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With flower-enwoven tresses torn,
Many a poet has lamented the change. For even if the head did profit, for a time, by the revolt against the divine prerogative of nature, it is more than possible that the heart lost in due proportion. Indeed, it is only a false Christianity that fails to recognize God's presence in the birds of the air and the lilies of the field as well as in man. True Christianity is not selfish.
His sorrow at this loss of imaginative sympathy among the moderns, Wordsworth expresses in the sonnet, already cited, beginning, “ The world is too much with us."? Schiller, also, by his poem, The Gods of Greece, has immortalized his sorrow for the decadence of the ancient mythology. It was this poem that provoked the well-known reply of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, contained in “The Dead Pan.” Her argument may be gathered from the following stanzas : —
Some chief Beauty conquering you,
And Pan is dead.
“ Earth outgrows the mythic fancies
Sung beside her in her youth;
Pan, Pan is dead.”
True enough from the philosophical point of view, but hardly from the poetic. Phoebus' chariot course shall not be finished so long as there is a sun, or a poet to gaze upon it. And that Pan
1 Milton, Hymn to the Nativity.
3 $ 54.
is not yet dead, but alive even in the practical atmosphere of our western world, the exquisite poem here appended would indicate : - ) . .
Just where the Treasury's marble front 1
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations,
To throng for trade and last quotations, --
Outrival, in the ears of people,
From Trinity's undaunted steeple.in
Even there I heard a strange wild strain
Sound high above the modern clamor,
The curbstone war, the auction's hammer,
It led, from all this strife for millions,
Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians.
And as it still'd the multitude,
And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,
At ease against a Doric pillar :
The other held a Pan's pipe (fashion'd
The reeds give out that strain impassion'd.
'Twas Pan himself had wandered here,
A-strolling through the sordid city,
The prelude of some pastoral ditty!
From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr,
Far shores and twenty centuries later.
1 By Edmund Clarence Stedman.
A ragged cap was on his head:
But - hidden thus - there was no doubting That, all with crispy locks o'erspread,
His gnarled horns were somewhere sprouting: His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes,
Were cross'd, as on some frieze you see them, And trousers, patch'd of divers hues,
Conceal'd his crooked shanks beneath them.
He fill'd the quivering reeds with sound,
And o'er his mouth their changes shifted, And with his goat's eyes look'd around
Where'er the passing current drifted; And soon, as on Trinacrian hills
The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him, Even now the tradesmen from their tills,
With clerks and porters, crowded near him.
The bulls and bears together drew
From Jauncey Court and New Street Alley, As erst, if pastorals be true,
Came beasts from every wooded valley; The random passers stay'd to list,
A boxer Ægon, rough and merry, A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst .With Naïs at the Brooklyn Ferry.
A one-eyed Cyclops halted long
In tatter'd cloak of army pattern, And Galatea joined the throng,
A blowsy, apple-vending slattern; While old Silenus stagger'd out
From some new-fangled lunch-house handy, And bade the piper, with a shout,
To strike up “Yankee Doodle Dandy!”
A newsboy and a peanut girl
Like little Fauns began to caper: His hair was all in tangled curl,
Her tawny legs were bare and taper. And still the gathering larger grew,
And gave its pence and crowded nigher,
While aye the shepherd-minstrel blew
His pipe, and struck the gamut higher.
O heart of Nature! beating still
With throbs her vernal passion taught her,--
Or by the Arethusan water !
Arise within these ocean portals,
Enchantress of the souls of mortals!
So thought I; — but among us trod
A man in blue with legal baton;
And push'd him from the step I sat on.
“Great Pan is dead!” — and all the people
The quarter sounded from the steeple.
§ 117. Of the company of the lesser gods of earth, beside Pan, were the Sileni, the Sylvans, the Fauns, and the Satyrs, all male; the Oreads and the Dryads or Hamadryads, female. To these may be added the Naiads, for, although they dwelt in the streams, their association with the deities of earth was intimate. Of the nymphs, the Oreads and the Naiads were immortal. The love of Pan for Syrinx has already been mentioned, and his musical contest with Apollo. Of Silenus we have seen something in the adventures of Bacchus. What kind of existence the Satyr enjoyed is conveyed in the following soliloquy:
“The trunk of this tree,?
Is a pillow well suited