Hail magnificent Pan,
half beast and half man,
drive this pestilence back
with your dancing cloven hooves,
you who sport in the hills,
and carefully watch over our flocks
except during those couple afternoon hours
when you’re napping
or rolling around in a dark, damp cave
with some bosomy Nymph
or apple-bottomed country lad.
Any who have disturbed your slumber
or crossed your path when you’re out hunting by moonlight,
know how terrifying and merciless you can be
O son of Hermes and the most excellent weaver Penelope,
you who won the glory of your name
when you marched with Bakchos beyond Bactria
and slaughtered all his foes on the battlefield,
O Hornéd Deliverer, wielder of the net and crook,
with eyes of fire and a laugh that chills,
bring deliverance to us in our time of dire need
and we shall gaily remember you always.