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Have a GLORIOUS 4th!

The Visitor by Patrick R. Chalmers

(Pan to be found in Maryanne & Marigold's garden....with peanuts!)  xo

Stumbled across this lovely poem in a 1938 edition of the Young Folks Shelf of Books

that I found in a thrift bin.  The entire book was a lovely read, all the old poems I remembered from my childhood. (and quite a few that would cause such an uproar today in our sanitized world!) ;)

When did all those classics go away I wonder? 

And the vocabulary!  Oh, how I relish the Old Words!

Since I adore All Things Pan, and Pan is so very hard to find-especially in children's lit, I was particularly taken with this piece.

I see it as a brilliant diversity piece (for the time period) with the mention of "as Christian as yourself" and find it to be very Unitarian in its message.  

And really, who *doesn't* want a little pagan faun piping on their porch?  :)

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

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THE VISITOR

by Patrick R. Chalmers

The white goat Amaryllis,

She wandered at her will

At time of daffodillies

Afar and up the hill:

We hunted and we halloa'd

And back she came at dawn

But what d'you think had followed?--

A little, pagan Faun!

His face was like a berry,

His ears were high and pricked:

Tip-tap-his hoofs came merry

As up the hill he clicked;

A junket for his winning

We set in dairy delf;

He ate it pert and grinning-

As Christian as yourself!

He stayed about the steading

A fortnight, say, or more;

A blanket for his bedding

We spread beside the door;

And when the cocks crowed clearly

Before the dawn was ripe,

He called the milkmaids cheerly

Upon a reedy pipe!

That fortnight of his staying

The work went smooth as silk:

The hens were all in laying

The cows were all in milk;

And the-and then one morning

The maids woke up at day

Without his oaten warning-

And found he'd gone away.

He left no trace behind him;

Bit still the milkmaids deem

That they, perhaps may find him

With butter and with cream:

Beside the door they set them

In bowl and golden pat,

But no one comes to get them-

Unless maybe, the cat.

The white goat Amaryllis,

She wanders at her will

At time of daffodillies, 

Away up Woolcombe hill;

She stay until the morrow,

Then back she comes at dawn;

But never-to our sorrow-

The little, pagan Faun.

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