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The Centaur and the Satyr
A CENTAUR sad, with dappled flank.
Sat on a shady lawn.
Beside him, on a mossy bank,
A Satyr, tipped with horn.
"Cheer up! cheer up!" the Satyr cried.
"Why, man, you have a horse to ride!"
The Centaur groaned ere he replied.
And spoke these words forlorn:
"A horse, you say; oh, best of friends,
That one thing is my curse!
We all are, shaped to diverse ends,
But mine are too diverse!
Why, in the great Creator's course.
Should one end be the other's loss?
But half a man! not quite a horse!
Could anything be worse?
"If dual nature is the game,
Why not combine in one
Two natures with a common aim,
Instead of two which shun?
Why give me human heart and mind,
With human longings, cold or kind,
While this infernal part behind
Keeps kicking up for fun?"
He ceased, and with his human hands
He beat his equine breast.
The Satyr smiled, as one who stands
'Twixt pity and a jest.
"If company in woe you seek,
Be sure, old horse, you're not unique,—
A fact which you, absorbed in pique,
Have never even guessed.
"Observe with care my cloven hoof;
Imagine my disgust
When well-bred people hold aloof.
As they've been told they must.
All, all in vain my human things,
My light tan gloves, my finger-rings,
For from the days of Grecian kings
The hoof has caused distrust.
"Why, when I think of all the cuffs
Bought for my better half.
Only to purchase me rebuffs,
It almost makes me laugh.
Don't think, dear Dobbin, that I gloat
To find us in the selfsame boat.
The horse is on you, I'm the goat,
And we must both eat chaff."
