Faith began to flicker, for want of facts to feed its flame.

Little by little the fires of devotion burnt themselves out.

At last great Pan died.

The body of the old belief was consumed.

But though it perished, its ashes preserved its form, an unsubstantial presentment of the past, to crumble in a twinkling at the touch of science, but keeping yet to the poet's eye the lifelike semblance of what once had been.