Orphic Hymn XI

To Pan, Fumigation from Odours. Strong pastoral Pan, with suppliant voice I call, heaven, sea, and earth, the mighty queen of all, immortal fire; for all the world is thine, and all parts of thee, o power divine. Come, blessed Pan, whom rural haunts delight, come, leaping, agile, wandering, starry light. Throned with the Horai (Seasons), Bakkhanalian Pan, goat-footed, horned, from whom the world began; in endless dance and melody divine. In thee a refuge from our fears we find, those fears peculiar to humankind. Thee, shepherds, streams of water, goats rejoice, thou lovest the chase and Ekho’s secret voice: the sportive Nymphai thy every step attend, and all thy works fulfil their destined end. O all-producing power, much-famed, divine, the world’s great ruler, rich increase is thine. All-fertile Paian, heavenly splendour pure, in fruits rejoicing, and in caves obscure. True serpent-horned Zeus, 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 Okeanos, too, reveres thy high command, whose liquid arms begird 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 natures change through thy protecting are, and all mankind thy liberal bounties share; for these, wherever dispersed through boundless space, still find thy providence support their race. Come, Bakkhanalian, blessed power, draw near, enthusiastic Pan, thy suppliants hear, propitious to these holy rites attend, and grant our lives may meet a prosperous end; drive panic fury too, wherever found, from humankind to earth’s remotest bound.