In the cloudland o’er Amalfi, Where with mists the deep ravine Like a cauldron smoked, and, clearing, Showed, far down, the pictured scene, Capes and bays and peaks and ocean, And the city, like a gem, Set in circlets of pale azure That her beauty ring and hem,-- Once, returning from the chasm By the mountain’s woodland way, Underneath the oak and chestnut Where I loved to make delay, (And dark boys and girls with faggots Would pass near on that wild lawn, And at times they brought me rosebuds), There one day I saw a faun. The wood was still with noontide, The very trees seemed lone, When from a neighboring thicket His moon-eyes on me shone, Motionless, and bright, and staring, And with a startled grace; As nature, wildly magical Was the beauty of his face; And as some gentle creature That, curious, has fear, Dumb he stood and gazed upon me, But did not venture near; And I moved not, nor motioned, Nor gave him any sign, Nor broke the momentary spell Of the old world divine. IV Love, with no other agent Save communion by the eye, Evoked from those bright creatures Our secret unity; There, flowering from old ages, Hung on time’s blossoming stem All that fairest was in me Or loveliest in them; And truly it was happiness Unto a poet’s heart To find that living in his breast Which is immortal art. _The Forum_ _George Edward Woodberry_ SCHOOL I Old Hezekiah leaned hard on his hoe And squinted long at Eben, his lank son. The silence shrilled with crickets. Day was done, And, row on dusky row, Tall bean poles ribbed with dark the gold-bright afterglow. Eben stood staring: ever, one by one, The tendril tops turned ashen as they flared. Still Eben stared. O, there is wonder on New Hampshire hills, Hoeing the warm, bright furrows of brown earth, And there is grandeur in the stone wall’s birth, And in the sweat that spills From rugged toil its sweetness; yet for wild young wills There is no dew of wonder, but stark dearth, In one old man who hoes his long bean rows, And only hoes. Old Hezekiah turned slow on his heel. He touched his son. Thro’ all the carking day There are so many littlish cares to weigh Large natures down, and steel The heart of understanding. “Son, how is’t ye feel? What are ye starin’ on--a gal?” A ray Flushed Eben from the fading afterglow: He dropped his hoe. He dropped his hoe, but sudden stooped again And raised it where it fell. Nothing he spoke, But bent his knee and--crack! the handle broke, Splintering. With glare of pain, He flung the pieces down, and stamped upon them; then-- Like one who leaps out naked from his cloak-- Ran. “Here, come back! Where are ye bound--you fool?” He cried--“To school!” II