Part 1 — THE VISITOR
Reading edition
The white goat Amaryllis, She wandered at her will At time of daffodillies Afar and up the hill: We hunted and we holloa'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 path he clicked; A junket for his winning We set in dairy delf; He eat it—peart 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'd call 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 then—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; But 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 stays until the morrow, Then back she comes at dawn; But never—to our sorrow— The little, pagan Faun.
Patrick R. Chalmers [18