rsal Pan--
As now we must: the roots around,
Of forests clutch a certain sound
Of weary feet; go, sisters, out:
Some one is pining, hereabout.

II.

[Another part of the Island. Enter Ariadne.]

_Ariadne_: Here, in the heart of this sea-moated isle,
Where we, but last night, made a summer's lodge
Of transient rest from many pendulous days
Of swinging on the sick unquiet deep,
Why left he me, so lone, so unattended?
What converse had he with felonious Night,
That underneath her dark consenting cloak,
He stole unchallenged from his Ariadne?
If, out of hope, I cannot answer that,
Slant-eyed Conjecture at my elbow stands,
To whisper me of things I would not hear.
Ah me, my Theseus, wherefore art thou gone!
Ah me, my Theseus, whither art thou gone!
Oh how shall I, an unacquainted maid,
So uninformed of whereabout I am,
And in a wild completely solitary,
Hope to find out my strangely absent lord!
Sadness there is, and an unquiet fear,
Within my heart, to trace these hereabouts
Of idle woods, unthreaded labyrinths,
Rude mannered brooks, unpastured meadow sides,
All vagrant, voiceless, pathless, echoless,
Oh for the farthest breath of mortal sound!
From lacqueyed hall, or folded peasant hut,--
Some noontide echo sweetly voluble;
Some song of toil reclining from the heat,
Or low of kine, or neigh of tethered steeds,
Or honest clamor of some shepherd dog,
Laughter, or cries, or any living breath,
To make inroad upon this dreariness.
Methinks no shape of savage insolence,
No den unblest, nor hour inopportune,
Could daunt me now, nor warn my maiden feet
From friendly parle, that am distract of heart,
With doubt, desertion, utter loneliness.
Death would I seek to run from lonely fear,
And deem a hut a heaven, with company.
Yea, now to question of my true heart's lord,
And of the ports and alleys of this isle,
Which way they lead the clueless wanderer
To fields suburban, and the towers of men,
I would confront the strangest things that haunt
In horrid shades of brooding desolation:
Griffin, or satyr, sphinx, or sybil ape,
Or lop-eared demon from the dens of night,
Let loose to caper out of Acheron.
Ah me, my Theseus, wherefore art thou gone!
Who left that crock of water at my side?
W