Of still tarns where the yellow gleam Of a far sunrise slowly breaks, Or sunset strews with golden flakes The deeps which soon the stars will throng.

For earth yet keeps her undersong Of comfort and of ultimate peace, That whoso seeks shall never cease To hear at dawn or noon or night. Joys hath she, too, joys thin and bright, Too thin, too bright, for those to hear Who listen with an eager ear, Or course about and seek to spy, Within an hour, eternity. First must the spirit cast aside This world's and next his own poor pride And learn the universe to scan More as a flower less as a man. Then shall he hear the lonely dead Sing and the stars sing overhead, And every spray upon the heath And larks above and ants beneath; The stream shall take him in her arms; Blue skies shall rest him in their calms; The wind shall be a lovely friend, And every leaf and bough shall bend Over him with a lover's grace. The hills shall bare a perfect face Full of a high solemnity; The heavenly clouds shall weep, and be Content as overhead they swim To be high brothers unto him. No more shall he feel pitched and hurled Uncomprehended into this world For every place shall be his place, And he shall recognize its face. At dawn he shall upon his path; No sword shall touch him, nor the wrath Of the ranked crowd of clamorous men. At even he shall home again, And lay him down to sleep at ease, One with the Night and the Night's peace. Ev'n Sorrow, to be escaped of none, But a more deep communion Shall be to him, and Death at last No more dreaded than the Past, Whose shadow in the brain of earth Informs him now and gave him birth.

Up, O Faun, up! is he a man _The Faun's So dares affront the great god Pan? Anger._ Creep I now close.... (Has he not heard Ever the lamb cry as the bird Descends upon its helpless head To pluck its eyes out? Blank with dread Did he ne'er press in stumbling haste Over the wide moor's tossing waste? Or, stripped to plunge, did never eye The sunned pool smiling treacherously, Despair and terror in his heart? Hate on him!) See: he draws apart That with himself he may commune The while to a low murmuring tune Wrung from a golden-stringëd lyre The young men chant. Hist! Draws he nigher?

Now crouch I mid a thicket where The spicy hedge-rose warms the air With giddy scent, and for an hour Woos with her open-bosomed flower The full gaze of her lord the sun, And through whose thorns the sunbeams run Spangling the cavern of the brake With chequered shade such as the snake Loves to repose in, that the heat Upon his sullen coils may beat, Breeding within his ancient heart Such malice that his tongue must dart Flickering in silence out and in, The while adown his withered skin, From horns above his murderous eyes, The cold surge shudders, ebbs, and dies.

And now yon comes, with solemn head _And of the Trick Sunk upon breast, with laurel spread the Faun played, About his thought-bewrinkled brows. thereby symbolizing All hail, philosopher! I rouse the Rule of Pan Thee by a low and single hiss. in Nature._ He is frozen still. A sudden bliss Seizes me, and a branch I shake As gently as an unseen snake Swinging toward him. But he stands, Clasps and unclasps his gradual hands In silence save for one long sigh Of terror. And I draw more nigh. Beneath his glazèd eyes I sway Three leaves upon one stilly spray: He blenches. Ha! it was well done, That final hiss. I am alone: For with a harsh cry he has fled Hideously stumbling, and is led Speechless away. The lyre, forgot, Lies in the grass....

XII

I know a spot _Of the Spring, Where, to the sound of water sighing, Frequent Haunt The Naiads, when the sun is lying of the Lonely Heavy on mead and fronded tree, Naiads._ When birds are silent and the bee Swoons in the dewed heart of the rose, Sing hushedly. I will repose Upon its banks and to the spring An answer make with hands that cling Over this lost lyre's murmurous chords And with their voiced quiet mingle words Such as my shrouded soul affords When the warm blood within my veins Throbs heavily, and the noon sun reigns, Who would heaven and earth unite In one blaze of arduous light, Till dark woods, fields, bronzed sky, and deep, In one maniac dull dream sleep.

XIII

_The Naiads._ Come, ye sorrowful, and steep Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep: THE NAIADS' For our kisses lightlier run MUSIC. Than the traceries of the sun By the lolling water cast Up grey precipices vast, Lifting smooth and warm and steep Out of the palely shimmering deep.

Come, ye sorrowful, and take Kisses that are but half awake: For here are eyes O softer far Than the blossom of the star Upon the mothy twilit waters, And here are mouths whose gentle laughters Are but the echoes of the deep Laughing and murmuring in its sleep.

