The Hermit and the Faun.

A hermit knelt before his door

Long-bearded, bald of head,

When a laughing faun peeped thro’ the brake

And these the words he said,

“My mother was a water-nymph

And in these woods I grew,

The faun, Amyntas, is my name,

To what name answer you?

How came you to this lonely hut,

Why kneel you in the dust,

With scalp as bald as a beggar's bowl

And beard as red as rust?

Why make you with those knotted claws

Your gestures strange and sad?

The sheep-bells tinkle from the plain,

The forest paths are glad.”

“Oh! creature of the wood and wild

You may not know my name,

It was forgotten long ago

For it was one of shame.

Therefore I made a vow to dwell

Upon this forest brink

And take the ripened nuts for food

And catch the rain for drink,

To scrape wild honey from the rocks

And make my bed on leaves

Because of the hot sins of my youth

Whereat my spirit grieves.”

“Not such as you, Oh! ancient man,

Our joyous Satyrs here:

Old men are they all laughter-mad

Who wallow in good cheer.

Amid lush grasses soft and cool

They make their feasting ground,

With smilax and with bryony

Their rosy pates are crowned.

You see them thro’ the forest trunks

Great rolling gladsome shapes,

Who prop themselves on skins of wine

By purple piles of grapes.

Their huge brown bellies quake with mirth,

Their ancient eyes are bright,

And there they sit and roar old tales

Far, far into the night.

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.