Pan

This is the invocation of Pan. Enjoy.

I call to Pan, son of fleet-footed Hermes, ever in the company of vine-crowned Dionysos, cherished companion of full-hearted Rhea, playmate of the mischievous nymphs. In Arcadia were you well loved, O Pan; in sylvan groves and deep-hewn grottoes did shepherds and their sweethearts speak your name, joyously, prayerfully, lovingly; in cities and in villages your altars stood, in woodlands and in flowered fields your shrines were raised. Sweet is the sound of your pipes, O Pan, nimble the feet of the pretty maids who follow in your dance. Yours are all the country pleasures, the rustic song, the simple revel; yours too the soul-seizing dread called panic, that causeless fear that grasps and clings; yours the open heart of passion. Pan, I call to you.