THE FAUN OVER HIS GOBLET.
WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
BY R. H. STODDARD.
I.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful;
It was the jewel of my cave; I had
A corner where I hid it in the moss,
Between the jagged crevices of rock,
Where no one but myself could find it out;
But when a nymph, or wood-god passed my door,
I filled it to the brim with bravest wine,
And offered them a draught, and told them Jove
Had nothing finer, richer at his feasts,
Though Ganymede and Hebe did their best:
"His nectar is not richer than my wine,"
Said I, "and for the goblet, look at it!"
But I have broken my divinest cup
And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
II.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful.
Sometimes my brothers of the woods, the fauns,
Held gay carousals with me in my cave;
I had a skin of Chian wine therein,
Of which I made a feast; and all who drank
From out my cup, a feast within itself,
Made songs about the bright immortal shapes
Engraven on the side below their lips:
But we shall never drain it any more,
And never sing about it any more;
For I have broken my divinest cup
And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
III.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful.
For Pan was 'graved upon it, rural Pan;
He stood in horror in a marshy place
Clasping a bending reed; he thought to clasp
Syrinx, but clasped a reed, and nothing more!
There was another picture of the god,
When he had learned to play upon the flute;
He sat at noon within a shady bower
Piping, with all his listening herd around;
(I thought at times I saw his fingers move,
And caught his music: did I dream or not?)
Hard by the Satyrs danced, and Dryads peeped
From out the mossy trunks of ancient trees;
And nice-eared Echo mocked him till he thought—
The simple god!—he heard another Pan
Playing, and wonder shone in his large eyes!
But I have broken my divinest cup,
And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
IV.