Come, ye sorrowful, and see The raindrops flaming goldenly On the stream's eddies overhead And dragonflies with drops of red In the crisp surface of each wing Threading slant rains that flash and sing, Or under the water-lily's cup, From darkling depths, roll slowly up The bronze flanks of an ancient bream Into the hot sun's shattered beam, Or over a sunk tree's bubbled bole The perch stream in a golden shoal: Come, ye sorrowful; our deep Holds dreams lovelier than sleep.

But if ye sons of Sorrow come Only wishing to be numb: Our eyes are sad as bluebell posies, Our breasts are soft as silken roses, And our hands are tenderer Than the breaths that scarce can stir The sunlit eglantine that is Murmurous with hidden bees. Come, ye sorrowful, and steep Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep.

Come, ye sorrowful, for here No voices sound but fond and clear Of mouths as lorn as is the rose That under water doth disclose, Amid her crimson petals torn, A heart as golden as the morn; And here are tresses languorous As the weeds wander over us, And brows as holy and as bland As the honey-coloured sand Lying sun-entranced below The lazy water's limpid flow: Come, ye sorrowful, and steep Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep.

Sweet water-voices! now must I _The Faun Unto your sorrowings reply. prepares But hark! or ever there can sound to reply._ On the lull air the first profound Few murmurs of my lyre's grave strings, A voice uprises. Who now sings The noon's and his own tristfulness? A slim youth--in a shepherd's dress, Yet without sheep--who careless lies Upon the hill. His shepherd guise Tokens, perhaps, a poet's heart Which joys in wandering apart From the dinned ways where chariots roll, From the shrill sophist with his shoal Of gapers, from the angry mart, From the full eyes and empty heart Of babbling women, from the neat Aridity of paven street, A heart that wandering, musing, sings The joy, depth, pain of simple things:

_The Youth._ The earth is still; only the white sun climbs Through the green silence of the branching limes, MIDDAY IN Whose linked flowers hanging from the still tree-top ARCADIA. Distil their soundless syrup drop by drop, While 'twixt the starry bracket of their lips The black bee drowsing floats and drowsing sips. The flimsy leaves hang on the bright blue air Calm-suspended. Deep peace is everywhere Filled with the murmurous rumour of high noon. Earth seems with open eyes to sink and swoon. In the sky peace: where nothing moves Save the sun that smiles and loves. A quivering peace is on the grass. Through the noon gloam butterflies pass, White and hot blue, only to where They can float flat and dream on the soft air.... The trees are asleep, beautiful, slumbrous trees! Stirred only by the passion of the breeze, That, like a warm wave welling over rocks, Loosens and lifts the mass of drowsing locks. Earth, too, under the profound grass Sleeps and sleeps, and softly heaves her slumbrous mass. The earth sleeps. Sleeps the newly-buried clay Or doth divinity trouble it to live alway?

No voice uplifts from under the rapt crust. The dust cries to the unregarding dust.

Over the hill the stopped notes of twin reeds Speak like drops from an old wound that bleeds: A yokel's pipe an ancient pastoral sings Above the innumerable murmur of hid wings. I hear the cadence, sorrowful and sweet, The oldest burthen of the earth repeat: All love, all passion, all strife, all delight Are but the dreams that haunt earth's visioned night. In her eternal consciousness the stir Of Alexander is no more to her Than you or I: being all part of dreams, The shadowiest shadow of a thing that seems, The images the lone pipe-player sees, Sitting and playing to the lone, noon breeze. One note, one life! They sleep: soon we as these!

XIV

Now plunge I into deepest woods, Where everlastingly there broods Such quiet and glamour as must be Beneath the threshing upper sea. Here burns no sun, but tawny light Pervades the vistas still and bright Of mazy boles and fallen leaves.... I press yet on. At length there cleaves The twilit hush a pillared gleam. The leafed floor rises. 'Tis a beam Of sunlight fallen in a dell Beyond the mound. There will I dwell, Soothed by sunned quietude. For there A carved rock spouts and moists the air With gross-mouthed pour and rising spray.... But hark! what festive cries are they _Of the Which greet me as I top the mound? Satyrs' Feast._ Below, dispersed and sunk around The green and golden of the glen, Lie satyrs; in a leafy den, Silenus, crowned with vines and roses, Drowses and starts, blinks, drinks, and dozes. Banqueting dishes strew the grass, Goblets of gold and peacock glass, Flagons, urns, many a brimming bowl, And horns from which the flushed fruits roll. High o'er the feast a fronded ash Hangs full of sunlight, and the splash Of the spring's leap or gurgeing flow Into the rippled pool below, Where lilies rock, shakes up a bright Eddy of golden tremulous light Over the leaves. The Oread, In a hooded lynx pelt clad, Smiles where she lolls ... the while twin fauns With stamping hooves and butting horns Join combat for a dripping cup She bears. But now a shout goes up At sight of me:

