CHORUS OF BACCHANALIAN WOMEN.
SCENE-BEFORE THE PALACE OF PENTHEUS AT
THIS Theban land, I Bacchus Son of Jove
Revisit: I, whom Semele, the Daughter
Of Cadmus, erst amid the lightning's blaze
Brought forth. But for a human form exchanging
That of the God, I to my native fount
Of Dircè and Ismenos' waters come,
And, of my Mother whom the thunder smote,
Behold the tomb, close to her ruin'd house,
Where th' unextinguishable flame from Heaven
Yet blazes, a memorial of the hate
Which Juno to her hapless rival bore.
My praise on Cadmus I bestow, who rear'd
A temple to his Daughter on this spot
Which no unhallow'd feet invade: its walls
I with the blushing fruitage of the vine
Have skreen'd around. But now from Lydia's fields
With gold abounding, from the Phrygian realm,
And that of Persia scorch'd by torrid suns,
Passing thro' Bactrian gates, the frozen land
Of Media, and thro' Araby the blest,
With Asia's wide-extended continent
Reaching to ocean's briny verge, where Greeks
Are intermingled with Barbarian tribes
In many a fortress, and well-peopled town
(1) Where I have led the choral dance, and 'stablish'd My rites to manifest my power divine
Among mankind I come to this the first
(1) I have here placed xixe xogus &c. and the following line, before Es de &c. on the authority of Pierson's Verisimilia: this transposition is also recommended by Dr. Musgrave in his note, and followed in bis version.
Of the Hellenian cities; here, in Thebes
First have I loudly shouted, first have worn
The hides of slaughter'd stags, and in their hands-
Bade my intrepid votaries wield the spear
With ivy bound, the thyrsus. For the Sisters
Of my own Mother, whom it least became,
Pretend that Bacchus never sprung from Jove,
But by a human paramour seduc'd,
That Semele unjustly charg'd the God
With her transgression, Cadmus having fram'd
Such stratagem: hence falsly they assert
She for this boast was by the Thunderer slain.
I therefore have expell'd them from their homes;
With frenzy smitten, on yon mount they dwell,
Now destitute of reason; I constrain'd them
T'assume the habit in my orgies worn,
And every woman of the seed of Cadmus,
Fir'd with the same delirium, I drove forth
From her abode; they with the Theban youths
Sit intermingled on the lofty rocks
Beneath you verdant pines. Yet must this city,
Tho' loth, be taught at length that to my rites
She still remains a stranger, that I plead
My Mother's cause, and to mankind appear
A God, by Jove begotten. But his throne,
And rank, hath Cadmus yielded up to Pentheus,
His Daughter's Son, who wages impious war
With me, from his libations who repels me,
Nor e'er makes mention of me in his prayers.
To him I therefore, and to every Theban
Will shew myself a God: all matters here
Well settled, then to some fresh land remove:
But if the Theban city in its wrath
With arms would from the mount my votaries drive,
Myself will lead the Mænades to battle:
I for this cause assume a mortal form,
And have cast off the semblance of a
But, O ye generous Dames, who to frequent
My orgies came from Lydian Tmolus' height,
By me selected from Barbarian tribes
My faithful comrades, hither bring those timbrels Whose well-known sound pervades the Phrygian realm, By Rhea, holy Mother, and by me
Invented, and around the regal dome
Of Pentheus marching, beat them loud, that Thebes
May all come forth and your procession view.
But with my followers to Citharon's top
Will I ascend, and view their choral rites.
Leaving the realms of Asia, and the mount
Of sacred Tiolus, most delightful toil,
Pleasing fatigue, I lead the dance prescrib'd
By Bromius, and attune my voice to chaunt
The praises of our God. But who obstructs
My path, or who at yonder portals stands?
Avaunt, and utter no unhallow'd sounds:
For as our solemn usages ordain
Will I to Bacchus ever wake the song.
Acquainted with Heaven's mystic rites,
How blest is he who, purg'd from every stain,
Glows with religious ardour, and delights
To haunt the mountains with our duteous train;
Who to the mighty Mother, yields,
To Cybele's dread orgies, honour due,
And to Bacchus' worship true,
With ivy crown'd, a thyrsus wields.
Away ye votaries of the God,
And hither lead the Son of Jove,
Who Phrygia's pathless mountains long hath trod; Mid spacious Grecian streets with transport shall he rove.
When sudden throes her entrails tore,
As wing'd from Heaven the rapid lightnings came,
The Mother an abortive infant bore,
And died o'ercome by that celestial flame :
But Jove, in such distressful state,
Did for his Son another womb supply,
And safe within his fostering thigh
Conceal him from Saturnia's hate:
At length the horned God he bore,
Form'd by the Fates with plastic care;
Who on his head a wreath of serpents wore,
The Mænades hence twine the spoils around their hair.
II. 1.
Fresh ivied Garlands shall be thine;
O Thebes, where lovely Semele was born:
Convolvulus with pliant shoots entwine,
Wield in your revelry the branches torn
From lofty oak, or verdant pine,
And of the hides of Stags a vestment wear
Conspicuous with its spotted hair.
The celebrate the rites divine
Now arm yourselves with sportive wand:
E'en things inanimate shall dance,
With Bromius, o'er yon mount, the female band, Their looms, their shuttles, left, in frantic guise advance. II. 2.
O ye Curetes, sacred race
Of happy Crete, where Jove himself was born,
And Corybantes, with terrific grace
On whose bright helms three nodding crests are worn;
your inventive skill we owe
The timbrel, to attemper whose harsh sound
Soft breath'd the Phrygian pipes around.
On Rhea first did ye bestow
That present, which the frantic crew
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