This page has been validated.
DRYAD SONG
77
When the shepherds are gone from the sunset hills,
When evening is mildest in dingle and dale,
Through the hush comes a sound that enraptures and thrills,
Light wafted along on the tremulous gale:
So passionate-sweet, so wildly out-welling,
That Ladon hears it with bosom swelling.
We listen and sigh,—sigh and listen again,
For we know it is Pan by that melting strain!
We listen and sigh,—sigh and listen again,
While the lithe reeds quiver as if in pain,—
For we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan,
