"O great god Pan,
You sing with the broken heart of a man!
Your song is of Syrinx, who, æons ago,
Escaped from your loving. Alas! that you know
The music of love, and the music of lack,
And you mourn for the hours that cannot come back,—
But I would learn of merrier things:
The melody murmurs of fluttering wings,
The secrets that fill the nightingaled glades,
The music that stirs in the leaf-colonnades."
He piped for a minute, then, turning to me,
With a wry, queer smile, said: "In Arcady
No song goes forth to the listening earth
That comes not thro' travail and tears to birth:
The river weeps as it leaves the fell,
And the note cries out as it mourns the bell;
The bird that praises the young, fair dawn,
Sings of his loss on the twilit lawn,
And those that hymn of the coming spring
Lament for her too, when she taketh wing.
The song of songs is of Death and of Love—
I sing of Syrinx, my own ... lost ... love."
He piped again, and the blue mists frail
Swayed in the dusk to the tender wail,
And I dreamed—till I felt on my damp, moist hair,
My Love's cool hand, and his whisper, "Fair,"
Then I felt his arms, and I knew the skies,
Whilst over the mountains I saw Dawn arise,
And another sweet day its course began,
While the hidden stars sang, "Evoë, great Pan!"
And the lark in the blue, "Evoë, great Pan!"
And wistfully I, "Evoë, great Pan!"
A WAR-TIME GRACE
Dear God, your rain and shining sun
Have all their lovely duties done:
The rain makes grow the golden wheat
And so provides the bread we eat.
The cow gives us the milk we drink
Because she loves your sun, I think.
Please, grant that other children may
Have milk and bread enough this day.
NIDDERDALE.
QUEEN MAB'S AWAKENING
SCENE: The Meeting of the Waters, in Bolton Woods, Wharfedale.