Pan.
“Who weeps the death of Pan? Pan is not dead,
But loves the shepherds still; still leads the fauns
In merry dances o’er the grassy lawns,
To his own pipes; ...
Pan cannot die till Nature’s decease!
Full oft the reverent worshiper descries
His ruddy face and mischief-glancing eyes
Beneath the branches of old forest trees
That tower remote from steps of worldly men,
Or hear his laugh far echoing down the glen.”
—J. G. Saxe.
STORY.
AN ARCADIAN GOD.
Pan was god of the woods and fields, flocks and shepherds, and his favorite residence was Arcadia. He was fond of music and led the dances of the Hours and Graces.
The story goes that a coy nymph whom he loved and endeavored to gain was changed into a reed which he cut and fashioned into the Syrinx or Pan’s pipe. With this he charmed trees and flowers as well as men and animals.
“Mad with love, and laden
With immortal pain,
Pan pursued a maiden—
Pan, the god, in vain.
For when Pan had nearly
Touched her wild to plead,
She was gone—and clearly
In her place a reed!
Long the God unwilling
Through the valley strayed,
Then at last submitting,
Cut the reed and made,
Deftly fashioned seven
Pipes, and poured his pain
Unto earth and heaven
In a piercing strain.”
—Archibald Lampman.
Although Pan had a pleasant, cheerful face, he was curiously formed, having a man’s body and a goat’s legs and feet. He was supposed to delight in inspiring people with sudden and unfounded fears—hence the word panic.