O Bacchus that dwellest in Thebes,
On whose broad and fertile glebes
Fierce warriors from the dragon’s teeth rose
Where Ismenus softly flows,
The city that Semele bare!
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
Oft has the torches’ glare
That flashes out bright in the air
Full of smoke from the pine-wood flame
Beheld thee in that place of fame,
High o’er the twin-crested mount,
Where the nymphs Corycian sport
In a joyous worshipful sort
Of Bacchanal frenzied dance,
And dart to and fro and glance
Hard by Castalia’s fount.
And Nysa’s murmuring rills
Her ivied slopes and hills
And the shore dark-mantled with green
Of the clustering vine hath seen
Thee in visible presence there.
Whence thou comest to visit the ways
Of Thebé the holy, while praise
Universal of mystic strains
And exalted “Evoe” refrains
Ring loud on the nocturnal air.
SECOND STROPHE.
The city thou holdest in highest regard,
No other such love thou showest toward
As the city of Thebes, no other
So deeply loved by thy mother,
Whom the red levin smote;
And now that her people are held
By a plague most grievous, unquelled,
Bear us aid, no longer wait,
Cross thou the groaning strait,
Or down from Parnassus float.
