XIV

Now plunge I into deepest woods,

Where everlastingly there broods

Such quiet and glamour as must be

Beneath the threshing upper sea.

Here burns no sun, but tawny light

Pervades the vistas still and bright

Of mazy boles and fallen leaves....

I press yet on. At length there cleaves

The twilit hush a pillared gleam.

The leafed floor rises.‘ Tis a beam

Of sunlight fallen in a dell

Beyond the mound. There will I dwell,

Soothed by sunned quietude. For there

A carved rock spouts and moists the air

With gross-mouthed pour and rising spray....

But hark! what festive cries are they Of the

Which greet me as I top the mound? Satyrs’ Feast.

Below, dispersed and sunk around

The green and golden of the glen,

Lie satyrs; in a leafy den,

Silenus, crowned with vines and roses,

Drowses and starts, blinks, drinks, and dozes.

Banqueting dishes strew the grass,

Goblets of gold and peacock glass,

Flagons, urns, many a brimming bowl,

And horns from which the flushed fruits roll.

High o'er the feast a fronded ash

Hangs full of sunlight, and the splash

Of the spring's leap or gurgeing flow

Into the rippled pool below,

Where lilies rock, shakes up a bright

Eddy of golden tremulous light

Over the leaves. The Oread,

In a hooded lynx pelt clad,

Smiles where she lolls... the while twin fauns

With stamping hooves and butting horns

Join combat for a dripping cup

She bears.

But now a shout goes up

At sight of me:

“We feast, we feast;

For, lo! the flaming sun hath ceased The Invitation.

To climb the curve of arid sky,

And his meridian holds on high,

Narrowing with his scorching beams

The chestnut's shade, exhausting streams,

Stilling the woodland singer's note,

Piercing the eyes, shrinking the throat,

Saddening the heart of man and beast.

Yet grieve not we but sprawl and feast.

Leap down, O Faun, then, from thy rocks,

Leap down to us. Bedew thy locks

With such cool spicy nards as dwell

Within this ribbed and rosy shell;

Around thy scalded temples twine

Sprays of this fountain-wetted vine,

And from this golden jorum sip

Nectarous liquor — ay, and lip

Smooth nectarines, thy sunk teeth clench

In melon dripping sherds, and quench

Thy salty thirst anew in flow

Of sparkled or dark wines that glow

With sober warmth and merriment,

Until our gladdened voices blent

Awake the vigour of our feet,

And up we start the grass to beat

With fervent foot, drink, dance again,

And, ever at the loud refrain

Clashing our cups, dance on and on,

Till the noontide lull is gone.”

So join I them, and drink and sup,

And fill again the great bowl up;

And, drenched thus down, spin lusty tales

Of topping bouts‘ twixt men and whales;

Of the East's Emperor who hath

A pool of wine to be his bath;

Of Hercules his thirst, and how

He did all Ethiopia plough,

And plant with vines, his thirst to sate.

We will discuss the Ideal State,

Whose sky is covered by a vine,

Whose hills are cheese, whose rivers wine,

Whose trees bear loaves brown, crisp and sweet,

Whose citizens do nought but eat,

But eat and drink, drink, eat, and snore,

And eat again, and wish no more

Than so to drink, snore, eat; who find

In this true liberty of mind

And true equality, in this

Fraternity, law, earthly bliss.

So swill again and yet again,

Till a fire flushes all the brain

And, trolling lustily and long,

Each hearty throat bursts into song.

Faun and Satyrs. Avaunt, mild-eyed Melancholy!

Welcome, Mirth and maenad Folly! A DITHYRAMB

See about the lifted bowl, TO DIONYSOS.

Wrinkled on its bossy scroll,

Ribald nymphs and satyrs jolly

Tussle with a prancing goat;

While Silenus, kneeling, drolly

Proffers a dry bowl unto‘ t ——

Ay, and round the mazer's brim

Boisterous Mermen shouting swim,

And each burly arm lifts up,

Wine that o'erbrims its conched cup;

Wherefore pour a triple potion:

If such can be dry in ocean,

‘ Tis as Titans we must sup!

Avaunt, brow and visage pious:

None but Bacchus boys come nigh us!

Raise the bowl and shout his name:

Io, Bacchus! for a flame

Chafes in our blood, O Bromios!

Fire no water e'er could quench,

And its heat must scorify us

If with wine we do not drench.

Wherefore overbrim the cup:

This to Jove now drink I up,

Who upon thy first of days

Snatched thee and cowed thy natal blaze,

Even as‘ tis now the merry

Strength of this thy vintaged berry,

That the scorching danger stays.

To the vine now! let its golden

Leaves about our brows be folden.

To the swarthy hand that trims it!

To the grape! the sun that dims it!

To the pipe that doth embolden

Purpled stamping feet to riot

O'er the vatted winepress olden!

To the cavern's depth, chill, quiet!

Last to wine's own ruddy sprite,

Wakes in rheumy eyes a light —

Ay, and ripens youth to man;

Wine which more works than wisdom can;

Wine that welcomes hardy morrows;

Wine that turns to song our sorrows;

Wine the only magian!

Deep now! every bowl enhances

The world's beauty; see there dances

In the sky the leaping sun!

‘ Nay, can thine eye catch but one?’

‘ Six now spin.’‘ A seventh advances,

Flares and vomits, swerves and blazes,

Now bursts and countlessly it prances,

Pulsing to my frantic paces!’

‘ I flame,— gyrate!’‘ I shoot out heat!’

‘ My tricked speech trips, and trip my feet!’

‘ The earth runs round and heav'n is wheeling!’

‘ I sway; I reel.’‘ Earth's wrecked and reeling!’

‘ Dance on.’‘ Earth's gone.’‘ All's white and clear!’

‘ Ah! Ah! Behind the blaze I hear

The Oread's laughter pealing!’

Avaunt, grief! Descend, O holy

Fierce Bacchic rapture, divine folly!