New Zealand Verse/Pan
CXLIV.
Pan.
Down a west-sloping valley, by a pool
O’er-gilded by the dying summer day,
Piping alone among the sighing reeds,
Mourning for Syrinx by the water-side,
Sat Pan, alone; soft on the evening breeze,
His low-blown music fluted down the vale.
The trees, the rocks, all Nature heard the sound,
And guessed the words he dare not speak aloud.
O’er-gilded by the dying summer day,
Piping alone among the sighing reeds,
Mourning for Syrinx by the water-side,
Sat Pan, alone; soft on the evening breeze,
His low-blown music fluted down the vale.
The trees, the rocks, all Nature heard the sound,
And guessed the words he dare not speak aloud.
“O, cruel nymph, why didst thou flee from me,
Who loved thee with the love thou didst not know,
Who love thee still, though thou art gone from me?
Long did I seek thee through the dark, sweet shades
Where hidden violets, in this ancient wood,
With sweet, fresh fragrance fill the dewy air,
Till, last, I found thee in the mournful reeds
That shiver coldly round this woodland pool.
And now I sit alone among those reeds,
And think of thee departed.”
Here the strains
Ceased, and the last notes floated down the vale
Towards the pale-green west, and fresher blew,
Athwart the fragrance of that ancient wood,
The evening breeze, and stirred the hollow reeds,
Making a rustling whisper through the air—
Lost Syrinx’s voice—“I prayed unto the Gods
To save me, and they saved me,” and again
“Farewell.” At this uprose the woodland god
And passed away among the shadowy glades
Down to the western plain. And the pale light
Died in the west, and night fell on the pool.
Who loved thee with the love thou didst not know,
Who love thee still, though thou art gone from me?
Long did I seek thee through the dark, sweet shades
Where hidden violets, in this ancient wood,
With sweet, fresh fragrance fill the dewy air,
Till, last, I found thee in the mournful reeds
That shiver coldly round this woodland pool.
And now I sit alone among those reeds,
And think of thee departed.”
Here the strains
Ceased, and the last notes floated down the vale
Towards the pale-green west, and fresher blew,
Athwart the fragrance of that ancient wood,
The evening breeze, and stirred the hollow reeds,
Making a rustling whisper through the air—
Lost Syrinx’s voice—“I prayed unto the Gods
To save me, and they saved me,” and again
“Farewell.” At this uprose the woodland god
And passed away among the shadowy glades
Down to the western plain. And the pale light
Died in the west, and night fell on the pool.