And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
read more

And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
And eternity's despair!
And they heart the words it said--
Pan is dead! great Pan is dead!
Pan, Pan is dead!

Some thoughtlessly proclaim the Muses nine:
A tenth is Sappho, maid divine.

Some thoughtlessly proclaim the Muses nine:
A tenth is Sappho, maid divine.

Though men determine, the gods doo dispose: and oft times many
things fall out betweene the cup and the read more

Though men determine, the gods doo dispose: and oft times many
things fall out betweene the cup and the lip.

Speak of the gods as they are.

Speak of the gods as they are.

The Graces, three erewhile, are three no more;
A fourth is come with perfume sprinkled o'er.
'Tis read more

The Graces, three erewhile, are three no more;
A fourth is come with perfume sprinkled o'er.
'Tis Berenice blest and fair; were she
Away the Graces would no Graces be.

The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted
from us the gracious favor of the read more

The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted
from us the gracious favor of the gods.
[Lat., Omnia fanda, nefanda, malo permista furore,
Justificam nobis mentem avertere deorum.]

Yet verily these issues lie on the lap of the gods.

Yet verily these issues lie on the lap of the gods.

Say, Bacchus, why so placid? What can there be
In commune held by Pallas and by thee?
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Say, Bacchus, why so placid? What can there be
In commune held by Pallas and by thee?
Her pleasure is in darts and battles; thine
In joyous feasts and draughts of rosy wine.

I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.

I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.