What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,

Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat

With the dragon-fly on the river?

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river,
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,

Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan,
While turbidly flowed the river,
And hacked and hewed as a great god can
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,

(How tall it stood in the river!), Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring,

And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes as he sat by the river.

"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan,
(Laughed while he sat by the river)
"The only way since gods began

12

A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD They say that God lives very high!

But if you look above the pines You cannot see our God. And why? And if you dig down in the mines

You never see Him in the gold,

Though from Him all that's glory shines.

God is so good, He wears a fold

Of heaven and earth across His face.

Like secrets kept, for love, untold.

But still I feel that His embrace

Slides down by thrills, through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place:

As if my tender mother laid

On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure,

Half-waking me at night; and said,

"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser ?"

EDWARD FITZGERALD (1809-1883)

FROM THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM

6

Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moated sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then, said she, "I am very dreary,
He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
Oh, God, that I were dead!"

THE LADY OF SHALOTT

PART I

On either side of the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by

To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver

Thro' the wave that runs forever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down to Camelot:

But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, "Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

PART II

There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay.