The Pilgrims of the Rhine
Page 58
THE COMPLAINT OF THE LAST FAUN.
I. The moon on the Latmos mountain Her pining vigil keeps;And ever the silver fountain In the Dorian valley weeps.But gone are Endymion's dreams; And the crystal lymph Bewails the nymphWhose beauty sleeked the streams!
II. Round Arcady's oak its green The Bromian ivy weaves;But no more is the satyr seen Laughing out from the glossy leaves.Hushed is the Lycian lute, Still grows the seed Of the Moenale reed,But the pipe of Pan is mute!
III. The leaves in the noon-day quiver; The vines on the mountains wave;And Tiber rolls his river As fresh by the Sylvan's cave.But my brothers are dead and gone; And far away From their graves I stray,And dream of the past alone!
IV. And the sun of the north is chill; And keen is the northern gale;Alas for the Song of the Argive hill; And the dance in the Cretan vale!The youth of the earth is o'er, And its breast is rife With the teeming lifeOf the golden Tribes no more!
V. My race are more blest than I, Asleep in their distant bed;'T were better, be sure, to die Than to mourn for the buried Dead:To rove by the stranger streams, At dusk and dawn A lonely faun,The last of the Grecian's dreams.