Classic Poem

Beyond the rocks, below the trees,
The great downs lie; nought but the breeze
Is heard upon them. All day long
The shadows of the great clouds throng
Across their sides: a noiseless rout.
Sometimes a peewit, blown about
By airy surge, cries a lone cry
Ere hurtled down the clarid sky;
Sometimes is heard a shepherd's voice
Shouting, and after it the noise
Of many-pattering crowded sheep
Herded within the gay dog's keep,
Who also, barking, shouts. Save these
Nought breaks the breezy silences
Of the green sun-swept, cloud-swept spaces....

Such downs Pan loves, and ofttime places
His lonely altars on them.
I
One of such now behold. A high
Mound bears it, and its nakedness
Of festal fruit and fragrant dress
Hints 'tis new-built.
Up, then, and sound
A rally to the sacred ground:

Faun . Come ye, merry shepherds all,
Hulli-lulli-li-lo!
Listen to my piping call:
Hulli-li-lo!
Hasten to Pan's festival;
Leave your sheep.
Cannot Pan a shrewd watch keep
O'er his own?
Safe are they as pent in stall;
Safe are they, for Pan has thrown
Fear about them like a wall.

Wherefore, shepherds, hither run.

I have set my pipes to lip;
Now they cry despondingly
As mid shaken locks I dip.
Now shrill — as hark! — I lift them high
To swirl the tune about the sky!
Up and down and round the sky
Till want I further force to blow. . . .
Wherefore, shepherds, hither run,
Dance behind me as I skip;
Strike the tossed tambours in unison,
Dance, dance and make to dance the sun
To your Hulli-li-lo!

Shepherds . Faun, I come. I hear. We hear —
Faun . This my Hulli-li-lo:
Now afar and now anear.
Shepherds . Never sped the midnight deer
Half so fast
'Fore Diana's star-ringed spear
As now haste we to appear
At thy Hulli-li-lo!
Faun . Joy, O shepherds, at the sound:
Hulli-lulli-li-lo!
Pan's new altar I have found:
Hulli-li-lo!
Cowslips prank its holy mound,
With ivy have I wreathed it round —
But not yet
Is the altar's dress complete
Till with flowers its horns are bound.

Shepherds . Faun, we hear, and from the brook
Flags are pulled; and now we hook
Honeysuckle high, low
Down to us with shepherd's crook;
Breathing floss,
Clematis twines, rushy stook,
Apple blossom, down is shook
At thy Hulli-li-lo!

Faun . Wreathe the pedestal anew;
Hulli-lulli-li-lo!
Scatter violets scattering dew;
Hulli-li-lo!
Honey that the brown bees brew
Pour, and rosy blossom strew;
Spill such wine
As in dim-bloomed clusters grew
On your father's father's vine.
Dance you now.
I my pipe cease — thus — to blow:
Dance you on.
Dance about the sacred mound,
Dance when every sound is gone....
Now the timbrels softly, sprightly
Beat, and foot it gaily, lightly;
Tiptoe o'er the secret ground,
Dance the round.

Next, to the sole, trilling flute
And your own subdued laughter
Flutter all in throngs and mazes,
Chase in streams of ardent faces,
With bright eyes and oped mouth mute.
Now alone,
One by one,
Dance and dream, and dreaming float
Till the multitude drifts after,
And I wake a quicker note:
Clap your hands aloft and cry;
Surge in line tumultuously;
Cry, and with a whirl of voices
Fright the pigeons whickering by!
Praise the God of field and fold!
Shout until the hills have told,
By their sudden echoes flying,
Flying, crying, falling, dying,
That upon his name we call,
Who beside the river'lying
Hears us keep his festival.