Roland—
Letha Lane, why! Letha Lane,
Now I beg you to explain
Why so many things you say
In that tantalizing way;
Why you sigh,
’Tend to cry,
When no tears are in your eye.
Letha—
I could tell you, Roland Rare,
Things of which you’re well aware,
That you’d hardly care to hear;
Things that sometimes bring a tear
To my eye,
Though I try
Not to let you know I cry.
Roland—
Letha Lane, now I would fain
Know the reason you disdain
To express your thoughts at all—
Any time I’m asked to call,
I appear,
Then I fear
You are vexed that I am near.
Letha—
Roland Rare, how can you dare
Look at me with such an air?
So it seems I called you then,
Oh! how long ago that’s been!
Not this year,
And I fear
’Twas no other time, my dear.
| Roland Rare! | ||
| Letha Lane! | ||
| Both— | I will tell you once again, | |
| If you do not cease your fooling, | ||
| You will find my fond love cooling, | ||
| Though it seems you do not care, | ||
| Letha Lane! | ||
| Roland Rare! |
Roland—
Letha Lane, it is so plain
That your love is on the wane,
And ’tis time to say good-bye;
I shall go away and try
To forget
That we met,
Though this parting brings regret.
Letha—
Now I ask you, Roland Rare,
Do you think that it is fair
Thus to leave me as you say,
Leave me when I feel this way,
While I sigh
And I cry
With real tear-drops in my eye?
Roland—
Letha! Why now, Letha Lane!
Did you think me so insane?
Never meant a word of it;
I was fooling, too, a bit—
Do not sigh,
Do not cry,
Why! real tears are in your eye.
| Roland Rare! | ||
| Letha Lane! | ||
| Both— | We must never quarrel again. | |
| If we do not cease our fooling, | ||
| We will find our fond love cooling, | ||
| Then, Oh! then, we both will care; | ||
| Letha Lane! | ||
| Roland Rare! |
“I’m thinking of something I never will tell,”
Came a whispering voice. “Oh, we know it as well,”
Piped a dozen small voices. “You mean about Tim?”
“Oh, every one knows ’bout the Timorous him,
They say he’s in love with Celina.” “Oh, no,
Why Tim was in love with Jeannette, don’t you know?”
“Jeannette, who was married a few weeks ago?”
“Yes, he loved her, I’m sure, for Jeannette told me so.”
“She told us the same, so we know it as well,
But we’re glad that you told us. We never will tell.”
Then they would have a song from the dolorous Tim,
And it seemed there was nothing to do but for him
To sing them a song that had broken his heart;
He never could sing it but salt tears would start
To his tender blue eyes. Tim Dolor began,
And the dancers all witnessed the tears as they ran
To his chin, where they dangled a moment, then—fell
On the floor, and the dancers all knew very well
That the words of the song were the sad solemn truth,
And every one pitied the heart-broken youth.
TIM DOLOR’S SONG
While I may sing my song of woe,
Pray sympathize politely,
And if my tears should start to flow
Oh, do not treat them lightly.
There was a time I loved a maid—
And none of you will doubt it—
But being shy, I was afraid
To tell the maid about it.
I thought that she would surely know,
Or maybe she would guess it,
And seeing that I loved her so,
Would help me to confess it.
Oh, secret love with nameless pain,
And only sighs relieving,
And now and then to hope again
To leave your bosom heaving.
One night I thought I heard a bell;
I walked the street and listened;
The night was cold, the snow that fell
Was colder still and glistened.
It was her wedding bell, I knew;
I did not need to guess it;
Another who had loved her, too,
Had hastened to confess it.
I wandered out into the lane
That led up to her dwelling,
And there I stood—I think insane,
I’m sure, there was no telling.
I saw the guests pass by in glee,
And all of them were laughing,
And every one looked back at me,
And at me seemed a-chaffing.
They mocked at me so light and gay,
I could not seem to doubt it,
I burst in tears and turned away
And never told about it.
It was sad to the dancers, so sad; but the traces
Of unbidden tears disappeared from their faces;
For as Dolor concluded the hound came a prowling
Right under the window and set up a howling,
Which made the sad singer forget his great trouble
And join in the laughter that bent them all double.
“It seems”, said the witling, “that hounds have reverses
And sing like some others their doggerel verses.”
Then Malindy went pouting again, and the wit
To get even, concluded he’d sing for a bit.
