No More Learning

Then tipsy with the heady juice
Each falls into a heap,
Till white-horned morning bids him wake
With all the land from sleep. "

"Oft lying in this lonely hut
On panting summer nights
I watched the stars like silver lamps
Hung from those purple heights,
And heard the forest-depths behind
Fill with disquieting noise
Like frightened cries of flying girls
And shouts of eager boys,
And saw white shapes go flitting past
Like runners in a race
And caught faint murmurs, sighs and laughs
From all the forest place.
And oft a distant sound of shouts
Came with the soft night airs,
And I . . . lest evil might befall
Got swiftly to my prayers. "

"And tell me now, Oh! ancient man,
The God to whom you pray,
These woods know none but mighty Pan
Whom all our folk obey.
His altar stands by yonder plane
And there the shepherds bring,
Toiling up from the fields below,
Each day an offering,
A lamb or else a yearling kid,
A bud-horned lusty fellow,
Great cheeses, grapes, or bursting figs,
Or apples red and yellow,
Or melons ripened in the sun
A foot from end to end.
Such gifts the shepherds bring to Pan
That he may be their friend.

"He is our Father, Lord of all,
From the meadow to the Pass,
So . . . pray you to a painted bird,
Or green snake in the grass? "

"Rash Thing, beware," the Hermit cried,
Like agates were his eyes,
"The God I serve you do not know
A strong God, just and wise.
For He will purge your streams and woods,
And smite both hip and thigh
Your Satyrs, amorous bestial sots,
Your careless company
Who wanton in the thymy ways
In which these woods abound,
And kiss with soft empurpled mouths,
Luxuriantly crowned.
My soul is filled with prophecy;
Dimly I see a bark
Which runs by some low wooded isle;
The night is warm and dark,
And from a promontory rings
A sudden bitter cry,
It smites the lonely helmsman's ears
And tingles in the sky.
'Oh! Traveller, tell in every land
These tidings strange and dread,
Let all the peoples wail and weep,
For Pan, great Pan, is dead. '"

Amyntas pursed his pouting lips
And shook his curly head,
"Farewell, old man, the forest calls;
I like you not," he said.
"Your flesh is dried, your ribs are lean,
You are too lank and sere,
Your voice is harsh, your words are grim
And do not please mine ear.
The great god Pan is all I need
And all I wish to know,
My Father Pan, the shepherd's god,
And now, old man, I go. "

Behind him closed a greening brake,
And, after many a hail,
He joined his gay companions
And gambolled in a vale.




Love's Defiance.


"Light of my life lie close
Oh! Love, I have found you at last;
Let me hear your low sweet voice
The knell of the aching past.
The lashes lie on your cheek
Oh! lift them and show me your eyes;
Twin stars in a mortal face,
They are soft, they are kind, they are wise. "

"Heart of my hungry heart
My hero whose hand is in mine
If we fall let it be to the pit,
For to-day we have touched the divine.
Time has stood still to-day. .