And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirits melancholy And eternitys despair; And they heard the words it said, Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!1
The growing drama has outgrown such toys Of simulated stature, face, and speech: It also peradventure may outgrow The simulation of the painted scene, Boards, actors, prompters, gaslight, and costume, And take for a worthier stage the soul itself, Its shifting fancies and celestial lights, With all its grand orchestral silences To keep the pauses of its rhythmic sounds.
Earths crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God;3 And only he who sees takes off his shoes; The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
Aurora Leigh. Book vii.
Note 1. Thamus uttered with a loud voice his message, The great Pan is dead.Plutarch: Why the Oracles cease to give Answers. [back]
Note 2. See Montgomery, page 497. Prayer is the souls sincere desire. [back]