THE SONG OF THE WITLING
She pouts, but yesterday she smiled,
And since that moment I have whiled
Away the hours with hope and doubt
And see the lips that smile and pout.
So high at times she holds her head,
I feel a certain awe or dread,
But when she smiles, I know not why,
Her head seems never held so high.
Her brow and eyes will often frown
Until she sees how I’m cast down,
And then she’ll turn and sympathize
With placid brow and smiling eyes.
’Gainst pose of head and frown I cope,
For in her smile I find a hope,
And every hour I think about
And see the lips that smile and pout.
From a land so replete with a chivalric story
That even its name is a symbol of glory,
Came a bachelor unloved, but as gentle and kind
As though he were still a fond lover. His mind
Often turned to the valley from which he had come,
For throughout the wide world there was still but one home
For which his heart yearned; but he could not return;
It was but a mem’ry, the real home was gone,
And all of the warmth of a bright Southern sun
Could never revive what the war had undone.
SWEET SHENANDOAH
(By the Bachelor.)
I’m thinking of Sweet Shenandoah
That ever brings a pleasing dream
Of mountain, plain, and winding stream,
And joyous days of long ago,
On silent wings of memory,
Are coming back to me.
I hear the daybreak braggards crow,
As oft I heard that shrill refrain
When there I yawned and slept again;
I hear the noon-day tin horn blow,
Oh, sweeter than Æolian tones,
Its welcome to the hungry zones,
Where men afield with plow and hoe,
Who hear its call, are turning home—
Their jaded horses, flecked with foam,
Now answer with a knowing neigh—
It all comes back to me.
The meadows there seem ripe to mow,
So tawny, thick, and redolent
The bulky heads are downward bent.
The long, sweet day is there, and oh!
I hear the murmuring melody
Of streams that wind so merrily,
And romp and laugh as on they flow
To mingle with the greater stream,
Then lose themselves as in a dream,
And still by day and night they go
To dream and dream eternally—
It all comes back to me.
How often when the sun would glow,
I’ve conjured o’er some boyish theme
With lazy lollings by the stream
As past me it would babbling go,
Till, as the shadows forth would creep,
I’ve yielded to a drowsy sleep,
Unmindful that the sun was low,
When nature’s own sweet lullaby
Came soothingly to me.
Sweet eventide of long ago,
When swallows circled near the barn
And peacocks called their false forlorn;
When over at the dusky row
Was heard the darkies’ jamboree,
In weird and unchecked rhapsody;
Far down the milky way would bow—
’Twas night and full of witchery
In boyhood days to me.
I’m thinking of sweet Shenandoah
And days before the Civil Strife—
I loved the old Virginia life,
The joyous days of long ago
When all the world to us we knew
Was there; when tears and laughter, too,
Were shared by all; if tears should flow
’Twas common cause for sympathy;
To laugh was to intensify
The cause of laughter so. I grow
To fondly love the memory
That now comes back to me.
“Malindy, Malindy, we’re waiting for you,”
Cried the dancers, “Come sing of an old lover true,
And tell us which one of them all was the best,
Or if none of them suit who to you have confessed,
Pray tell us if some one you know of will do;
Then sing us a song of a love that is new,
And tell us if ever you mean to be wed;
Or if you intend to stay single instead—
Malindy, Malindy, we all want to know,
Why is it you always are fooling ’round so?”
IN THE ANTE-DELUVIAN DAY
(By Malindy.)
There once was a maid by the name of Mespay,
Who believed in the luck of a leisurely way;
At ninety, ’twas noticed (to tell the whole truth)
She yet had neglected selecting a youth,
Though many had wooed the young maiden, they say,
In the Ante-Deluvian Day.
’Tis a matter of record the Chinese had kept—
At which there are none who have been so adept—
That Jabel had journeyed some hundreds of miles
With a herd of slick cattle to win the maid’s smiles,
When she took the whole herd, but she turned him away,
In the Ante-Deluvian Day.
Then Jubel came playing a harp made of gold,
Which he gave the fair maiden a moment to hold,
And leaving, he felt it would be a great wrong
If he then would ungallantly take it along,
Still, for one hundred years he remembered, they say,
The maid with the leisurely way.
Then Magella presented the Mount of Tusong,
And Jaered gave the maiden the valley of Hong,
And ev’ry unmarried man sought the maid’s hand,
Until she grew rich in both cattle and land,
For she twenty years longer turned lovers away,
In the Ante-Deluvian Day.
