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60. The foam of the grape is like the storm upon the sen: the ships tremble and rhudder; the shipnuster is ﬂuid.

61. That is thy drunkenness, 0 holy one, and the winds whirl away the soul of the scribe into the hlppy haven.

61. 0 Lord God! let the havenbe cast down by the fury of the storm! Let the foam of the grape tincture my soul with Thy light!

63. Bacchus grew old, and was Silenus; Pan wns ever Fan for ever and ever more through- out the aeons.

64. Inmxibate the inmost, 0 my lover, not the outermost!

65. So we: it—ever the same! I have aimed at the peeled wand of my God, and I have hit; yea. I have hit.