PAN. Tell me, ye nymphs, and tell me right, Has Daphnis passed this way? Rested he here his kidlings white? NYMPHS. Yea, Pan the Piper, yea: He passed, and on yon poplar's bark He carved a line for thee to mark: 'To Malea come, O Pan, my Pan, To Mount Psophidion; Thither go I.' PAN. Ye Nymphs, good-bye, For I must hasten on. |