SATURNALIA

In distant Graecia, in far yonder time 

Where ivy o’er the ruined pillars climb, 

Where grape and olive trellis’d o’er the vine, 

Where oil, mix’d, wrought debauchery with wine, 

Where man met god, and deity met man 

Where grinning satyrs play’d the pipes of Pan: 

 

Dwelt LAMIA, serpent-terror of earth’s bow’r, 

Commanding all in subject to her pow’r. 

Her latest? ‘Twas her majesty in art 

Directing all, in fullness or in part, 

In winter’s season, such as we call Yule, 

The noble should be intermix’d with fool. 

          The world, indeed, be turnèd upside-down: 

                    The pauper should soon wear the kingly crown! 

          The crassest o’er the earth would hold their sway, 

                    The nobler kind would rue this wretched day. 

 

A festal-triumph Lamia’d quick prepare, 

Unto a pleasure-place should all repair 

To celebrate this feast in highest mirth, 

Ere Janus brought his New Year to the earth. 

 

See! King and Priest alike bend to her will, 

Their concubines, indeed, should have their fill 

Of the repast, which, to all’s delight, 

Would last three days ere ending in the night: 

          Gold and silver to be freely spill’d, 

                    Any act, to gratify the will, 

          The basest and the beast to fast emerge 

                    And self-professèd Honour quick to purge. 

 

Virtue, flee! Let Vice now quick commend 

All of Hellas to its favour’d end. 

Behold the feast! Where each, amidst the other 

Made quick work, all with still another: 

The pleasur’d groans amidst the darken’d hall 

Describe (in short) this am’rous festival. 

 

Yet – in shadow beyond debauch’d repast, 

Emerges Pan! (Io, Saturnia! Him we see at last): 

And now, on reedling flute begins to play 

A secret song, which brings a darken’d day: 

          A death’s-head, grinning, descendeth from the sky 

                    Declaring Saturn’s majesty on high, 

          A silver scythe emerges from the gloom: 

                    A wraithlike King obliterates the room! 

 

From distant Hellas, since that day was past, 

Recall we Lamia’s presence at the last 

Cold month of year. When all lies in the tomb, 

Our Yule we keep, amidst the furrow’d gloom; 

 

With light and warmth we this truth deny 

Though fear we, trembling, the power from on high, 

Resound our Yule-tide hymns with darker strain: 

For SATURN’S Court returns to earth again!