BEHOLD the vision of the death of Pan.-
I saw a shadow on the mountain-side,
As of a Titan wandering on the cliffs;
Godlike his stature, but his head was bent
Upon his breast, in agony of woe;
And a voice rose upon the wintry wind,
Wailing and moaning-Weep, ye nations, weep!
Great Pan is dying :-mourn me and lament!
My steps shall echo on the hills no more;
Dumb are mine oracles-my fires are quench'd,
My doom is spoken, and I die--I die!
The full moon shone upon the heaving sea,
And in the light, with tresses all unbound,
Their loose robes dripping, and with eyes downcast,
The nymphs arose, a pallid multitude,
Lovely but most forlorn; and thus they sang,
With voice of sorrow-Never-never more,
In these cool waters shall we lave our limbs ;-
Never, oh, never more! in sportive dance
Upon these crested billows shall we play ;—
Nor at the call of prayer-o'erburden'd men
Appear in answer; for our hour is come;
Great Pan has fallen, and we die ! we die!'
Emerging slowly from the trackless woods,
And from the umbrageous caverns of the hills,
Their long hair floating on the rough cold winds,
Their faces pale, their eyes suffused with tears,
The Dryads and the Oreads made their moan:-
'Never, oh never more!' distraught, they cried,
"Upon the mossy banks of these green woods
Shall we make music all the summer's day ;-
Never again, at morn or noon or night,
Upon the flowery sward, by fount or stream,
Shall our light footsteps mingle in the dance ;-
Never again, discoursing from the leaves
And twisted branches of these sacred oaks,
Shall we make answer at a mortal's call!
Our hour is come, our fire of life is quench'd;
Our voices fade; our oracles are mute;
Behold our agony ;-we die !-we die!'
And as they sang, their unsubstantial forms
Grew pale and lineless, and dispersed in air;
While from the innermost and darkest nooks,
Deepest embower'd amid those woods antique,
A voice most mournful echo'd back their plaint,
And cried- Oh Misery! they die! they die!'
Then pass'd a shadow o'er the moon's pale disc; And to the dust, in ecstasy of awe,
I bent adoring. On the mountain-tops
Thick darkness crept, and silence deep as death
Pervaded Nature: the wind sank-the leaves
Forbore to flutter on the bending boughs,
And breathing things were motionless as stones,
As earth, revolving on her mighty wheel,
Eclipsed in utter dark the lamp of Heaven;
And a loud voice, amid that gloom sublime,
Was heard from shore to sea, from sea to shore,
Startling the nations at the unwonted sound,
And swelling on the ear of mariners
Far tossing on their solitary barks,
A month's long voyage from the nearest land'Great Pan has fallen, for ever, evermore!'
The shadow pass'd-light broke upon the world;
And Nature smiled, rejoicing in the beam
Of a new morning blushing from the East;
And sounds of music seem'd to fill the air,
And angel voices to exclaim on high,
'Great Pan has fallen! and never more his creed
Shall chain the free intelligence of man.
The Christ is born, to purify the earth;
To raise the lowly, to make rich the poor,
To teach a faith of Charity and Love.
Rejoice! rejoice! an error has expired;
And the new Truth shall reign for evermore !
WHY should I tell the world my sorrow?
Why should I open my heart to them-
To fools and knaves, to tyrants and slaves,
Who'd prate, and giggle, and condemn ?
My sorrow's mine, and I will treasure it,
Silent and secret, and all alone;
None but myself shall dare to measure it,
Or ask me wherefore I weep or moan.
And yet my sorrow shall find expression,
For eyes it hath, deep, deep, and clear,
That can see far hidden the things forbidden,
Things that are, though they never appear.
A voice it hath, once soft and woman-like
Now fitful, turbulent, and strong,
Yet musical, God knows, and human-like,
And falling, failing, dying in song.
And we shall speak-I and my sorrow-
All that we think, all that we know,
All that we see in this Babel burrow,
Where the little emmets come and go.
We shall be in them, yet not among them
We shall be merry, or we shall sigh;
And the crowd shall laugh at some gibe we've flung them, Nor dream of our hidden agony.
The soldier, fighting his country's battles,
With bosom bare to a hundred guns,
Tells not to all that he's a coward
When he thinks of his home and his little ones."
The clown in the ring, who grins and tumbles
Till the joyous crowd all shout and start,
May be sick and fainting beneath his painting
And wring his jests from a tortured heart.
And if I choose to don the motley-
Motley shall be the garb I'll wear;
And if to-morrow I go in sackcloth,
It may be velvet to my despair.
If I consent to dwell with beggars,
Or sit with forlornest courtesan,
With pedlars talk, with vagabonds walk,
I have a method, and know my plan.
If I drink with thieves, I can dine with nobles; At twelve o' th' clock to my lady's ball;
And at three, if so it please my fancy,
To the cold highway and the nook ï' the wall.
On Sunday to church, or high cathedral,
Or the chilly chapel-for all are mine;
Or a tramp far out to the field and forest,
Where the winds make music more divine.
And all shall minister to my sorrow,
Perhaps to my scorn and my disdain ;
Perhaps to the soothing of my spirit,
And the ease of a hot and bitter pain.
No more of self! though perhaps 'my lady'
May ask if Love were all to blame;
And my lord,' good man! may think 'tis money,
Or nipp'd ambition-or blighted fame.
And am I youthful, or stony old?
Older than yesterday! Young as to-day! With brown locks streaming over a forehead That has throbb'd enough to turn them gray; And a dream in my spirit for ever and everA dream of a glory pass'd away.
NO. II. THE RIGHT TO DISDAIN.
How shall I gain
The right to disdain?
The right to look down
With a saint-like frown
Upon sorrow and sin?
How shall I win
The right to scorn
My brother forlorn,
Or pass him by
With reproving eye,
As much as to say,
'Get out of the way,
And taint me not
With the poison spot
That comes from thy heart, thy face, thy brow,
To me, much holier than thou?'
Were I far more bright
Than the heavenly light,
More pure than the snow
Where the glaciers grow,
And as undefiled as a little child
Dead and forgiven
And gone to heaven,
I should not gain
The right to disdain,
Or to stand apart
From my brother's heart,
Or turn my face
From a sinner's place,
Or breathe one word of hate or
To the meanest wretch that ever was born.
From the thirst and hunger pain,
That I feel, though I disdain;
From the mean and petty cares
Ever springing unawares,
To degrade me and enslave,
When my spirit is most brave.
Oh, I long to lay me down
In the green earth's bosom brown;
And to let the daisies grow
Fresh above me and my woe;
For I sicken at the guilt
Of the blood that's daily spilt.
I am hopeless of my kind,
So degraded and so blind;
I am hopeless of the good
That's so little understood;
And I'm hopeless of the best,
And its nugatory quest;
Oh, I'm weary, very weary,
And I long to be at rest!
I LOST a friend, but was consoled;
The world had other friends for me;
His friendship had a base of gold;
And when that vanish'd, so did he.
I lost a love; and though I sigh'd
To know myself most desolate,
I ask'd a question of my pride,
And with the answer conquer'd Fate.
NO. III.-A PRAYER FOR REST.
Он, I long to be at rest
From the struggle and the quest,
From the knavery and lies,
That beset me in disguise;
From the fever and the moil,
And the still recurring toil;
From the sorrow and regret,
From the agony and fret,
ALONE? alone? I'm never alone!
Ten thousand spirits walk with me, Over the street and its flinty stone, Over the sands of the rolling sea, Through the quiet woodland, blithe with birds,
And the purple moor where the plover cries;
Through meadows speck'd with flocks * and herds,
By lakes that mirror the evening skies.
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