Satyrs

Hear the satyrs calling, crying,
As the windy day is dying
O'er the rocks
And the shepherd speeds the flocks
They're eyeing!

See the satyrs leap and scramble
Thro' the briar and brake and bramble
In the glow
Of the red sun sunken low
They gambol,

Never thinking of the morrow,
Without head or heart to borrow
Any care.
Of all sadness, of all sorrow
Unaware.