III. THE NAIAD. 1. DIAN white-arm'd has given me this cool shrine, Deep in the bosom of a wood of pine : The silver-sparkling showers That hive me in, the flowers That prink my fountain's brim, are hers and mine; And when the days are mild and fair, And grass is springing, buds are blowing, Here to sit, and know no care, 'Mid the waters flowing, flowing, flowing, Combing my yellow, yellow hair. 2. The ounce and panther down the mountain-side Creep thro' green darkness in the eventide ; And at the fountain's brink Casting great shades they drink, Gazing upon me, tame and sapphire-eyed; They, lapping at my fountain mellow, Harm not the lamb that in affright Throws in the pool so mellow, mellow, mellow, Its shadow small and dusky-white. 3. Oft do the fauns and satyrs, flusht with play, Come to my coolness in the hot noon-day. Nay, once indeed, I vow By Dian's truthful brow, The great god Pan himself did pass this way, And, all in festal oak-leaves clad, His limbs among these lilies throwing, Listen'd to their music glad, Saw and heard them flowing, flowing, flowing, And ah! his face was worn and sad! 4. Mild joys around like silvery waters fall; In the calm summer night, When the tree-tops look white, To be exhaled in dew at Dian's call, Over the darkness earth-bedimming, Milky-robed thro' heaven swimming, Floating round the stars above, Swimming proudly, swimming, proudly swimming, And waiting on the Moon I love. 5. So tenderly I keep this cool green shrine, Deep in the bosom of a wood of pine; Faithful thro' shade and sun, That service due and done May haply earn for me a place divine Among the white-robed deities That thread thro' starry paths, attending My sweet Lady, calmly wending Thro' the silence of the skies, Changing in hues of beauty never ending, Drinking the light of Dian's eyes. IV. THE SATYR. 1. THE trunk of this tree, Dusky-leaved, shaggy-rooted, Is a pillow well suited To a hybrid like me, Goat-bearded, goat-footed; For the boughs of the glade Meet above me, and throw A cool pleasant shade. On the greenness below; And yet, all the while, Thro' the boughs I can see A star, with a smile, Looking at me. |