_Satyr._ "We feast, we feast; For, lo! the flaming sun hath ceased _The Invitation._ To climb the curve of arid sky, And his meridian holds on high, Narrowing with his scorching beams The chestnut's shade, exhausting streams, Stilling the woodland singer's note, Piercing the eyes, shrinking the throat, Saddening the heart of man and beast. Yet grieve not we but sprawl and feast. Leap down, O Faun, then, from thy rocks, Leap down to us. Bedew thy locks With such cool spicy nards as dwell Within this ribbed and rosy shell; Around thy scalded temples twine Sprays of this fountain-wetted vine, And from this golden jorum sip Nectarous liquor--ay, and lip Smooth nectarines, thy sunk teeth clench In melon dripping sherds, and quench Thy salty thirst anew in flow Of sparkled or dark wines that glow With sober warmth and merriment, Until our gladdened voices blent Awake the vigour of our feet, And up we start the grass to beat With fervent foot, drink, dance again, And, ever at the loud refrain Clashing our cups, dance on and on, Till the noontide lull is gone."

So join I them, and drink and sup, And fill again the great bowl up; And, drenched thus down, spin lusty tales Of topping bouts 'twixt men and whales; Of the East's Emperor who hath A pool of wine to be his bath; Of Hercules his thirst, and how He did all Ethiopia plough, And plant with vines, his thirst to sate. We will discuss the Ideal State, Whose sky is covered by a vine, Whose hills are cheese, whose rivers wine, Whose trees bear loaves brown, crisp and sweet, Whose citizens do nought but eat, But eat and drink, drink, eat, and snore, And eat again, and wish no more Than so to drink, snore, eat; who find In this true liberty of mind And true equality, in this Fraternity, law, earthly bliss. So swill again and yet again, Till a fire flushes all the brain And, trolling lustily and long, Each hearty throat bursts into song.

_Faun and Satyrs._ Avaunt, mild-eyed Melancholy! Welcome, Mirth and mænad Folly! A DITHYRAMB See about the lifted bowl, TO DIONYSOS. Wrinkled on its bossy scroll, Ribald nymphs and satyrs jolly Tussle with a prancing goat; While Silenus, kneeling, drolly Proffers a dry bowl unto 't---- Ay, and round the mazer's brim Boisterous Mermen shouting swim, And each burly arm lifts up, Wine that o'erbrims its conchëd cup; Wherefore pour a triple potion: If such can be dry in ocean, 'Tis as Titans we must sup!

Avaunt, brow and visage pious: None but Bacchus boys come nigh us! Raise the bowl and shout his name: Io, Bacchus! for a flame Chafes in our blood, O Bromios! Fire no water e'er could quench, And its heat must scorify us If with wine we do not drench. Wherefore overbrim the cup: This to Jove now drink I up, Who upon thy first of days Snátched thee and cówed thy natal blaze, Even as 'tis now the merry Strength of this thy vintaged berry, That the scorching danger stays.

To the vine now! let its golden Leaves about our brows be folden. To the swarthy hand that trims it! To the grape! the sun that dims it! To the pipe that doth embolden Purpled stamping feet to riot O'er the vatted winepress olden! To the cavern's depth, chill, quiet! Last to wine's own ruddy sprite, Wakes in rheumy eyes a light-- Ay, and ripens youth to man; Wine which more works than wisdom can; Wine that welcomes hardy morrows; Wine that turns to song our sorrows; Wine the only magian!

Deep now! every bowl enhances The world's beauty; see there dances In the sky the leaping sun! 'Nay, can thine eye catch but one?' 'Six now spin.' 'A seventh advances, Flares and vomits, swerves and blazes, Now bursts and countlessly it prances, Pulsing to my frantic paces!' 'I flame,--gyrate!' 'I shoot out heat!' 'My tricked speech trips, and trip my feet!' 'The earth runs round and heav'n is wheeling!' 'I sway; I reel.' 'Earth's wrecked and reeling!' 'Dance on.' 'Earth's gone.' 'All's white and clear!' 'Ah! Ah! Behind the blaze I hear The Oread's laughter pealing!'

