Maurice Francis Egan (1852–1924)

DAPHNIS is mute, and hidden nymphs complain,

And mourning mingles with their fountains’ song;

Shepherds contend no more, as all day long

They watch their sheep on the wide Cyprus plain;

The master voice is silent, songs are vain;

Blithe Pan is dead, and tales of ancient wrong,

Done by the gods when gods and men were strong,

Chanted to waxéd pipes, no prize can gain.

O sweetest singer of the olden days,

In dusty books your idyls rare seem dead,—

The gods are gone, but poets never die;

Though men may turn their ears to newer lays,

Sicilian nightingales enrapturéd

Caught all your songs, and nightly thrill the sky.