Part 14

Speak to me, comely Faun, as you would speak To tree, or zephyr, or untrodden grass. From end to end of this well-shaded alley, When near you, with the handsome Lautrec, passed The soft-eyed Marguerite, the Bearnaise Queen, Have you, O Greek, O mocker of old days, Have you not sometimes with that oblique eye Winked at the Farnese Hercules?--Alone, In cave as it were of foliage green and moist, Have you, O Faun, considerately turned From side to side when counsel-seekers came, And now advised as shepherd; now as satyr? Have you sometimes upon this very bench Seen at mid-day, Vincent de Paul instilling Grace into Gondi?--Have you ever thrown That searching glance on Louis with Fontange, On Anne with Buckingham; and did they not Start, with flushed cheeks, to hear your laugh ring forth From corner of the wood?--Was your advice As to the thyrsis or the ivy asked, When, the grand ballet of fantastic form, God Phoebus, or god Pan, and all his court Turned the fair head of the fair Montespan, Calling her Amaryllis?--La Fontaine, Flying the courtiers' ears of stone, came he, Tears in his eyelids, to reveal to you The sorrows of his Nymphs of Vaux?--What said Boileau to you, to you, O lettered Faun, Who once with Virgil, in the Eclogue, held That charming dialogue, and deftly made-- Couched on the turf--the heavy spondee dance To the light dactyl's step?--Say, have you seen Young beauties sporting on the sward: Chevreuse Of the swimming eyes, Thiange of airs superb? Have they sometimes, in rosy-tinted group, Girt you so fondly round, that all at once A straggling sunbeam on a fluttering bosom Marked your lascivious profile?--Has your tree Received beneath the quiet of its shade Pale Mazarin's scarlet winding sheet?--Have you Been honoured with a sight of Molière In dreamy mood? Has he perchance at times, Dropping at random a melodious verse, In tone familiar--as is the wont 'Twixt demi-gods--addressed you?--When at eve Homeward hereby the thinker went, has he Who--seeing souls all naked--could not fear Your nudity, in his enquiring mind Confronted you with Man? And did he deem You, spectral cynic, the less sad, less cold, Less wicked, less ironical--comparing Your laugh in marble with our human laugh?"

Under the thickly tangled branches, thus Did I speak to him; he no answer gave-- Not even a murmur. On the pedestal Leaning, I listened; but the past stirred not. Dumb to my words and to my pity deaf, The Satyr, motionless, was vaguely blanched By the wan glimmer of the dying day. To see him there, sinister, half drawn out From his dark framing, and by damp discoloured, Brought to one's mind the handle of a sword In torso chiselled--an old rusty sword, Left for long years neglected in its sheath.

I shook my head, and moved myself away. Then, from the copses, from the dried up boughs Pendent above him, from secret caves Hid in the wood, methought a ghostly voice Came forth and woke an echo in my soul, As in the hollow of an amphora.

"Imprudent poet," thus it seemed to say, "What dost thou here? Leave the forsaken Fauns In peace beneath their trees! Dost thou not know, Poet, that ever it is impious deemed, In desert spots where drowsy shades repose-- Though love itself might prompt thee--to shake down The moss that hangs from ruined centuries, And, with the vain noise of thine ill-timed words, To mar the recollections of the dead?"

Then to the gardens all enwrapped in mist I hurried, dreaming of the vanished days. And still the tree-tops were with mystery rife; And still, behind me--hieroglyph obscure Of antique alphabet--the lonely Faun Held to his laughter, through the falling night.

I went my way; but yet--in saddened spirit Pondering on all that had my vision crossed, Floating in air or scattered under foot, Confused and blent, beauty and spring and morn, Leaves of old summers, fair ones of old time-- Through all, at distance would my fancy see, In the woods, statues; shadows in the past!

CHARADES.

I.

Look from the prow of thine anchored bark-- Anchored by classic shore--and mark, Down fathoms-deep in the purple sea, How Time and the waters have dealt on me

Art lost in the moonless and starless night? Far-away looming, a light! a light! Fearlessly steer, for on me 'tis placed, To guide thy bark o'er the trackless waste

Earth knows me, too; and will heave and quake Where my subterranean course I take: And none so aghast at my ravages then, As they whose type was the Sire of men.