But when Noah appeared, and ’twas well understood
He was building an ark, as he looked for a flood,
She married him when, at one hundred and ten,
She still felt too young to be marrying then,
But she did it to prove, as the Chinese will say,
There is luck in the leisurely way.
The fiddles were heard and they turned to the dance
As though ev’ry one there had awaited the chance
To be first on the floor for the old waltz quadrille,
Which they never had danced but it brought a new thrill.
They glided and whirled with a giddy, gay swing,
Nor thought of the morrow nor what it would bring,
For midnight was only a part of the night,
While the night was all theirs till the morn’s early light;
All they cared for was there, and so why should they borrow
The shadow of thought for the coming to-morrow?
Thus, thoughtless of danger and heedless of warning
The dancing went on till the dawn of the morning,
When in terror the dancers then found that the flood
Had surrounded the house and the barn, and they stood
On an island alone in the midst of the stream.
’Twas as if they had waked from a long, pleasing dream
To a fate that was ugly and stern, and appalled
At impending destruction, they frantic’ly called;
Some cried for a father, and some for a brother,
And screaming they ran from one side to the other.
And if, for a moment, their fears would subside,
Their terror returned as they watched the high tide,
For the river seemed angry that swept o’er the highways,
And madly it rushed o’er the country and byways,
As with threats of destruction it held its mane high
Like a monster that brooks no obstructions that lie
In its way, while it lashed with its tail at the shore;
Over country and highway, apast them it tore
With a swirl and a whirl as the high waves would break
To dash on the island a yellowish flake.
Since the Red Men had named it “the beautiful river,”
No flood-tide was like it, nor yet was there ever
Such woe on the fair verdant banks at its shore,
As higher and onward the great torrent bore,
As downward and forward the avalanche tore.
’Twas as wide as the valley from hill unto hill,
And as deep as the valley with turmoil to fill;
It bent the great oak standing upright and bold;
It swept away houses, the new with the old,
And together the hut and the mansion were rolled.
Oh! often the “Oracle” gave his command
In a grand, sweeping wave with his lily-white hand;
But the flood only laughed at the magical wand;
And strange now to say, but the dancers did hope
That somewhere a power was in it to cope
’Gainst the flood. They were ready to catch at a straw,
For drowning ones know neither reason nor law,
And to that which they ridiculed many a day
They anxiously turned in their fear and dismay,
Half trusting by that their destruction to stay.
We may laugh at all creeds, and discredit tradition,
But danger discovers our blind superstition.
When our bodies are sick and we lie on our backs,
If we can not find doctors we send for the quacks;
And if one should grow worse, there is no use denying
That the priest whom he scoffed at he wants when he’s dying;
In the absence of doctors or priests or of creeds,
We then turn to conjure with magical deeds.
’Twas the same with the dancers—they wanted to live,
And were ready to take what the faker could give.
’Twas a pitiful sight and a helpless appeal,
For the dancers’ dilemma was awful and real.
Though the stronger among them their fears would conceal,
Still, their actions would show the forebodings they’d feel.
There was motive enough, there was courage; in fact,
They were anxious to dare, but were helpless to act.
Ah! some would have risked there the watery grave
If assured that their sweethearts by that they could save;
The occasion, the time, and the motive were there,
Had they only known how, they were ready to dare.
While the daring was there, still the river was wide,
And an effort to rescue seemed useless if tried;
So they talked and they planned with their heads close together;
They looked at the river and also the weather,
And the lovers were gathered real close to each other—
For the loud-roaring river their voices would smother—
And if still not so happy, they knew in each breast
Was a feeling far deeper than either had guessed;
But the river was wild, Oh! so wild and distracting,
’Twas hard to tell love from hysterical acting.
From the house to the barn and returning again,
They wandered about till they came to the lane
That led past the house, and uneasily ever,
Retracing their footsteps, they watched the wild river;
They saw the fixed marks they had set as a gauge
Disappear in the flood as it reached to that stage;
They saw a house floating apast them at last,
They heard a child scream in the house as it passed!
Amazed and bewildered, they sought ev’rywhere
To escape from the peril that threatened them there.
But neither a boat nor a skiff was at hand
Which they felt had the strength ’gainst the waves to withstand,
Save an old, dinky john-boat, and it wasn’t fit,
Yet Dan, the bass-fiddler, went rowing in it
To see, so he said, if the john-boat would do,
When out in the current the dinky boat flew,
And the fiddler was helpless and had to go, too.
