Where the downward-swaying branches Shiver, quiver in the sun, And with low persistent murmur The hidden waters run, Far from bell and book and candle With their grisly ban, In the tangle of the rushes Sits the great god Pan. Oh, the unworn joy of living Is not far to find,-- Leave the bell and book and candle Of the world behind, In your coracle slow drifting, Without haste or plan, You shall catch the wordless music Of the great god Pan. You shall wear the cap of rushes, And shall hear that day All the wild duck and the heron And the curlew say. You shall taste the wild bees' honey That since life began They have hidden for their master-- For the great god Pan. You who follow in the pathway Of the waters fleet, You shall tread the gold of springtime 'Neath your careless feet, Gold the hasting rivers gathered Without thought of man,-- Flung aside as hushed they listened To the pipes of Pan! V THE TAPESTRY CHAMBER Lady Philippa sat with her little daughter Eleanor in the tapestry chamber. This was the only corner of the gray old Norman castle which seemed really their own. All the rest of it was under the rule of Sir Stephen Giffard, the eldest son of the house, and still more under the rule of his mother, Lady Ebba, who seemed more like a man than a woman and managed everything, in-doors and out, including her sons. Eleanor, watching her grandmother with shy observant eyes, was not quite sure whether her father came under that rule or not. He never disputed anything his mother said or opposed her will, but somehow, when he saw that his sweet Provencal wife wanted anything, he contrived that she should have it.