I Call strong Pan, the substance of the whole,
Ethereal, marine, earthly, general soul,
Immortal fire; for all the world is thine,
And all are parts of thee, O power divine.
Come blessed Pan, whom rural haunts delight,
Come, leaping, agile, wandering, starry light;
The Hours and Seasons, wait thy high command,
And round thy throne in graceful order stand.
Goat-footed, horned, Bacchanalian Pan,
Frantic power, from whom The world began,
Whose various parts by thee inspired, combine
In endless dance and melody divine.
In thee a refuge from our fears we find,
Those fears peculiar to the human kind.
Thee shepherds, streams of water, goats rejoice,
Thou lovest the chase, and Echo's secret voice:
The sportive nymphs, thy every step attend,
And all thy works fulfill their destined end.
O all-producing power, much-famed, divine,
The world's great ruler, rich increase is thine.
All-fertile Paean, heavenly splendor pure,
In fruits rejoicing, and in caves obscure.
True serpent-horned Jove, whose dreadful rage
When roused, 'tis hard for mortals to assuage.
By thee the earth wide-bosomed deep and long,
Stands on a basis permanent and strong.
The unwearied waters of the rolling sea,
Profoundly spreading, yield to thy decree.
Old Ocean too reveres thy high command,
Whose liquid arms begirt the solid land.
The spacious air, whose nutrimental fire,
And vivid blasts, the heat of life inspire;
The lighter frame of fire, whose sparkling eye
Shines on the summit of the azure sky,
Submit alike to thee, whose general sway
All parts of matter, various formed, obey.
All nature's change thro' thy protecting care,
And all mankind thy liberal bounties share:
For these where'er dispersed thro' boundless space,
Still find thy providence support their race.
Come, Bacchanalian, blessed power draw near,
Fanatic Pan, thy humble suppliant hear,
Propitious to these holy rites attend,
And grant my life may meet a prosperous end;
Drive panic Fury too, wherever found,
From human kind, to earth's remotest bound.