Arcadian Pan, mountain-roaming god, playmate
of the lovely nymphs, the sweet sound of the pipes
precedes you, the dancing feet of pretty maids
follow in your wake. God of shepherds and their flocks,
god of all that grows, all that is green, of woodland
and riversong, of beasts fierce and timid,
goat-footed god, with horns among your tousled hair,
fair of face and swift of stride, you roam the wild world
with a free spirit. Friend of Dionysos,
rustic one, all life’s simple pleasures are yours
to enjoy–the merry song, the outdoor feast,
the sprightly dance of country folk, all are yours,
O Pan. God of the highlands, the stony peaks
and the gentle, grassy hills, I praise and honor you.

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