HOMERIC HYMN: TO PAN by ANONYMOUS

MUSE, tell of Pan, the dear seed of Hermes, that shows
goat-hooves and horns, the lover of noise, as he goes
through wooded glades with Nymphs who dance all the way:
sheer on the edge of the cliff they entwine and sway,
calling on Pan, the god of the shepherds, whose hair
is long and unkempt, who owns for his mountain-lair
ridges and scarps of rock and crests of snow.
Through tangled thickets he wanders to and fro.
Now by the murmuring stream englamoured he lags,
and now climbs up and away through towering crags,
for the topmost rocks, to look down on the pasturing flocks.

Often up glistening mountains his wandering leads;
often on shouldered hills in the chase he speeds
with arrowy eyes; and only at dusk, as he strays
home from the hunting, sweetly and lowly he plays
on his pipes of reed. No song so lovely is heard
even when spring has heaped the flowers and the bird
of sorrow among the leaves pours honey of song.
Then round him clear-voiced Nymphs of the mountain throng;
nimbly they circle about the dark-bubbling spring,
and Echo sobs above in the crags as they sing.

Pan moves around the choirs, then sidles in
and dances sprightly amid them. The tawny skin
of a lynx he wears on his back, and he loves the cry
of soaring song in soft meadows where hyacinths lie
fragrantly mingled in grass with the crocus-flowers.

They sing of the gods and their blessed Olympian hours.
Of Hermes they chiefly tell. All luck he brings
and carries the word of the gods by speed of his wings.
To Arcadia, mother of flocks, a fountaining land,
he came, to Cyllene's close, where his altars stand.
There, though a god, a farmer's curly-fleeced sheep
he tended. For love in his heart grew lush and deep;
the rich-haired daughter of Dryops he longed to enjoy,
and so they were merrily wedded; a darling boy
she bore him -- a boy who from birth was a marvellous sight
with his hooves and his horns, his chuckling noise and delight.
When the nurse beheld him, she leaped to her feet and feared;
she fled away from his face uncouth with its beard.
Then Hermes, the bringer of luck, accepted and raised
the boy from the ground, and was filled with joy as he gazed.
Straight to the home of the gods he carried with care
his son wrapped snug in pelts of the mountain-hare.
He set him down near Zeus and the others, who smiled
with pleasure to see the ways of the marvellous child,
and Dionysus in chief. They decided to call
the newcomer @3Pan@1 because he had charmed them @3All@1.

I sing for your favour, Lord. All hail, I say.
I'll remember you with a song another day.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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