Thalassius

Ay! Such wrath on thy nostril quivers As once in Sicilian heat Bade herdsmen quail, and the rivers Shrank, leaving a path for thy feet Dry?

Nay, Low down in the hot soft hollow Too snakelike hisses thy spleen: "O sea-stray, seed of Apollo!" What ill hast thou heard or seen? Say.

Man Knows well, if he hears beside him The snarl of thy wrath at noon, What evil may soon betide him, Or late, if thou smite not soon, Pan.

Me The sound of thy flute, that flatters The woods as they smile and sigh, Charmed fast as it charms thy satyrs, Can charm no faster than I Thee.

Fast Thy music may charm the splendid Wide woodland silence to sleep With sounds and dreams of thee blended And whispers of waters that creep Past.

Here The spell of thee breathes and passes And bids the heart in me pause, Hushed soft as the leaves and the grasses Are hushed if the storm's foot draws Near.

Yet The panic that strikes down strangers Transgressing thy ways unaware Affrights not me nor endangers Through dread of thy secret snare Set.