Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/402

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O trance of rapture, when, reeling aside

From the Bacchanal rout o'er the mountains flying,

One sinks to the earth, and the fawn's flecked hide

Covers him lying

With its sacred vesture, wherein he hath chased

The goat to the death for its blood—for the taste

Of the feast raw-reeking, when over the hill

Of Phrygia, of Lydia, the wild feet haste,

And the Clamour-king leads, and our hearts he thrills

"Evoë!" crying!

Flowing with milk is the ground, and with wine is it flowing, and flowing

Nectar of bees; and a smoke as of incense of Araby soars;

And the Bacchanal, lifting the flame of the brand of the pine ruddy-glowing,

Waveth it wide, and with shouts, from the point of the wand as it pours,

Challengeth revellers straying, on-racing, on-dancing, and throwing

Loose to the breezes his curls, while clear through the chorus that roars

Cleaveth his shout,—"On, Bacchanal-rout,

On, Bacchanal maidens, ye glory of Tmolus the hill gold-welling,

Blend the acclaim of your chant with the timbrels thunder-knelling,

Glad-pealing the glad God's praises out

With Phrygian cries and the voice of singing,

When upsoareth the sound of the melody-fountain,