Avaunt, grief! Descend, O holy Fierce Bacchic rapture, divine folly!

XV

Forth from the forest wend I slowly, _Of the Faun's While in my ears yet rings the holy Further Wanderings._ Dithyramb. The noon is past, But the sun rages. There is cast A dumbness yet o'er earth and sky. Down to the river then will I, Slowly about its depths to swim, While the stream fondles every limb And soothes its ache. Deep I will dip, And, blowing, raise my locks, that drip Till the slim Hyads troop to see, And revel, too, and play with me, Hanging my ears with humid weed Or mounting me as water steed. Then, musing I will on, and so Stray to where a silver slow River circles through the meads, Wherein the mooching great ox feeds, And turns a slow eye round the sky, Wondering if he can ever die. And there, mayhap, 'twill come to pass I'll hear a sweet voice in the grass, And yet shall mark no singer nigh, Till, gently peering, I espy A solemn, elfish child who sits Unseen mid towering grass, and knits An endless, endless daisy chain, Crooning the while some soft refrain Her mother sings her when she closes Her twilit eyes.

_Little Girl._ Three red, red, roses-- One each for father and mother, and one, The reddest of all, for her baby son. None for wee Amoret? Oh, none! for she Some day, when she grows up, a red rose will be!

Then, crossed-legged mid the meadow-sweet, _Of the Faun's I will sink down, laugh low, and greet Converse with Her blue, inquiring, childish eyes a Small With mine, sharp, merry, brown, and wise, She-Child._ And tell her tales--of Jack who slew Ten giants; or Mirabel who flew On a white owl to find the Prince And give to him the Golden Quince Would change him from a roaring bull To a youth blithe and beautiful; Or tales of the Goblin and the Sloth, Who watched the moon and swore an oath To find out what she was: how these Explored her mines and found her--cheese.

Thus will I sit and both amuse Until I rise and beg excuse: Off 'to El Raschid in Assyria' Or 'the Grand-Duchess of Illyria,' Or 'to ask the maiden moon Why one only of her shoon She left us last night in the sky, And not her silver self, and why She always climbs the self-same track? Lets no one ever see her back?'

XVI

But neither to the moon go I Or to the river gliding by, But to the woods, therein to move Among the quiet glades I love, Desiring nought but aye to see The beech, ash, oak, and chestnut tree.... Till I a nymph meet who persuades Me to the broadest of the glades, Around whose smooth and sunken space The far woods lie. For in this place, Deserted but for a mid-grove Of maiden trees, bower of the dove, Pan plays, and should the sylvans chance, Nymphs, fauns, and sylvans, join in dance.

XVII

On either hand the slender trees _Of the Immortal Bow to the caressing breeze, Dance._ And shake their shocks of silver light Against skies marbled greenish-white, Save where, within a rent of blue, The tilted slip of moon glints through, Glittering upon us as we dance With a soft extravagance Of limbs as blonde as autumn boughs, And gold locks floating from moony brows. While anguished Pan the pipes doth blow Fond and tremulous and low, And anon the timbrel shakes. --It is his sudden heart that breaks For springs before the world grew old, Rich vales, and hill-tops fiery cold!-- He watches the scarce moving skies, The trees, the glittering revelries, The moon, the dancers lemon-clad: The world fantastical and sad.

The high-flung timbrels pulse and knock; We follow in a dancing flock, Touching each other's finger-tips, While from between our parted lips The solemn melodies repeat The rhythm of our shaken feet. Then faster! and the round we trace, Hair flowing from elated face, Eyes lit, breast bare, with lifted knees, And hands that toss as toss the trees.... And slow again ... with cumulate motion, As the long draw and plunge of ocean Bursting in a cloud of spray Up a white, deserted bay Of the sun-circled green Bermooths, Whose blistering sands the cool foam soothes.... Next the bewildering pipes may sing Some simple melody of spring, Whose cadences remember yet Sadly lost springs that we forget. To which as dances April rain On a still pool where leans no stain, Save of the cloud's pure splendour spread Gloriously overhead, Our fast-flickering feet shall twinkle, And our golden anklets tinkle, While fair arms in aery sleeves Shiver as the poplar's leaves.