But not ever thus; at times I'm seen On the cheek or the neck of Beauty's queen; Or (to favoured mortal alone confest) Tinging the snow upon Beauty's breast.

So, whether above the waves, or below, Or beneath the Earth, or on breast of snow, Linked with the past, or alive to-day, Tell who I am--if tell ye may.

II.

My lady calls; my First obeys-- Nor less his lord's behest: In bower and hall, in olden days, My First was in request.

Yet 'tis my First that tells us now What then my First was doing; How he went forth to war, and how He prospered in his wooing.

A wise King bade the lazy fool Observe my Second's ways, And notice--as it were in school-- The wisdom she displays.

Yet hers is a devouring race, And might--though strange it be-- Eat up, in given time and place, My First, or you, or me.

As for my whole--in every age Mankind must have its show; In actual life, on mimic stage, In peace, war, joy, or woe.

Now 'tis a wedding, now a death, A gathering, or a play; It comes, but, like a passing breath, Full soon 'tis swept away.

III.

When Richard of the Lion Heart In arms the Paynim sought, I of his panoply was part, And, wielding me, he fought.

When ladies on a different field With men their skill essay, I am the weapon that they wield If they would gain the day.

When cooks in certain dishes show Their culinary art, I am on hand--the masters know What flavour I impart.

IV.

I'm a word of one syllable. Look you for me Mid Niagara's roar; in the turbulent sea; Where the winds and the waters are wildest at play, And fling off their laughter in volumes of spray.

I'm a noun of five letters; but throw one aside-- I'm a verb; with the noun I'm no longer allied. I'm a grave, solemn verb; nay, I truly might say, Those who follow my precept do nothing but pray.

But again; let two letters be dropped--there's a change; As a noun--and by no means a grave one--I range. Now I'm here; now I'm there; seen by night and by day, For in short, I'm a beam, or a flash, or a ray.

Thus a verb and two nouns packed together you see, In a word of one syllable.--What can it be?

V.

There are some words, that in a double sense Must be interpreted; of these am I. Your housemaid, thus, wilt know me literally Better than you do; but, with all respect For Betty's carefulness, she scarce can catch My finer meaning. I'm, with her, a thing For brush and duster; in me, you behold A symbol. So much for me as I stand. Now cut my head off--I'm another word Of narrow and of wide significance, Handful of dust, the very world itself. Cut off my tail--the effect is still the same; I'm yet another of those duplex words: Mental and bodily, an essential part Of all mankind, without which no one lives, Nay, not an animal, though you may swear, And truly too, that I have no existence, And never had, in certain men and women. Enough: it is not difficult to find Three words, six meanings, in one syllable.

VI.

Well may I call myself cosmopolite, Being of all lands and times. Barbaric tribes Know me, and honour. In the gentler world, Scholars have studied me, and poets sung, And painters painted, and musicians hymned. Nor from Religion have I held myself Apart. In Pagan and in savage rites Largely I mingle; and some Saints at least, Worshipped among us, owe me much. In short, Theme, inspiration, puzzle--I am all. As to my form, it may not be defined; Yet this is certain: were I rent in twain And of one half bereft, I should not have A leg to stand on--of the other half Equally mulcted, I should endless be.

VII.

In me, as the scholar saith, Is exhaustion, wasting, death. But--so close do grave and gay Touch, in this our world--you may, By a change of accent made, Change the meaning I conveyed; Change me so that I proclaim Victory won, and spoils, and fame!

VIII.

My first's a French noun; and, without it, stands not Church, palace, or hospital, villa, or cot. My Second no feature distinctive can claim; It but echoes my First--'t is precisely the same. Yet my Whole to French parentage makes no pretence; It is plain Anglo-Saxon, in sound as in sense; Nor more widely asunder does pole lie from pole, Than my Gallican parts and my Anglican whole. Impalpable, it--solid, tangible, they; They may last, for long ages--it passes away! Now a sign of approval, a token of scorn; Sometimes of the wind or the waves it is born; Though its presence at intervals surely you'll trace Where my First and my Second have stablished their place; Where King hath his dwelling or Trade hath her marts-- A whole evanescent, material parts!

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Transcriber's note:

The words "irresistible" and "irresistable" were left as they were printed in the original.