iii
Enter Chorus.
Exit Dionysus.
CHORUS
On Bacchae, on, Bacchae,
Bringing Dionysus,
- On, Bacchae -
From the Lydian hills,
To the opening streets
Of Greece,
Bringing Bromius,
- On, Bacchae -
From the lands of Asia,
And the sacred Tmolus,
I have followed the call
Of my God,
For him labor is sweet
And weariness is strength;
In his service is
The only freedom.
Let my cry resound to
Iacchos
IACCHOS!
Who is here? Who is here?
Somebody's here!
On, Bacchae
From the Lydian hills
To the opening streets
Of Greece -
Who is here? Who is here?
Who?
Somebody's here!
- Out in the street
In there in the palace -
Somebody's listening!
Let him withdraw.
Let every lip
Keep hallowed silence
I will sing
The ritual hymn
To Dionysus.
Oh,
Blessed is he,
The fortunate man
Who knows the God-
given mysteries-
And consecrates his life
In holy ritual.
Who breaks the one prison
The one soul,
And joins the holy ecstasy
Up in the mount'n
in the mount'n
Pure.
Thyrsus in hand
Crowned with ivy
Serving Dionysus.
Oh, Thebes, that gave birth to Semele,
The mother of God,
Oh, Thebes,
Now, be crowned with ivy!
Burst into flower
Burst, burst
Into flowering bryony!
Go wild!
Let wild sprays
Of fir trees
And oak,
Burst
Shoot through the stones,
Bust into flower!
Shake, shake,
Soon the whole land
Will shake, shake
And dance!
Dance round the thyrsus,
In adoration
Of its power
Brute Thyrsus
Inhuman rod!
Soon the whole land will shake
And dance,
Dionysus,
Dionysus leads the way!
Up to the mount'n!
Up to the mount'n!
Mount'n!
The mount'n
Where.
The Women of Thebes, leaving
Their looms and their weaving,
Are dancing already
Goaded by the sting
Of Dionysus!
-Oh,
What delight in the mount'n.
When from the dancing band
Swift-streaming
One falls
One flings
Himself
On the ground, warm to touch,
The holy fawnskin clinging
To the body,
And there he hunts,
He hunts for blood,
Of the slaughtered
Hill goat,
The red quick fount'n
The blessing of the raw flesh
Oh, Bromius, Bromius
On the Lydian Hills!
And the earth is flowing with milk
Flowing wine and the nectar of bees,
The air sings with the scent of myrrh
Streaming from the flame
Of the pine-torch,
Our leader brandishes,
Oh, Bromius,
Still running, EVOHI,
Still leaping,
Rousing the straggling bands,
EVOHI,
Up, up, from the ground,
Their feet
Ecstatic
The air vibrating
EVOHI,
As he shakes
His delicate tresses to the tender
wind,
Swirling,
EVOHI,
Swirling,
Calling on them:
ON, BACCHAE, ON, BACCHAE,
The Grace of Lydia,
On, Bacchae,
Bring Dionysus,
Thump your thunderous drums
Thump your thunderous drums,
EVOHI,
Bromius,
My God of Joy,
Sing your Phrygian songs
Sing your Phrygian songs
Shout!
While the melodious reeds
Shout!
While the whispering reeds,
Sing
Sacred, sacred games
Shout!
With the pulse of the feet
And the beat of the drum,
EVOHI!
In the Mount'n
Mount'n
Where every Bacchae swirls
And leaps for joy,
Like a foal at pasture,
Free!
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