Give ear--give ear!
From yonder grove in sudden gusts there comes
A sound of flutes, of cymbals and of drums;
And now I hear
Wild cries of Mænads who, with ivy crowned,
Toss their mad heads and whirl and leap and bound,
Brandishing snakes; while, in voluptuous fear,
The pale ecstatic votaries press around.
Whirl faster still,
Ye fierce flushed Mænads, lither than the asp,
Or gleaming adder writhing in your grasp!
The wild flutes fill
The air with madness! Let the hot shift slip,
And show the panting breast, the glistening hip!
Dance ever faster, though the dance should kill!
Whirl on, with flaming eye and quivering lip!
I come, I come,
O Cybele, great Cybele, that hast
Thy chief throne here, I come to thee at last!
From my far home
I bring at last to thy deep rustling grove
The wild pent fire that in my bosom strove;
I come to lift thy praise to heaven’s dome;
Perchance to die, on tasting thy dread love.