 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
8
THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
I climb the purple-vintaged hill,
Where Pan piped all the summer day,
When meads and groves in silence lay,
And winds were hush'd and waters still,
To hear the footsteps of the May,
That hast'ning, came on flying feet,
To catch his strains divinely sweet.
Where Pan piped all the summer day,
When meads and groves in silence lay,
And winds were hush'd and waters still,
To hear the footsteps of the May,
That hast'ning, came on flying feet,
To catch his strains divinely sweet.
A glory touch'd the sloping hill,
A beauty graced the jocund day,
Nature grew mute to hear Pan's lay,
While list'ning Fauns became quite still,
As with his reed he call'd the May,
To shed her blossoms at his feet,
Crocus and daffodillies sweet.
A beauty graced the jocund day,
Nature grew mute to hear Pan's lay,
While list'ning Fauns became quite still,
As with his reed he call'd the May,
To shed her blossoms at his feet,
Crocus and daffodillies sweet.
And when the moonlight touch'd the hill
With cooler light than that of day,
And all the meads in silence lay,
Then Pan's sweet pipings were heard still,
Calling the myriad-colour'd May
To come on unseen rapid feet,
With buds and blooms to make earth sweet.
With cooler light than that of day,
9
Then Pan's sweet pipings were heard still,
Calling the myriad-colour'd May
To come on unseen rapid feet,
With buds and blooms to make earth sweet.
And has the grace gone from the vales,
The beauty from the summer plains,
Since Nymphs dance not to Pan's gay strains,
Nor with a laughter fill the dales,
Sweet as the skies' refreshing rains,
Or droppings of the silver dew,
Which keep the old world ever new.
The beauty from the summer plains,
Since Nymphs dance not to Pan's gay strains,
Nor with a laughter fill the dales,
Sweet as the skies' refreshing rains,
Or droppings of the silver dew,
Which keep the old world ever new.
'Tis true the Nymphs have left the vales,
Dryads forsaken all the plains,
That mute Pan's reed and dulcet strains,
No echo of them wakes the dales,
Kept ever green by April rains,
But gracious heav'ns still drop their dew,
Less fair the old world than the new—
Dryads forsaken all the plains,
That mute Pan's reed and dulcet strains,
No echo of them wakes the dales,
Kept ever green by April rains,
But gracious heav'ns still drop their dew,
Less fair the old world than the new—
Far brighter these than days of old,
When Satyrs danced and Nereids fair
Flooded with song th' enchanted air;
A richer than the age of gold,
Sheds blessings round us everywhere;
Since Christ has bow'd the arching skies,
All heav'n itself around us lies—
When Satyrs danced and Nereids fair
Flooded with song th' enchanted air;
A richer than the age of gold,
Sheds blessings round us everywhere;
Since Christ has bow'd the arching skies,
All heav'n itself around us lies—
10
Truth is divine, can ne'er grow old,
Must keep the world for ever fair,
And glorify both earth and air,
Turn what it touches into gold,
And make Elysium everywhere,
Not in the past 'neath primal skies,
Forward the happy season lies.
Must keep the world for ever fair,
And glorify both earth and air,
Turn what it touches into gold,
And make Elysium everywhere,
Not in the past 'neath primal skies,
Forward the happy season lies.
O Christ thy faith renews the old,
And makes the fair world still more fair,
With troops of Angels throngs the air,
Who o'er us fold their wings of gold,
And wait upon us everywhere;
Since Truth has come down from the skies,
On all the world God's blessing lies.
And makes the fair world still more fair,
With troops of Angels throngs the air,
Who o'er us fold their wings of gold,
And wait upon us everywhere;
Since Truth has come down from the skies,
On all the world God's blessing lies.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |