Note 720 — Chapter III
W. (William) Falconer translation
The literal translation has been preserved in the text for the sake of the argument. The following is Potter’s translation, in which, however, great liberty is taken with the original.
“To whom the mysteries of the gods are known, By these his life he sanctifies, And, deep imbibed their chaste and cleaning lore, Hallows his soul for converse with the skies. Enraptur’d ranging the wild mountains o’er, The mighty mother’s orgies leading, He his head with ivy shading, His light spear wreath’d with ivy twine, To Bacchus holds the rites divine. Haste then, ye Bacchæ, haste, Attend your god, the son of heaven’s high king. From Phrygia’s mountains wild and waste To beauteous-structur’d Greece your Bacchus bring ******** O ye Curetes, friendly band, You, the blest natives of Crete’s sacred land, Who tread those groves, which, dark’ning round, O’er infant Jove their shelt’ring branches spread, The Corybantes in their caves profound, The triple crest high waving on their head, This timbrel framed, whilst clear and high Swelled the Bacchic symphony. The Phrygian pipe attemp’ring sweet, Their voices to respondence meet, And placed in Rhea’s hands. The frantic satyrs to the rites advance, The Bacchæ join the festive bands, And raptur’d lead the Trieteric dance.”