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Home  »  An American Anthology, 1787–1900  »  1484 The Dancing Faun

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Robert CameronRogers

1484 The Dancing Faun

THOU dancer of two thousand years,

Thou dancer of to-day,

What silent music fills thine ears,

What Bacchic lay,

That thou shouldst dance the centuries

Down their forgotten way?

What mystic strain of pagan mirth

Has charmed eternally

Those lithe, strong limbs, that spurn the earth?

What melody,

Unheard of men, has Father Pan

Left lingering with thee?

Ah! where is now the wanton throng

That round thee used to meet?

On dead lips died the drinking-song,

But wild and sweet,

What silent music urged thee on,

To its unuttered beat,

That when at last Time’s weary will

Brought thee again to sight,

Thou cam’st forth dancing, dancing still,

Into the light,

Unwearied from the murk and dusk

Of centuries of night?

Alas for thee!—Alas, again,

The early faith is gone!

The Gods are no more seen of men,

All, all are gone,—

The shaggy forests no more shield

The Satyr and the Faun.

On Attic slopes the bee still hums,

On many an Elian hill

The wild-grape swells, but never comes

The distant thrill

Of reedy fluted; for Pan is dead,

Broken his pipes and still.

And yet within thy listening ears

The pagan measures ring—

Those limbs that have outdanced the years

Yet tireless spring:

How canst thou dream Pan dead when still

Thou seem’st to hear him sing!