Part 5 (1/2)
DIO. Swear it again.
XAN. By Zeus.
DIO. Again
XAN. By Zeus. O dear, O dear, how pale I grew to see her, But he, from fright has yellowed me all over.
DIO. Ah me, whence fall these evils on my head?
Who is the G.o.d to blame for my destruction?
Air, Zeus's chamber, or the Foot of Time?
(A flute is played behind the scenes.)
DIO. Hist!
XAN. What's the matter.
DIO. Didn't you hear it?
XAN. What?
DIO. The breath of flutes.
XAN. Aye, and a whiff of torches Breathed o'er me too; a very mystic whiff.
DIO. Then crouch we down, and mark what's going on.
CHORUS. (In the distance.) O Iacchus! O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
XAN. I have it, master: 'tis those blessed Mystics, Of whom he told us, sporting hereabouts.
They sing the Iacchus which Diagoras made.
DIO. I think so too: we had better both keep quiet And so find out exactly what it is.
(The calling forth of Iacchus.)
CHOR.
O Iacchus! power excelling, here in stately temple dwelling, O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
Come to tread this verdant level, Come to dance in mystic revel, Come whilst round thy forehead hurtles Many a wreath of fruitful myrtles, Come with wild and saucy paces Mingling in our joyous dance, Pure and holy, which embraces all the charms of all the Graces When the mystic choirs advance.
XAN. Holy and sacred queen, Demeter's daughter, O, what a jolly whiff of pork breathed o'er me!
DIO. Hist! and perchance you'll get some tripe yourself.
(The welcome to Iacchus.)
CHOR. Come, arise, from sleep awaking, come the fiery torches shaking, O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
Morning Star that s.h.i.+nest nightly.
Lo, the mead is blazing brightly, Age forgets its years and sadness, Aged knees curvet for gladness, Lift thy flas.h.i.+ng torches o'er us, Marshal all thy blameless train, Lead, O lead the way before us; lead the lovely youthful Chorus To the marshy flowery plain.
(The warning-off of the profane.)
All evil thoughts and profane be still: far hence, far hence from our choirs depart, Who knows not well what the Mystics tell, or is not holy and pure of heart; Who ne'er has the n.o.ble revelry learned, or danced the dance of the Muses high; Or shared in the Bacchic rites which old bull-eating Cratinus's words supply; Who vulgar coa.r.s.e buffoonery loves, though all untimely the jests they make; Or lives not easy and kind with all, or kindling faction forbears to slake, But fans the fire, from a base desire some pitiful gain for himself to reap; Or takes, in office, his gifts and bribes, while the city is tossed on the stormy deep; Who fort or fleet to the foe betrays; or, a vile Thorycion, s.h.i.+ps away Forbidden stores from Aegina's sh.o.r.es, to Epidaurus across the Bay Transmitting oarpads and sails and tar, that curst collector of five per cents; The knave who tries to procure supplies for the use of the enemy's armaments; The Cyclian singer who dares befoul the Lady Hecate's wayside shrine; The public speaker who once lampooned in our Bacchic feast, would, with heart malign, Keep nibbling away the Comedians' pay;-to these I utter my warning cry, I charge them once, I charge them twice, I charge them thrice, that they draw not nigh To the sacred dance of the Mystic choir. But YE, my comrades, awake the song, The night-long revels of joy and mirth which ever of right to our feast belong.
(The start of the procession.)
Advance, true hearts, advance!
On to the gladsome bowers, On to the sward, with flowers Embosomed bright!
March on with jest, and jeer, and dance, Full well ye've supped to-night.
(The processional hymn to Persephone.)