Elijah L. Armstrong is a student at Washington in St. Louis.

The Satyrs

Satyrs armed with iron staves

Parade beneath the sallow moon:

They strike the brittle branches down,

They wade thorough the brackish ponds.

Beaten hooves pound out tattoos,

Clotted fur coats legs and knees,

Nails like brown sharp callouses,

Naked sinews under hair,

Beard-wires stiff with come and blood,

Fat flapping flesh-red salty lips,

Drunk bloodshot eyes rolled back and forth,

Horns encrusted, tangled, blunted.

Peasants crouch in barred, dark hovels,

Woodsmen haste to quench their campfires;

In their terror-stricken ears

Ring chthonic chaunts, archaic songs ––

The voice of all the filthy earth.