They saw with alarm that his danger still grew
As the boat on an end like a bobble was toss’d,
Then plunged to a depth where it seemed to be lost.
There breathless they stood in an agonized fear
When they saw him ride high to again disappear;
But bravely he fought with the oars at his side,
Though his efforts were futile to stem the high tide;
They saw the boat whirl in an eddy away,
Till it seemed he ceased striving in utter dismay;
Then the dancers seemed paralyzed there on the place,
And horror was stamped upon ev’ry pale face;
They heard his wild cries and it filled them with gloom,
He went from their view, and they thought to his doom.
They stood there in terror and thought of his fate.
It redoubled the fear of their own trying state,
And the ghost of poor Dan seemed to everywhere walk
In their midst—they were dazed and unable to talk;
For many were there who in life had seen naught
Of the horrors like that which that day to them brought,
And now when they realized all that had come,
They cried, Oh! they screamed for the loved ones at home,
But their voices were drowned in the maddening roar
And their tears dimmed the view of the far distant shore.
We shrink from imprisonment ever afar;
We fight against water, the wall, or the bar
That would keep us from freedom to do as we will;
Even lovers or comrades together are still,
Never nearly so happy when liberty’s gone;
So they brought up the wine—something had to be done—
And all the men drank it to steady their nerve,
For Twilley had told them that wine would preserve
The courage of man where there’s danger to face,
And the women all ate, as they cried ’round the place.
For women eat more when they feel they’re in trouble,
And men not so much, but they drink about double.
True, ’tis better in flood times to keep duly sober,
Like Noah of old did—the flood was all over
When he was so drunken—for he understood
(After being forewarned) how to handle a flood,
While the dancers lacked wisdom to know what to do,
For the strange situation was awkward and new;
But if they seemed foolish and often uncouth,
’Twas still but the weakness and folly of youth.
Now Twilley was thoughtful, and (not to repeat)
Though very good-natured, was also discreet;
He cautioned the men not to drink more than needed,
And, of course, he had felt his advice would be heeded,
But the men were but men, and the most were mere boys,
At that uncertain age called the “hobble-de-hoys,”
Unused to the wine, or the shame that it brings,
And quite self-important, but (innocent things)
How could they when older become very sage
If they hadn’t learned something at that early age?
The flood was declining at noon-time that day,
And danger seemed held in abeyance away.
The clouds rolled away, and the afternoon sun
Looked down with a smile that was brim-full of fun.
The dancers held councils and hoped for the best
Till all were more tranquil and much less distressed,
And as most of the dancers were youthful in years,
And none had grown old in their hearts, so their fears
Were more transient to them than to those who were older,
While their daring, as well as their folly, was bolder.
Day waned into night, and with no sign of rain,
They had dreaded the night, but the moon shone again
And that seemed the signal that none were to die,
So they sat down to eat with the table banked high,
And glad with the thought of the waters declining,
They forgot all their trials and soon began dining,
And all of them dallied a little with wine
(To get up a courage) and some feeling fine
Sprang up with a song and went dancing around
All over the house on the acre of ground.
’Twas as if they had suddenly lost all their fears,
Or had burst into laughter while still in their tears.
They capered and romped in a strange childish glee,
While Malindy was singing hilariously.
The chaperone scolded and coaxed them in vain
To heed what she said, and be decent and sane;
To remember their danger and think of poor Dan;
She cried and she screamed, but they every one ran
And left their hen-mamma so anxious and fond,
Like so many gosling, to swim in the pond.
And what though the fiddlers felt sleepy and droned
Or even the fiddles went harsh and untoned,
So long as the drum was sufficiently jarred,
The dance was too maudlin to feel the discord,
The witling went whirling in ancient ghwazee,
But just what to call it no two could agree.
“A damsel once danced it,” the great witling said,
“When her sweet mamma wanted the great Baptist’s head.”
If he meant to be gruesome, they said he was shallow,
And as none would dance with him he danced with his shadow.
The bold Roland Rare was possessed with a swagger
That had all the grace of a common blind stagger,
While Simon, the cynic, looked on with a sneer,
And every time Roland passed grinned with a leer.