And all the while shall Pan sit by And play, and pause, perhaps, to sigh, Viewing the scarce-moving skies, The hushed and glittering revelries, The infant moon, the slender trees Silvering to the shivery breeze, The fair, lorn dancers lemon-clad: The world fantastical and sad.

XVIII

Thus may we dance the light away Of yet one more unmemoried day. But, the dance ended, I will go Beyond the reach of pipes that blow A sadness thrilling through my veins....

For now within my spirit reigns _The Faun's Shadow: before whose brooding face, Sadness._ Silent, there trail on gliding pace A multitude of restless Fears, Obscure Griefs and obscurer Tears, Bewildered Sighs, waned Phantasies, And all disastrous Presences, Mutely prophetic of a Woe I know not yet, but I shall know.

Such power Pan's grief hath to oppress, And Memory!--since now I guess Only too well that there must come Twilight, Calamity, and Doom.

For once I saw beneath an oak A bard so aged it seemed he woke That moment from a sleep of years And in his voice were sleep and tears.... Till, wide-eyed, he, raging, spake, Rocking as when woodlands shake Under the first urge of the wind, Whose roaring murk lightens behind.

_Prophetic Bard._ "Be warned! I feel the world grow old, And off Olympus fades the gold _The Of the simple passionate sun; Prophecy._ And the Gods wither one by one: Proud-eyed Apollo's bow is broken, And throned Zeus nods nor may be woken But by the song of spirits seven Quiring in the midnight heaven Of a new world no more forlorn, Sith unto it a Babe is born, That in a propped, thatched stable lies, While with darkling, reverend eyes Dusky Emperors, coifed in gold, Kneel mid the rushy mire, and hold Caskets of rubies, urns of myrrh, Whose fumes enwrap the thurifer And coil toward the high dim rafters Where, with lutes and warbling laughters, Clustered cherubs of rainbow feather, Fanning the fragrant air together, Flit in jubilant holy glee, And make heavenly minstrelsy To the Child their Sun, whose glow Bathes them His cloudlets from below.... Long shall this chimed accord be heard, Yet all earth hushed at His first word: Then shall be seen Apollo's car Blaze headlong like a banished star; And the Queen of heavenly Loves Dragged downward by her dying doves; Vulcan, spun on a wheel, shall track The circle of the zodiac; Silver Artemis be lost, To the polar blizzards tossed; Heaven shall curdle as with blood; The sun be swallowed in the flood; The universe be silent save For the low drone of winds that lave The shadowed great world's ashen sides As through the rustling void she glides. Then shall there be a whisper heard Of the Grave's Secret and its Word, Where in black silence none shall cry Save those who, dead-affrighted, spy How from the murmurous graveyards creep The figures of eternal sleep. Last: when 'tis light men shall behold, Beyond the crags, a flower of gold Blossoming in a golden haze, And, while they guess Zeus' halls now blaze Shall in the blossom's heart descry The saints of a new hierarchy!"

He ceased ... and in the morning sky Zeus' anger threatened murmurously. I sped away. The lightning's sword Stabbed on the forest. But the word Abides with me. I feel its power Most darkly in the twilit hour, When Night's eternal shadow, cast Over earth hushed and pale and vast, Darkly foretells the soundless Night In which this orb, so green, so bright, Now spins, and which shall compass her When on her rondure nought shall stir But snow-whorls which the wind shall roll From the Equator to the Pole....

For everlastingly there is _Of the Final Something Beyond, Behind: I wis Nature of Pan._ All Gods are haunted, and there clings, As hound behind fled sheep, the things Beyond the Universe's ken: Gods haunt the Half-Gods, Half-Gods men, And Man the brute. Gods, born of Night, Feel a blacker appetite Gape to devour them; Half-Gods dread But jealous Gods; and mere men tread Warily lest a Half-God rise And loose on them from empty skies Amazement, thunder, stark affright, Famine and sudden War's thick night, In which loud Furies hunt the Pities Through smoke above wrecked, flaming cities.

For Pan, the Unknown God, rules all. He shall outlive the funeral, Change, and decay, of many Gods, Until he, too, lets fall his rods Of viewless power upon that minute When Universe cowers at Infinite!

