ith pipe and flute the rustic Pan
Of old made music sweet for man;
And wonder hushed the warbling bird,
And closer drew the calm-eyed herd,—
The rolling river slowlier ran.
Ah! would,—ah! would, a little span,
Some air of Arcady could fan
This age of ours, too seldom stirred
With pipe and flute!
But now for gold we plot and plan;
And, from Beersheba unto Dan,
Apollo´s self might pass unheard,
Or find the night-jar´s note preferred;—
Not so it fared, when time began,
With pipe and flute!
ith pipe and flute the rustic Pan 
