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Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile!

Yet "O Gods of my land!" I cried, as each hillock

and plain,

Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again,

"Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you erewhile?

Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash

Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack!

"Oak and olive and bay, I bid you cease to enwreathe

Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot,

You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave!

Rather I hail thee, Parnes, - trust to thy wild

waste tract!

Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked

My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to

cave

No deity deigns to drape with verdure? - at least I can breathe,

Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!"

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Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar

Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the

way.

Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across:

"Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night 5 in the fosse?

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Athens to aid? Tho' the dive were thro' Erebos, thus I obey

Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge

Better!". when -ha! what was it I came on,

wonders that are?

of

There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he — majestical Pan!

Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof;

All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly the curl

Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's

awe

As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I

saw.

"Halt, Pheidippides!"-halt I did, my brain of a whirl:

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"Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?" he

gracious began:

"How is it, - Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof?

"Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast!

Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old?

Aye, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan,

trust me!

Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith

In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, 'The Goat-God saith:

When Persia

so much as strews not the soil - is

cast in the sea,

Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least,

Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the bold!'

"Say Pan saith: 'Let this, foreshowing the place, be the pledge!""

(Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear -Fennel, I grasped it a-tremble with dewwhatever it bode),

"While, as for thee . . ." gone. If I ran hitherto

But enough! He was

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Be sure that the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew.

Parnes to Athens — earth no more, the air was my

road;

Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge!

Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare!

Then spoke Miltiades. "And thee, best runner of 5 Greece,

Whose limbs did duty indeed, what gift is promised thyself?

Tell it us straightway, -Athens the mother demands of her son!"

Rosily blushed the youth: he paused: but, lifting at length

His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his strength

Into the utterance

10 thou hast done

"Pan spoke thus: 'For what

Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release

From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!'

"I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my mind!

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Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel

may grow,

Pound - Pan helping us - Persia to dust, and, under the deep,

Whelm her away forever; and then, - no Athens

to save,

Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the

brave,

Hie to my house and home: and, when my children

shall creep

Close to my knees, recount how the God was awful

Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day:

So, when Persia was dust, all cried "To Akropolis! Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due!

'Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout!" He flung down his shield,

Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field

And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through,

Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine thro' clay,

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