Classic Poem

SAINT ANTHONY the eremite
He wandered in the wold,
And there he saw a hoofèd wight
That blew his hands for cold.

“What dost thou here in misery,
That better far wert dead?”
The eremite Saint Anthony
Unto the Satyr said.

“Lorn in the wold,” the thing replied,
“I sit and make my moan,
For all the gods I loved have died,
And I am left alone.

“Silent, in Paphos, Venus sleeps,
Jove, on Mount Ida, mute;
And every living creature weeps
Pan and his perished flute.

“The Faun, his laughing heart is broke;
The nymph, her fountain fails;
And driven from out the hollow oak
The Hamadryad wails.

“A God more beautiful than mine
Hath conquered mine, they say,—
Ah, to that fair young God of thine,
For me I pray thee pray!”