“O my boy,” I cried, “declare what master Did receive thee in his school as pupil, That so swiftly and so true to Nature Thou with skill beginn’st and well completest?”
But while yet I spake a breeze uprises. And behold, it sets astir the summits, Curleth every wave upon the river, Puffs the veil out of the charming maiden. And, what me the astonished, more astonished, Now the maiden’s foot is put in motion, She advances, and to the place draws nearer, Where I sit beside the cunning Master.
Now when all things, all things are in motion, Trees and river, flowers and veil outblowing, And the slender foot of her the fairest, Think you I upon my rock stayed seated, Speechless as a rock and as immobile?
God’s grace be thine, young woman And his, the boy who sucks That breast of thine. Here let me on the craggy scar, In shade of the great elm, My knapsack fling from me And rest me by thy side.
What business urges thee Now in the heat of day Along this dusty path? Bringest thou some city merchandise Into the country round? Thou smilest, stranger, At this my question.
No city merchandise I bring, Cool now the evening grows, Show me the rills Whence thou dost drink, My good young woman.
Here, up the rocky path, Go onward. Through the shrubs The path runs by the cot Wherein I dwell, On to the rills From whence I drink.
Traces of ordering human hands Betwixt the underwood. These stones _thou_ hast not so disposed, Nature--thou rich dispensatress.
With moss o’erlaid, an architrave! I recognize thee, plastic spirit, Thou hast impressed thy seal upon the stone.
Lo, an inscription whereupon I tread, But all illegible, Worn out by wayfarers are ye, Which should show forth your Master’s piety, Unto a thousand children’s children.
In wonder, stranger, dost thou gaze Upon these stones? Up yonder round my cot Are many such.
Leftwards directly On through the underwood, Here!
Here onwards on one side The rivulet flows From whence I drink.
Glowing, then hoverest Above thy sepulchre, Genius! Over thee Is tumbled in a heap Thy masterpiece, O thou undying one!
Wait till I bring the vessel That thou mayst drink.
Ivy hath clad around Thy slender form divine. How do ye upward strive From out the wreck, Twin columns! And thou, the solitary sister there, How do ye, With sombre moss upon your sacred heads, Gaze in majestic mourning down Upon these scattered fragments There at your feet, Your kith and kin! Where lie the shadows of the bramble bush, Concealed by wrack and earth, And the long grass wavers above. Nature dost then so hold in price Thy masterpiece’s masterpiece? Dost thou, regardless, shatter thus Thy sanctuary? Dost sow the thistles therein?