| |
| Sitteth by the red cairn a brown One, a hoofed One, | |
| High upon the mountain, where the grasses fail. | |
| Where the ash-trees flourish far their blazing bunches to the sun, | |
| A brown One, a hoofed One, pipes against the gale. | |
| |
|
| |
I was on the mountain, wandering, wandering; 5 |
| No one but the pine trees and the white birch knew. | |
| Over rocks I scrambled, looked up and saw that Strange Thing, | |
| Peakèd ears and sharp horns, pricked against the blue. | |
| |
| Oh, and, how he piped there! piped upon the high reeds | |
| Till the blue air crackled like a frost-film on a pool! | 10 |
| Oh, and how he spread himself, like a child whom no one heeds, | |
| Tumbled chuckling in the brook, all sleek and kind and cool! | |
| |
| He had berries ’twixt his horns, crimson-red as cochineal. | |
| Bobbing, wagging wantonly they tickled him, and oh, | |
| How his deft lips puckered round the reed, and seemed to chase and steal | 15 |
| Sky-music, earth-music, tree-music low! | |
| |
| I said “Good-day, Thou!” He said, “Good-day, Thou!” | |
| Wiped his reed against the spotted doe-skin on his back, | |
| He said, “Come up here, and I will teach thee piping now. | |
| While the earth is singing so, for tunes we shall not lack.” | 20 |
| |
| Up scrambled I then, furry fingers helping me. | |
| Up scrambled I. So we sat beside the cairn. | |
| Broad into my face laughed that hornèd Thing so naughtily. | |
| Oh, it was a rascal of a woodland Satyr’s bairn! | |
| |
| “So blow, and so, Thou! Move thy fingers faster, look! | 25 |
| Move them like the little leaves and whirling midges. So! | |
| Soon ’twill twist like tendrils and out-twinkle like the lost brook. | |
| Move thy fingers merrily, and blow! blow! blow!” | |
| |
| Brown One! Hoofèd One! beat time to keep me straight. | |
| Kick it on the red stone, whistle in my ear. | 30 |
| Brush thy crimson berries in my face, then hold thy breath, for—wait! | |
| Joy comes bubbling to me lips. I pipe, oh, hear! | |
| |
| Blue sky, art glad of us? Green wood, art glad of us? | |
| Old hard-heart mountain, dost thou hear me, how I blow? | |
| Far away the sea-isles swim in sun-haze luminous. | 35 |
| Each one has a color like the seven-splendored bow. | |
| |
| Wind, wind, wind, dost thou mind me how I pipe, now? | |
| Chipmunk chatt’ring in the beech, rabbit in the brake? | |
| Furry arm around my neck: “Oh, Thou art a brave one, Thou!” | |
| Satyr, little satyr-friend, my heart with joy doth ache! | 40 |
| |
| Sky-music, earth-music, tree-music tremulous, | |
| Water over steaming rocks, water in the shade, | |
| Storm-tune and sun-tune, how they flock up unto us, | |
| Sitting by the red cairn, gay and unafraid! | |
| |
| Brown One, Hoofèd One, give me nimble hoofs, Thou! | 45 |
| Give me furry fingers and a secret furry tail! | |
| Pleasant are thy smooth horns: if their like were on my brow | |
| Might I not abide here, till the strong sun fail? | |
| |
| Oh, the sorry brown eyes! Oh, the soft kind hand-touch, | |
| Sudden brush of velvet ears across my wind-cool cheek! | 50 |
| “Play-mate, Pipe-mate, thou askest one good boon too much. | |
| I could never find thee horns, though day-long I seek. | |
| |
| “Yet, keep the pipe, Thou: I will cut another one. | |
| Keep the pipe and play on it for all the world to hear. | |
| Ah, but it was good once to sit together in the sun! | 55 |
| Though I have but half a soul, it finds thee very dear! | |
| |
| “Wise Thing, Mortal Thing, yet my half-soul fears thee! | |
| Take the pipe and go thy ways,—quick now, for the sun | |
| Reels across the hot west and stumbles dazzled to the sea. | |
| Take the pipe, and oh-one kiss! then run, run, run! run!” | 60 |
| |
| Silence on the mountain. Lonely stands the high cairn, | |
| All the leaves a-shivering, all the stones dead-gray. | |
| O thou cold small pipe, which way is fled that Satyr’s bairn? | |
| I am lost and all alone, and down drops the day. | |
| |
|
| |
I was on the mountain, wandering, wandering 65 |
| There I got this Pipe o’ dreams. Strange, when I blow, | |
| Something deep as human love starts a-crying, troubling. | |
| Is it only sky-music, earth-music low? | |
| |