XIX

So far my mind runs, yet I see How little faun-philosophy Repays my heart would learn, not teach.... Better laugh long, lie, suck a peach Couched under tiger-lily flowers Which daze the low hot sun with showers Of fragrance, while the dusty bee Drones, fumbles, falls luxuriantly Within their throats; couched, turn a song Of flowers all the flowers among:

There is a vale beyond blue Ida's mount, THE FAUN'S And thither often would I, piping, stray AFTERNOON To listen to the music of a fount SONG. That spelt her tears out in a Dorian lay.

"Long, long ago," she wept, "Narcissus came Wandering down the sunny-shafted glade; Full weary was he of the lamp's gold flame Wavering beneath the dusky colonnade.

"For at the fall of night forth from the dim Gardens stole Echo; kneeling by his bed, With small sweet love-words she importuned him Who watched the lamp flame idle overhead.

"Dry was her hot flushed cheek and dark the fire In her great eyes; her lips roamed warm and light Over his arm; her murmurs of desire Mixed with the many murmurs of the night.

"In vain! He came to rest and sing with me And loll his fingers in the liquid cool, And drop slow tears, slow tears luxuriously Into the shadowy motion of the pool.

"With tongue scarce audible I wooed the lad, Whispering how beneath the drumming fall Slumbers a rapt, deep lake, so blue, so sad, That no fish swim it, nor about it call

"Delighting birds from green-bowered shore to shore, Nor doth the nightingale, when June begins And the moon mounts a pattin of bright or, Hymn her long sorrows and her lord's black sins.

"And the boy answered, answered me, and mourned The loveliness of Echo. 'Yet,' sighed he, 'My soul is fled, and long, thou knowest, bourned In what far dell none knoweth, love, but thee

"'Who farest thither! Sweeter to my ears Are thy quiet voices and the gentle breast Of rambling water sweeter than my dear's.' Then murmured I, 'Lean lower, love, and rest.'

"There was no sound through all the sleeping wood, Save one sharp cry from Echo, open-lipped, Who, as she followed, from afar did spy How to my arms my lover downward slipped.

"Softly I rocked him down into the pool, Shutting his ears to the loud torrents' din, And kissed and bore him through the portals cool, And laid him sleeping the blue halls within.

"So I returned; but never to me came Another as beautiful, nor shall come. Lonely I flow, and, flowing, lisp his name, Till the sky waste and all the earth be dumb."

So sang the spring, and, answering my look, Through the dark wood from the spring's fountain-head Flock upon flock of eyed narcissi shook, And the brook wept in sorrow for the dead.

Ah, Death again! nothing can fend Us from the Sibyl of the End, Whose delight 'tis to find new forms, Now in dull sighs, anon in storms, Singing, and ever of the same: The trusting heart betrayed; the flame Whirled in a night on cities proud; Lightnings from skies undimmed by cloud; The wide grave yawned before swift feet; The small success that brings defeat; The smiling lips and deadly eyes Of Destiny walking in disguise.

XX

But now the sun sinks I will go _Of the Whither two full streams meet and flow, Evening River._ Murmuring as in wedded sleep Through evening meadows dim and deep. There will I watch the slow trout rise At the myriad simmering flies, And listen to the water flowing With such faint sounds there is no knowing Whether its spirit laughs or weeps Among the dreams wherein it sleeps.

Sunken amid the twilight grass, I will watch the water pass, Weaving ever dimmer tales And dimmer as the evening pales.... Till from the calm the silent lark Drops to the meadows hushed and dark, While in the stagnant silver west, Above the tranquil poplars' crest, There glimmers through the murky bar The slowly climbing Hesperal Star.

Thus brooding by the hazy stream, I shall hear the water dream Tinkily on, and I shall see, As my eyes close quietly. Into a soft and long repose, The lone star like a silver rose Fade with me on the drifting stream Into the quiet night of dream.

Yet sleep I not; for lo! there wakes _Of Night's From the dim water-meadow brakes Rhapsodist._ A quiring: voice as if a star, Fallen to earth from midnight far Beyond the haze of highest cloud, Bewailed her errëd path aloud. It is the nightingale who sings, Fanning soft air with whirrëd wings, Probing the dark with jewelled eyes. How oft, how sad, how loud she cries! And all the echoes answer her; The night airs through the close wood stir The stars that through the eddies climb Glitter; the silver waters chime; The lily bows her dewy head....