The folly went on as it had gone before,
Till some growing thoughtful, refused to dance more;
Then directly most every one seemed of like thought,
For the wine was all gone, and the ones who had sought
The wine cup the most, had a look as if taunted
By more than the fear with which others were haunted.
For the pleasure from wine turned to mockery soon,
And the sweetest song then had remorse in its tone.
When the spirit they found in the cup that was brought
Turned a weakling and died and their nerves were distraught.
Then their folly to them seemed as dark as a crime
Which could never be whitened by penance or time—
Crash! ev’rywhere out of doors, crash and splash!
The drift-wood and water and yellow waves dash.
And in the room there all the women are crying,
While all the men suffer a weakness as trying.
For their nerves were so racked by the roar of the river
That the men felt their danger more keenly than ever;
But one told a story and some tried to smile
With efforts to rally the others the while
From cowardly fearing; then some fell asleep
To awake with a start and upon the floor leap;
But Simon, the cynic, still looked with a sneer,
And ev’ry time Roland waked, grinned with a leer;
And assuming his swagger with impudent mocking,
He sang with a ribaldry meant to be shocking.
SIMON’S SONG
Arrayed in fine linen, we go to a ball,
Where we banquet with friends whom we joyously meet,
And we revel down wine and the savories all
Mid flowers and the music so lang’rously sweet;
But anon, while we linger the banqueting sours
In these bothersome bodies of ours.
Then in stupor we sleep while our spirits take flight
To places unknown in a wondering dream,
And we fall from a tower in a horrible fright,
Where we strangle and drown in a deep-rolling stream;
For our spirits may soar all alone to high towers,
But they fall with these bodies of ours.
We have faith and a hope and some charity, too,
We trust in our preacher, or elder, or pope,
And so far as we know, ’tis the best thing to do,
But the fall shakes our faith and we all but lose hope
When we think of the grave and the worm that devours
These bothersome bodies of ours.
Still, ’tis hard to stay drowned very long in a dream
When one is so restless in body and mind,
So we struggle and flounder from out of the stream
To awake in a cold, clammy sweat, and we find
That the trouble’s a banquet with music and flowers
In these bothersome bodies of ours.
He sang it as though it o’erflowed with his wit,
And the dancers were glad when he got through with it.
Even danger no longer could keep them from sleep,
Which was fitful to some, whilst to others ’twas deep,
But they left not the room where in circles they grouped,
Or they lounged in the chairs, as when sleeping they drooped.
They were tired, Oh! so tired, and with all so distressed,
They slept in discomfort, but tried to find rest,
When suddenly every one woke with a fear—
A storm was approaching, they felt it was near.
They heard the wind moaning among the tall trees,
Then louder and swift sprang the shrill eastern breeze,
Until the house shook from the force of its sway,
And they felt the trees bend as their shadows would play;
Then the rain began falling, though lightly at first,
Till directly it seemed like a sweeping cloud-burst;
When a flash of sharp lightning had blinded the room,
A terrific loud peal like a great cannon’s boom
Came thundering above them with crashing resound
That made the house quake on the acre of ground.
Then to every one came an alarm for their daring
And folly. In silence, with awe in their bearing,
They tiptoed to look out of window and door,
Then out in the darkness and in the down-pour
Of the rain to the edge of the water they wandered.
The river was rising! They shivered and pondered,
And they peered through the gloom for help that might come,
But it came not! it came not! They turned to the home
Through the darkness of night and the chill of the air,
They groped to the house in an utter despair.
A cry of distress from without reached their ears,
Then louder it grew, and with strange, haunting fears,
They trembled and listened to hear it again,
When above the loud roar and the storm and the rain,
Like a wail of the lost came the heart-rending cry.
Some fainted; some stood with a wide-staring eye
And ran from the room on a rescue to start,
Whilst others sprang up with a fast beating heart,
When the crying grew faint, like a nightmare it pass’d,
But it left with the dancers the shadow it cast.
The storm was abating, the rainfall had ceased,
The terrible roar for a time had decreased,
The dancers were thoughtful and quiet at last,
And hopeful, perhaps, that the worst had now passed,
When, horrors! Again came a cry of despair,
Then louder and longer it hung in the air;
“Oh, some one is drowning,” they screamed as they flew
Through the hall and the doorway—so sure it was true—
And there in the darkness, with no moon to see by,
They found the hound howling most piteously.
