The Rite of Pan
 
 

Hymn of Pan by Percy Bysshe Shelley

This address to Pan was written by the English Romantic poet Percy Shelley (1792-1822)


From the forests and highlands
    We come, we come;
From the river-girt islands,
    Where loud waves are dumb
    Listening to my sweet pipings.
The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
    The bees on the bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle bushes,
    The cicale above in the lime,
And the lizards below in the grass,
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
    Listening to my sweet pipings.


Liquid Peneus was flowing,

    And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing

    The light of the dying day,

    Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni, and the Sylvans, and the Fauns,

    And the nymphs of the woods and the waves,
To the edge of the moist river-lawns,

    And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did then attend and follow,
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,

    With envy of my sweet pipings.


I sang of the dancing stars,

    I sang of the daedal Earth,
And of Heaven -- and the giant wars,

    And Love, and Death, and Birth, --

    And then I changed my pipings, --
Singing how down the vale of Maenalus

    I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed.
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!

    It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed:
All wept, as I think both ye now would,
If envy or rage had not frozen your blood,

    At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

 

Pan and Syrinx

Mezzotint engraving by Isaac Beckett (1653-1688)

Currently owned by the National Portrait Gallery.