I, too, a sudden tear have shed. For, ah! what voice is this can make The vagrant heart within me ache? That stirs an ancient tenderness, A new need to console, love, bless All things that 'neath this warm night sky Rejoice and suffer, age and die? Hunger is in my heart like bliss,-- I stretch my arms out and I kiss, Gathered in sad and sweet embrace, The whole world's dark and simple face.

XXI

I wander forth. About my feet _Of the The sward is fresh and doubly sweet Second Singer._ The loved air on my salvëd brow. Be still. Be still. For hearken: now A second voice behind the grove Uprises tremulous with love. How hushed, how moody is the strain! Pleading--O, surely, not in vain! Sombrely rises every note, Lingers, and in dark dells remote Echoes until another come.

Philomel herself falls dumb.

Philomel herself falls dumb, Mindful of her shadowy home; Of a slowly falling surge Sounding its unending dirge On an alien ocean's verge; Of a rain-smitten tower that stood Fronting the calm, pale rolling flood; Of a slim sister's beauty glows, Fatefuller than a midnight rose; Of the birth, growth, and scheming dire, Of an accursëd King's desire; Of night-long vigil, tongueless wrack, And the last exultation black O'er loathly offering, feasting sour, A fell cry in the lonely tower, Raging pursuit, flight's vain endeavour, And Vengeance stilling all for ever.-- Save the voice that nightly cries To the slowly wheeling skies Of unrest resolved in calm, Time's tears fallen like a balm, Sorrows that dead hearts have wrung, By the sad Enthusiast sung, Sweeter than Euphrosyne's tongue.

O tremulous voice! who is 't that shakes The night with fervour? Through the brakes Softly I thread ... emerge, and now Across the rising meadow's brow I glimpse, beside the farther wood, Under the shadow of its hood, A glimmering shape that does not move. It is the shepherd and his love: Close, close they stand, swooning and dim; Her shadowed face looks up at him, Her sighing breath his forehead warms; He sings, she leans within his arms.

_The Shepherd._ Now arched dark boughs hang dim and still; The deep dew glistens up the hill; THE SHEPHERD'S Silence trembles. All is still. NIGHT SONG.

Now the sweet siren of the woods, Philomel, passionately broods, Or, darkling, hymns love's wildest moods.

Danaë, fainting in her tower, Feels a sudden sun swim lower, Gasps beneath the starry shower.

Venus in the pomegranate grove Flutters like a fluttering dove Under young Adonis' love.

Leda longs until alight In the reeds those wings of white She hears beat the upper night.

Golden now the glowing moon, Diana over Endymion Downward bends as in a swoon.

Wherefore, since the gods agree, Youth is sweet and Night is free, And Love pleasure, should not we?

Song whose desire her kisses bless! _The Faun Song that wreaks wounds no lips redress, is struck O wounding song! Such loneliness with Sorrow._ Falls, like a stun blow from behind, That my hands grope, my eyes go blind. I gasp.... Away, Away, O heart! Lone, wretched Faun, depart, depart; Hide thyself, wretched, utterly, Climb to the clouds where none may see And mock thy causeless misery!

What joy is mine? what is 't I have: Immortal life? would 'twere a grave. Thus, thus to suffer world-without-end, No love, no hope, no goal, no friend!

And the proud, morning Centaur, how Fares he? what lot doth Fate allow?-- More wretched yet! to live and be Perfection's lone epitome.

To feel in him a fecund power, And lack on which to spend that dower!... I mind me now that once I heard Wise, gentle Pan pronounce this word: "_Whoever like a God would shine Must share the loneliness divine._" Ah! to be Gods, then, is to be One fierce eternal agony. Yet, being Gods, such feel no pain; Their strength is equal to their bane. While I, poor half-god and half-beast, I would be man, the last and least Of men! O reasoning vain: Were I but man and one in pain, I could not by my utmost wipe One tear away. But now this pipe Hangs from my neck, god Pan's elect _He takes Comfort Gift to his children to perfect in the Uncommon In awe, joy, grief, and loneliness. Gift of God._ Sound, pipe, and with thy note express All this my heart! to thee I give All the long days that I must live.

I wander on, I fade in mist, O peopled World, and dost thou list? Pipe on, difficult pipes of mine; There is something in me divine, And it must out. For this was I Born, and I know I cannot die Until, perfected pipe, thou send My utmost: God, which is

THE END.

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