INTRODUCTION.
The contest of the Satyr with the God,
Oh who shall end it? Who shall end the strife
That fills all Art, all Nature and all Life,
And give the right of flaying with a nod?
Oh who when radiant noontide’s last note dies,
And darkness with its mystery draws near,
Shall bid the strains of twilight not arise
That fill the soul with wistfulness or fear?
Man gives his love in turn, he knows not why,
To sun or gloom according to his mood;
His ear, his heart, alternately is woo’d
By Nature’s carol or by Nature’s sigh.
And Marsyas’ reed-pipe and Apollo’s lyre
Make endless competition upon earth,
As men prefer the charm of vague desire,
Or charm of bright serenity and mirth.
But not alone the wistful strains of eve
Mean unseen Marsyas speaking to the heart;
Nor is he near, in Nature and in Art,
Alone where yearning makes the bosom heave.
Often in tones more passionate he wails,
Pensive no more but fiercely wild and shrill,
And fills the soul with rapture as it quails,
And charms us with the very fear of ill.
Wherever lonely Nature claims her right
Upon man’s love, and her wild fitful voice
With flute-like wailings makes his ear rejoice
In the wild music of a stormy night;