 | Poems |  |
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THE BROKEN GOBLET.
One day some shepherds found a Faun asleep,
Beneath the shelter of a shady oak:
Said one, “What say you? let us bind him here,
And he shall sing before we let him go.
They say these creatures are poetical;
But who would guess it from their looks and life?”
They bound him to the tree with withered vines,
And pelted him with acorns, till he woke.
And “Where am I?” he said, and “What is this?
This oak is not the one before my cave,
Nor were these vines around me, till I slept.
But where is now my goblet? Can it be—
'T is shivered yonder!—Gods! it is too much!
Who has been fooling with me? Ah! 't is you,
Hidden behind you tuft of birchen spray.
I see your crook, my quaint Arcadian,
And you, my lad, perched on yon swinging limb.
Cease pelting me,—you hurt me! Let me loose!
Undo these viny fetters if you please.”
“But no,” said they, “we do not please at all;
Sing us a song, and we will let you go.”
“What shall I sing about, mischievous boys?—
My theme shall be the Broken Goblet now,
But mind, you must not ask too much of me;
With this misfortune fresh upon my heart,
I cannot sing as I was wont to do.”
They sat beside him, and the Faun began:
Beneath the shelter of a shady oak:
Said one, “What say you? let us bind him here,
And he shall sing before we let him go.
They say these creatures are poetical;
But who would guess it from their looks and life?”
They bound him to the tree with withered vines,
And pelted him with acorns, till he woke.
And “Where am I?” he said, and “What is this?
This oak is not the one before my cave,
Nor were these vines around me, till I slept.
But where is now my goblet? Can it be—
'T is shivered yonder!—Gods! it is too much!
Who has been fooling with me? Ah! 't is you,
Hidden behind you tuft of birchen spray.
I see your crook, my quaint Arcadian,
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Cease pelting me,—you hurt me! Let me loose!
Undo these viny fetters if you please.”
“But no,” said they, “we do not please at all;
Sing us a song, and we will let you go.”
“What shall I sing about, mischievous boys?—
My theme shall be the Broken Goblet now,
But mind, you must not ask too much of me;
With this misfortune fresh upon my heart,
I cannot sing as I was wont to do.”
They sat beside him, and the Faun began:
I.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful.It was the jewel of my cave; I had
A corner where I hid it in the moss,
Between the jagged crevices of rock,
Where no one but myself could find it out;
But when a nymph or wood-god passed my door,
I filled it to the brim with bravest wine,
And offered them a draught, and told them all
That Jove had nothing richer at his feasts,
Though Ganymede and Hebe did their best:
His nectar is not richer than my wine,
Said I, and for the cup,—it speaks itself!—
But I have broken my divinest cup,
And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
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II.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful.Sometimes my shaggy brothers of the wood
Held gay carousals with me in my cave;
I had a skin of Chian wine therein,
Of which I made a feast; and all who drank
From out my dainty cup, a feast itself,
Made songs about the bright, immortal shapes
Engraven on the side below their lips:
But we shall never drain it any more,
And never sing about it any more;
For I have broken my divinest cup,
And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
III.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful.For Pan was graved upon it, rural Pan;
He sat at noon within a shady bower
Piping, with all his listening herd around;
(I thought at times I saw his fingers move,
And heard his music: did I dream or not?)
Hard by the Satyrs danced, and Dryads peeped
From out the mossy trunks of ancient trees;
And nice-eared Echo mocked him till he thought—
The simple god!—he heard another Pan
Playing, and wonder shone in his large eyes!
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And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
IV.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful.For Jove was there transformed into the Bull
Bearing forlorn Europa through the waves,
Leaving behind a track of ruffled foam;
Powerless with fear she held him by the horns,
Her golden tresses streaming on the winds;
And Cupids sported near in rocking shells,
And sea-gods glanced from out their weedy caves,
And on the shore were maids with waving scarfs,
And hinds a-coming to the rescue—late!
But I have broken my divinest cup,
And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
V.
My goblet was exceeding beautiful.For rosy Bacchus crowned its rich designs:
He sat within a vineyard full of grapes,
With Ariadne kneeling at his side;
His arm was thrown around her slender waist,
His head lay in her bosom, and she held
A cup a little distance from his lips,
And teased him with it, for he wanted it.
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Couchant in shade, their heads upon their paws;
And revellers were dancing in the woods,
Snapping their jolly fingers evermore!
But all is vanished, lost, for ever lost,
For I have broken my divinest cup,
And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!
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