Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/440

412 A twofold Thebes, our seven-gated burg!

A bull thou seem'st that leadeth on before;

And horns upon thine head have sprouted forth.

How, wast thou brute?—bull art thou verily now!

The God attends us, gracious not ere this,

Leagued with us now: now seest thou as thou shouldst.

Whose semblance bear I? Have I not the mien

Of Ino, or my mother Agavê's port?

Their very selves I seem to see in thee.

Yet, what?—this tress hath from his place escaped,

Not as I braided it beneath the coif.

Tossing it forth and back within, in whirls

Of Bacchic frenzy, I disordered it.

Nay, I, who have taken thy tire-maiden's part,

Will rearrange it. Come, hold up thine head.

Lo there—thou lay it smooth: to thee I look.

Now is thy girdle loose; thy garment's folds

Droop not below thine ankles evenly.