Classic Poem

( RONDEAU .)

I N greenwood glen, where greedy bees
Drain fragrant flower-cups to the lees,
When summer's shining lances smite
The grainfields gleaming golden bright,
I hear Æolian melodies.

The music bounds along the breeze
In ever-changing symphonies,
And lulls my soul with calm delight
In greenwood glen.

Elusively it faints and flees,
Retreats, returns, — but no one sees
The piper; for, as in affright,
He skilfully eludes the sight;
'Tis Pan who hides amid the trees
In greenwood glen!