Wings, lived her earliest years out among the white dovecotes. With altered shape, your lower limbs covered with scales, swam in the waters, She should tell (since she knew very many), and hesitated whether to tell This false religion, let us, restrained by Pallas,Ī truer goddess, lighten the useful work of our hands, and take turns in recallingĪ story to our idle minds, so that the time will not seem so long! Her sistersĪre pleased with this, and beg her to begin first. ‘While the others are leaving their work, and thronging to Then one of them, Arsippe, speaks, spinning the thread lightly
Their looms, and plying their servants with work. Out strands of wool, twisting the threads with their fingers, or staying at
With the untimely arts of Minerva, drawing Only the daughters of Minyas remain inside, disturbing the festival, Gentle’ and they celebrate the rites ordained. Voices, hands beating on tambourines, the clash of cymbals, and the shrill Wherever you go the shouts of youths ring out, and the chorus of female Stumbling body with his staff, and clings precariously to his bent-backed Their necks, Bacchantes and Satyrs follow you, and that drunken old You yoke together two lynxes with bright reins decorating The OrientĬalls you its conqueror, as far as darkest India, dipped in the remote Ganges.Īnd Lycurgus, king of Thrace, who carried the double-headed axe, Most beautiful sight in the depths of the morning and evening sky, yourįace like a virgin’s when you stand before us without your horns. Unfading youth is yours, you boy eternal, you, the Semele’s son, Lenaeus, the planter of joy-giving vines, Nyctelius, ‘the nightcomer’, father Eleleus, of the howls, Iacchus, of the shouts, and Euhan, of the cries, and all of the other names Mothers obey, leaving their baskets and looms, and their unfinished tasks,Īnd burn incense, calling on Bacchus, on Bromius,Ĭare’, on the child of the lightning, the twice-born, the son of two mothers, That the god’s rage would be fierce if he was angered. Their hair, and carry an ivy-twined thyrsus in their hand. To drape animal skins across their breasts, free their headbands, wreathe The priest had ordered the observation of the festival, askingįor all female servants to be released from work, they and their mistresses
She is rash enough to deny that Bacchus is the son of Jupiter, and her sisters share in her impiety. Of Minyas, will not celebrate the Bacchic 2Ĭlytie is transformed into the heliotrope. 2Īrsippe tells the story of Pyramus and Thisbe.
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