Gently stealing, Takes she that which man can ne'er Duly merit,--each soft feeling,-- Disregards the noontide ray And the dew at close of day,─ In the plain her path she loses. Ne'er disturb her on her way! Seek her silently, ye Muses Shouts I hear, wherein the sound Of the waterfall is drown'd. From the grove loud clamours rise, Strange the tumult, strange the cries. See I rightly? Can it be? To the very sanctuary, Lo, an impious troop in-hies! O'er the land Streams the band; Hot desire, Drunken-fire In their gaze Wildly plays,-- Makes their hair Bristle there. And the troop, With fell swoop, Women, men, Coming then, Ply their blows And expose, Void of shame, All the frame. Iron shot, Fierce and hot, Strike with fear On the ear; All they slay On their way. O'er the land Pours the band; All take flight At their sight. Ah, o'er ev'ry plant they rush! Ah, their cruel footsteps crush All the flowers that fill their path! Who will dare to stem their wrath? Brethren, let us venture all! Virtue in your pure cheek glows. Phoebus will attend our call When he sees our heavy woes; And that we may have aright Weapons suited to the fight, He the mountain shaketh now-- From its brow Rattling down Stone on stone Through the thicket spread appear. Brethren, seize them! Wherefore fear? Now the villain crew assail, As though with a storm of hail, And expel the strangers wild From these regions soft and mild Where the sun has ever smil'd! What strange wonder do I see? Can it be? All my limbs of power are reft. And all strength my hand has left. Can it he? None are strangers that I see! And our brethren 'tis who go On before, the way to show! Oh, the reckless impious ones! How they, with their jarring tones, Beat the time, as on they hie! Quick, my brethren!--let us fly! To the rash ones, yet a word! Ay, my voice shall now be heard, As a peal of thunder, strong! Words as poets' arms were made,-- When the god will he obey'd, Follow fast his darts ere long. Was it possible that ye Thus your godlike dignity Should forget? The Thyrsus rude Must a heavy burden feel To the hand but wont to steal O'er the lyre in gentle mood. From the sparkling waterfalls, From the brook that purling calls, Shall Silenus' loathsome beast Be allow'd at will to feast? Aganippe's * wave he sips With profane and spreading lips,-- With ungainly feet stamps madly, Till the waters flow on sadly. Fain I'd think myself deluded In the sadd'ning sounds I hear; From the holy glades secluded Hateful tones assail the ear. Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!) Takes the place of love's sweet dream; Women-haters and the scornful In exulting chorus scream. Nightingale and turtle dove Fly their nests so warm and chaste, And, inflamed with sensual love, Holds the Faun the Nymph embrac'd. Here a garment's torn away, Scoffs succeed their sated bliss, While the god, with angry ray, Looks upon each impious kiss. Vapour, smoke, as from a fire,