A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

First of all Pan took his fragile reeds, and as he played, the leaves on
the trees shivered, and the sleeping lilies raised their heads, and the
birds ceased their song to listen and then flew straight to their mates.
And all the beauty of the world grew more beautiful, and all its terror
grew yet more grim, and still Pan piped on, and laughed to see the
nymphs and the fauns first dance in joyousness and then tremble in fear,
and the buds to blossom, and the stags to bellow in their lordship of the
hills. When he ceased, it was as though a tensely-drawn string had
broken, and all the earth lay breathless and mute. And Pan turned
proudly to the golden-haired god who had listened as he had spoken
through the hearts of reeds to the hearts of men.
"Canst, then, make music like unto my music, Apollo?" he said.
Then Apollo, his purple robes barely hiding the perfection of his limbs,
a wreath of laurel crowning his yellow curls, looked down at Pan from
his godlike height and smiled in silence. For a moment his hand silently
played over the golden strings of his lyre, and then his finger-tips
gently touched them. And every creature there who had a soul, felt that
that soul had wings, and the wings sped them straight to Olympus. Far
away from all earth-bound creatures they flew, and dwelt in
magnificent serenity amongst the Immortals. No longer was there strife,
or any dispeace. No more was there fierce warring between the actual
and the unknown. The green fields and thick woods had faded into
nothingness, and their creatures, and the fair nymphs and dryads, and
the wild fauns and centaurs longed and fought no more, and man had
ceased to desire the impossible. Throbbing nature and passionately
desiring life faded into dust before the melody that Apollo called forth,
and when his strings had ceased to quiver and only the faintly
remembered echo of his music remained, it was as though the earth had
passed away and all things had become new.
For the space of many seconds all was silence.
Then, in low voice, Apollo asked:
"Ye who listen--who is the victor?"