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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 !

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“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

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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!”

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

a bar

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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

in the fosse ? 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, of

wonders that are ?

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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?

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"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 !'

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“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 dew

whatever it bode), “While, as for thee ...” But enough! He was

gone. If I ran hitherto

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 !

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Then spoke Miltiades. “And thee, best runner of

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 - "Pan spoke thus: "For what

thou hast done Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed

thee release From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or

in pelf!'

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"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

yet kind, Promised their sire reward to the full — rewarding

him -- so !"

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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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