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The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus

with the Elegies of Tyrtaeus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse. To which are Added, Dissertations and Notes. By the Rev. Richard Polwhele
  

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IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-SIXTH. BACCHÆ.
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201

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-SIXTH. BACCHÆ.

The bright Agave, with her Cheeks of Snow,
And Ino, kindling with a sacred Glow,
And wild Autonoe, had resolv'd to keep
Three mystic Revels, on the Mountain-steep!
There, on a Spot wide-opening in the Grove,
They rear'd twelve verdant Altars, rudely-wove
With Branches of hoar Oak, and Ivy green,
And golden Asphodel, that shone between.
Then, while to beauteous Semele divine
Three Shrines arose—to holier Bacchus nine,
On the fresh Fabric of the leafy Spray
Their Gifts, in Honour of the God, they lay:
Mysterious Gifts, in Osier Baskets brought,
And offer'd with the Rites he lov'd and taught.

202

But Pentheus from a Rock the Rites survey'd,
Embower'd amidst a Mastick's antient Shade.
Autonoe saw, with instant Yellings flew,
And the dire Orgies of the God o'erthrew!
(Dire to the unhallow'd Glance)—‘Revenge’ (she cries)
Contagious Frenzy flashing from her Eyes!
Down—down they hurried, by fell Fury led,
Tuck'd their long Robes, and rush'd where Pentheus fled!
‘What means this Rage? what means'—he breathless cried:
‘Wretch, thou shalt feel!’ Autonoe fierce replied.
Strait in his Blood her Hands the Mother drench'd,
While roaring, like a Lioness, she wrench'd
His sunder'd Head! And Ino, as she prest
Infuriate with her Foot, the royal Breast,
His Shoulders from the writhing Body tore,
And dread Autonoe, rioting in Gore,
Seiz'd, with a horrid Howl, upon his Heart;
And ev'ry madd'ning Female snatch'd a Part,
All stain'd with Carnage, as thro' Thebes they go,
And bear not Pentheus from the Mount, but Woe!

203

Such was his Fate: And O let none presume
To tempt, with wicked Scorn, so dire a Doom;
Nor mock the God, and deem himself secure,
In Youth tho' blooming, tho' in Age mature.
For me, may I the Just—the Pious love,
And hence gain Favor in the Sight of Jove.
From such, sure Blessings to their Offspring flow;
From impious Sires, hereditary Woe!
Hail Bacchus, foster'd in the Thunderer's Thigh;
Hail Semele! And ye, who from on high
Deriv'd the Fires your righteous Rage display'd,
And gave your kindred King to Pluto's Shade.
Hail Heroines! hail! Let none your Fury blame!
Let none condemn the Gods! a God inspir'd the Flame!