“I see,” whispered Corydon. “And then, do you expect to have no human relationships as long as you live?”
Thyrsis pondered for a moment. “Did you ever read Mrs. Browning’s poem, ‘A Musical Instrument’?” he asked.
“No,” she answered.
“It’s a most beautiful poem,” he said; “and it’s hardly ever quoted or read, that I can find. It tells how the great god Pan came down by the river-bank, and cut one of the reeds to make himself a pipe. He sat there and played his music upon it—
‘Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great godPan! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies reviv’d, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river. ‘Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man. The true gods
