The Faun

Yesterday I thought to roam         Idly through the fields of home,         And I came at morning's end         To our brook's familiar bend.         There I raised my eyes, and there,         Shining through an ampler air,         Folded in by hills of blue         Such as Wessex never knew,         Changed as in a waking dream         Flowed the well-remembered stream.         Now a line of wattled pale         Fenced the downland from the vale,         Now the sedge was set with reeds         Fitter for Arcadian meads,         And where I was wont to find         Only things of timid kind,         Now the Genius of the pool         Mocked me from his corner cool.         Eyes he had with malice quick,         Tufted hair and ears a-prick,         And, above a tiny chin,         Lips with laughter wide a-grin.         Therewithal a shaggy flank         In the crystal clear he sank,         And beneath the unruffled tide         A little pair of hooves I spied.         Yet though plainly there he stood,         Creature of the wave and wood,         Under his satyric grace         Something manlike I could trace,         And the eyes that mocked me there         Like a gleam of memory were.         "So," said I at last to him,         Frowning from the river's brim,         "This is where you come to play,         Heedless of the time of day."         "Nay," replied the youthful god,         Leaning on the flowery sod,         "Here there are no clocks, and so         Time can neither come nor go."         "Little goat," said I, "you're late,         And your dinner will not wait:         If to-day you wish to eat,         Trust me, you must find your feet."         "Father," said the little goat,         "Do you know that I can float?         Do you know that I can dive         As deep as any duck alive?         Would you like to see me drop         Out of yonder willow's top?"         Sternly I replied again,         "You may spare your boasting vain;         All that you can do I did         When I was myself a kid."         Laughter followed such as pealed         Through the first unfurrowed field.         "Then what mother says is true,         And your hoof is cloven too!"         Ah!--but that irreverent mirth,         Learnt of the primeval earth,         Surely was with magic fraught         That upon my pulses wrought:         I too felt the air of June         Humming with a merry tune,         I too reckoned, like a boy,         Less of Time and more of Joy:         Till, as homeward I was wending,         I perceived my back unbending,         And before the mile was done         Ran beside my truant son.