That ominous sound was to them the death token;
They returned to the house, and without a word spoken
(Their feelings too awed for a word or a tear),
To sit there in silence and tremble in fear,
Till some one spoke softly of Dan and his fate;
Then Malindy grew nervous—the strain was too great—
She rose to her feet with an uncertain totter,
And weaving around till the bachelor caught her,
“How awful!” she sighed, as she fell in a swoon,
“To hear a hound howling without any moon!”
There then was confusion—the table knocked over
And likewise the chairs—but the bachelor lover
Held fast to Malindy, as all lovers should;
Malindy lay quiet—but that’s understood—
The witling ran errands and acted real nice,
While Neoma was rubbing, and all gave advice,
Or all save the Cynic, who grinned ’round the place,
Till Malindy came to, when she hid her sweet face
In the bachelor’s arms, where they left her alone,
“Come away,” cried the Cynic, “at last she is won.”
There was no more dancing throughout the dark night,
So intently they longed for the coming of light,
For danger and darkness are frightfully mated
When danger approaches where darkness has waited.
They heard the wild river loud laughing and jeering!
It mocked at their fears while it ever was nearing;
Then they huddled in groups, as do creatures when caged,
When they heard the mad monster that roared and raged—
He was coming, was coming, they knew by the sound,
He would sweep the house off of the acre of ground.
At daybreak the water was high in the barn.
They moved all the horses and cattle and corn
Near the house, and there likewise they stacked up the hay.
Thus the morning hours passed with forebodings away,
With many reproaches and bitter complaints,
That none came to rescue—and two or three faints.
If in darkness they’d longed for the coming of light,
(While regretting their folly, they’d thought of their plight),
Still the danger seemed greater that noon-day had brought,
As even that came with a new peril fraught.
For the river still rose and the horses and cattle
Stood in water to knees; ’twas in earnest a battle
For life, for the whole of the great bulk of hay
That the dancers had stacked had now floated away,
And the corn had all gone, leaving nothing to eat—
It was hard for the cattle to stand on their feet.
Some one cried, “O! look yonder—the barn is afloat!”
And sullen and black like a water-soaked boat,
They saw it sink low to its roof in the tide
Where the great hound had clambered in safety to ride.
They saw it sink low to its roof in the tide—
Where the great hound had climbed in safety to ride.
For the current was swift and the wagon had gone
That the dancers had come in as others had done
From the lot; now away swam a cow, then another—
The cattle and horses all went. “’Tis no bother
For horses and cattle to swim for the shore,”
The “Oracle” said, as he tore off a door;
And he would have jumped headlong with door in the flood,
But the men held him fast while the women all stood
There and screamed till a panicky feeling went ’round
To all that was left of the acre of ground.
They heard a shrill whistle, and help seemed at hand,
For around the great bend came the steamer Renand;
Their hearts filled with hope; to their eyes came the tear
That sprang from their joy as the steamer came near.
With frantic wild gestures, they signaled the boat;
She was coming their way, they with rapture could note.
Then another shrill whistle—a strange, startled scream.
She turned from her course and she fled down the stream
As though their loud yelling had filled her with fear—
Apast them she sped like a frightened white deer.
Ah! the tears of the sweet, pretty dancers would call
For a saint or dare-devil to rescue them all.
They could look to the hill to see daring men steer
With effort to reach them, and once they came near,
But were carried away by the rush of the tide.
And often again was it desperately tried
By many who valiantly fought with the wave,
And risked their own life, hoping others to save,
While ev’ry frail dancer stood near to the river,
Despairing at each unsuccessful endeavor.
The “Oracle” said, “Could I swim like Leander
Of Hellespont fame, I would take one and land her
On shore, then return for another, and so on,
Until every fair dancer around here was gone;
For having the courage and vigor and vim,
I wish in my heart that I knew how to swim.
But there’s no use to worry, or climb a steep hill
Till a person comes to it—you’ve heard of that—still
If I only could swim, I could quickly go through it,
Should the river still rise—I may anyway do it.”
Then he called on Peneus, he thought it was best,
As he’d often approached him when sorely distressed;
He was sure that Peneus would listen to him;
He would have him turn trouble, though hope was so dim,
To a travesty there on the acre of ground;
But the river god nowhere it seemed could be found,
(He may have been busy with some other care),
And they got no reply to the “Oracle’s” prayer;
Then the “Oracle” said he would try his own scheme;
So he stretched forth his hand and commanded the stream: