Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine,
Are portions of one power, which is mine.

V

I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven,
Then with unwilling steps I wander down
Into the clouds of the Atlantic even;

For grief that I depart they weep and frown:
What look is more delightful than the smile
With which I soothe them from the western isle?

I am the

VI

eye with which the Universe Beholds itself and knows itself divine; All harmony of instrument or verse,

All prophecy, all medicine are mine,

All light of art or nature; -to my song,
Victory and praise in their own right belong.

HYMN OF PAN

I

FROM the forests and highlands

We come, we come;

From the river-girt islands,

Where loud waves are dumb

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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.

II

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 Sylvans, and Fauns,

And the Nymphs of the woods and 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.

III

I sang of the dancing stars,

I sang of the dædal 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 Menalus
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 age had not frozen your blood,
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

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The downward ravine

Which slopes to the western gleams:
And gliding and springing

She went, ever singing,
In murmurs as soft as sleep;

The earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep.

II

Then Alpheus bold,

On his glacier cold,

With his trident the mountains strook

And opened a chasm

In the rocks; — with the spasm

All Erymanthus shook.

And the black south wind

It concealed behind

The urns of the silent snow,

And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder

The bars of the springs below;

The beard and the hair

Of the River-god were

Seen through the torrent's sweep,

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As he followed the light

Of the fleet nymph's flight To the brink of the Dorian deep.

III

"Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,

For he grasps me now by the hair!”
The loud Ocean heard,

To its blue depth stirred,

And divided at her prayer;
And under the water

The Earth's white daughter

Fled like a sunny beam;

Behind her descended

Her billows, unblended

With the brackish Dorian stream:

Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main

Alpheus rushed behind, -
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin

Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

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