PAN AND THALASSIUS.
73
Nay,
Low down in the hot soft hollow
Too snakelike hisses thy spleen:
'O sea-stray, seed of Apollo!'
What ill hast thou heard or seen?
Say.
Man
Knows well, if he hears beside him
The snarl of thy wrath at noon,
What evil may soon betide him,
Or late, if thou smite not soon,
Pan.
Me
The sound of thy flute, that flatters
The woods as they smile and sigh,
Charmed fast as it charms thy satyrs,
Can charm no faster than I
Thee.
