Peneus flowed, and, murmuring, sighed,
Meseemed, for its dead gods, whose ghosts
Through its dark forests seemed to glide
In whispering hosts....
’Mid whose pale shapes again I spoke
With her, my soul, as I divine,
Dim ’neath some gnarled Olympian oak,
Or Ossan pine,
Till down the slopes of heaven came
Those daughters of the Dawn, the Hours,
Clothed on with raiment blue of flame,
And crowned with flowers;
When she, with whom my soul once more
Had trysted—limbed of light and air—
Whom to my breast,—(as oft of yore
In Tempe there,
When she was dryad, I was faun)—
I clasped and held, and pressed and kissed,
Within my arms, as broke the dawn,
Became a mist.
THE BALLAD OF LOW-LIE-DOWN
John-a-dreams and Harum-Scarum
Came a-riding into town:
At the Sign o’ the Jug-and-Jorum
There they met with Low-lie-down.
Brave in shoes of Romany leather,
Bodice blue and gipsy gown,
And a cap of fur and feather,
In the inn sat Low-lie-down.
Harum-Scarum kissed her lightly,
Smiled into her eyes of brown,
Clasped her waist and held her tightly,
Laughing, “Lovely Low-lie-down!”
Then with many an oath and swagger,
As a man of great renown,
On the board he clapped his dagger,
Called for sack and sat him down.