- Into my loneliness comes—
- The sound of a flute in dim groves that haunt the uttermost hills.
- Even from the brave river they reach to the edge of the wilderness.
- And I behold Pan.
- The snows are eternal above, above—
- And their perfume smokes upward into the nostrils of the stars.
- But what have I to do with these?
- To me only the distant flute, the abiding vision of Pan.
- On all sides Pan to the eye, to the ear;
- The perfume of Pan pervading, the taste of him utterly filling my mouth, so that the tongue breaks forth into a weird and monstrous speech.
- The embrace of him intense on every centre of pain and pleasure.
- The sixth interior sense aflame with the inmost self of Him,
- Myself flung down the precipice of being
- Even to the abyss, annihilation.
- An end to loneliness, as to all.
- Pan! Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan!
“ARCADIA, night, a cloud, Pan, and the moon.” What words
to conjure with, what five shouts to slay the five senses, and
set a leaping flame of emerald and silver dancing about us as
we yell them forth under the oaks and over the rocks and
myrtle of the hill-side. “Bruised to the breast of Pan”—
let us flee church, and chapel, and meeting-room; let us
abandon this mantle of order, and leap back to the heaths,
and the marshes, and the hills; back to the woods, and the
glades of night! back to the old gods, and the ruddy lips
How the torches splutter in the storm, pressing warm
kisses of gold on the gnarled and knotted trunks of the beech
trees! How the fumigation from musk and myrrh whirls
up in anaromatic cloud from the glowing censer!—how for a
time it greedily clings to the branches, and then is wafted to
the stars! Look!—as we invoke them, how they gather
round us, these Spirit of Love and of Life, of Passion, of
Strength, and of Abandon—these sinews of the manhood of
O mystery of mysteries! “For each one of the Gods is in
all, and all are in each, being ineffably united to each other
and to God; because each, being a super-essential unity, their
conjunction with each other is a union of unities.” Hence
each is all; thus Nature squanders the gold and silver of our
understanding, till in panic frenzy we beat our head on the
storm-washed boulders and the blasted trunks, and shout
forth, “Io … Io … Io … Evoe! Io … Io!” till the glades
thrill as with the music of syrinx an sistrum, and our souls are
rent asunder on the flaming horns of Pan.
Homeric Hymn to Pan
Muse, tell me about Pan, the dear son of Hermes, with his goat’s feet and two horns — a lover of merry noise. Through wooded glades he wanders with dancing nymphs who foot it on some sheer cliff’s edge, calling upon Pan, the shepherd-god, long- haired, unkempt. He has every snowy crest and the mountain peaks and rocky crests for his domain; hither and thither he goes through the close thickets, now lured by soft streams, and now he presses on amongst towering crags and climbs up to the highest peak that overlooks the flocks. Often he courses through the glistening high mountains, and often on the shouldered hills he speeds along slaying wild beasts, this keen-eyed god. Only at evening, as he returns from the chase, he sounds his note, playing sweet and low on his pipes of reed: not even she could excel him in melody — that bird who in flower-laden spring pouring forth her lament utters honey-voiced song amid the leaves. At that hour the clear-voiced nymphs are with him and move with nimble feet, singing by some spring of dark water, while Echo wails about the mountain-top, and the god on this side or on that of the choirs, or at times sidling into the midst, plies it nimbly with his feet. On his back he wears a spotted lynx-pelt, and he delights in high-pitched songs in a soft meadow where crocuses and sweet-smelling hyacinths bloom at random in the grass.
They sing of the blessed gods and high Olympus and choose to tell of such an one as luck-bringing Hermes above the rest, how he is the swift messenger of all the gods, and how he came to Arcadia, the land of many springs and mother of flocks, there where his sacred place is as god fo Cyllene. For there, though a god, he used to tend curly-fleeced sheep in the service of a mortal man, because there fell on him and waxed strong melting desire to wed the rich-tressed daughter of Dryops, and there be brought about the merry marriage. And in the house she bare Hermes a dear son who from his birth was marvellous to look upon, with goat’s feet and two horns — a noisy, merry-laughing child. But when the nurse saw his uncouth face and full beard, she was afraid and sprang up and fled and left the child. Then luck-bringing Hermes received him and took him in his arms: very glad in his heart was the god. And he went quickly to the abodes of the deathless gods, carrying the son wrapped in warm skins of mountain hares, and set him down beside Zeus and showed him to the rest of the gods. Then all the immortals were glad in heart and Bacchie Dionysus in especial; and they called the boy Pan because he delighted all their hearts.
Art: Brian Froud
PROLOGUE OF THE UNBORN via LIBER LIBERI VEL LAPIDIS LAZULI ADUMBRATIOKABBALÆ ÆGYPTIORUM (Crowley)