XCIV THE MENADES

THROUGH the forests that dominate the sea, the Menades are rushing. Maskale, with hot breasts, shrieks, brandishing the phallos of sycamore smeared with vermilion.

All, under their bassaris skins and their crowns of vine branches, run and cry and leap, the crotales clapping in their hands, and the thyrses cracking the skins of the resounding drums.

With wetted hair, agile legs, reddened and pushing breasts, sweating cheeks, foaming lips, O Dionysos, they offer thee, in return, the love thou hast cast within them.

And the wind of the sea lifts toward the sky the ruddy hair of Helikomis, twisting it like a furious flame upon a torch of white wax.