* * * * *

THE VISIONARY.

'Twas last week at Pebble Bay
That I saw the little goat,
Harnessed to a little shay.
Old was he and poor in coat,
And he lugged his load along
Where the barefoot children throng
Round the nigger minstrels' song.

But his eye, aloof and chill,
Said to me as plain as plain,
"I am waiting, waiting still,
Till the gods come back again;
Starved and ugly, mean, unkempt,
I have dreams by you undreamt,
And--I hold you in contempt!

"Dreams of forest routs that trooped,
Shadowy maidens crowned with vines,
Dreams where Dian's self has stooped
Darkling 'neath the scented pines;
Or where he, old father Pan,
Took the hooves of me and ran
Fluting through the heart of man.

"Surely he must come again,