Respondent each to each the sprightly song
To Bacchus rais'd. Th' unhappy Pentheus here, The female band not seeing, thus bespoke The stranger, Where I stand my searching eye Descries not their employ; let me ascend
Some pine that waves his tall top o'er yon mound, Thence might I view distinct their shameful deeds. There with amaze a wond'rous act I saw, A pine's aerial branch the stranger took, And downward drew it, drew it to the ground, Till, as one bends a bow, or curves the line That marks the rolling wheel's circumference, The stranger with his hands the mountain pine Drew down, and bent it to the earth, a deed Exceeding mortal strength: amidst the boughs He seated Pentheus, to its upright state Then let the branch with gentle motion rise, Lest the too quick and violent recoil
Should toss him from his hold: and now the tree Stood firm its upright height, and bore my lord, Seen by the Bacchæ, more than seeing them, As more conspicuous in his lofty seat.
And now the stranger was no more beheld; But from th' ethereal height a voice was heard, Of Bacchus, it should seem, calling aloud, Ye blooming females, him I bring, who held Your train, and me, and my mysterious rites In proud derision: pour your vengeance on him. He spoke, and to the sky, and to the earth Display'd a steady blaze of sacred light. The air was hush'd, through all the pastur'd grove And all its leaves a solemn silence reign'd,
Nor sound of beast was heard: the Theban dames, The voice not heard distinct, start from their seats, And roll their eyes around: again he gave The dread command: but when they clearly knew The bidding of the god, with rapid speed, Swift as the flight of doves, they forward rush'd,
Agave, and the dames of royal blood, And all the Baccha: with the god inspir'd They bounded o'er the torrent of the grove,
And up the crags; but when my lord they saw High-seated on the pine, they mount a cliff Full opposite, and at his head first hurl
What of the rock their hands could grasp: and some The broken branches of a pine tree dart:
Others aloft at his uneasy seat
The thyrsus cast, but reach'd him not, the height Beyond their aim, where my unhappy lord Astonied sate, nor had what to devise.
And now the boughs of oaks, and their tough roots Rent from the ground, nor wanted they for this Poles arm'd with iron, in a vollied storm They hurl'd: but when Agave saw their toils Wasted in vain, she cried, Haste, form a ring, And grasp the stem around, that we may seize This mounted savage; let him not divulge The secret orgies of the god: at once
A thousand hands were to the pine applied, And instant from the ground uprooted it; Pentheus, high-seated, with it from his height Came headlong to the earth, with many a groan, For mischief now he saw was nigh at hand. Agave, as the priestess of the rites,
Began the murd'rous work, and rushes on him; The mitre from his hair he rent, that known His mother might not kill him; on her cheek He plac'd his soothing hand, and suppliant said, 'Tis Pentheus, O my mother, 'tis thy son, Thine and Echion's son, who sues to thee; Have pity on me, mother, do not kill
Thy son for his offence. She foam'd with rage, Rolling her eyes askance, nor harbour'd thoughts She ought to harbour, frentic with the god, Nor listen'd to his pray'rs; but his left hand She seiz'd, and pressing on his side tore off
His shoulder, with a force not hers, the deed Made easy by the god. On th' other side Ino assisted in the dreadful work,
Rending his flesh: Autonoe hung upon him, And all the Baccha: every voice was rais'd At once; his dying breath was spent in groans; They shouted wild: one snatch'd an arm, and one A sandal'd foot, dismember'd by their force Lay the bare trunk; in their ensanguin'd hands Each hurl'd the flesh of Pentheus to and fro; His limbs were scatter'd; on the craggy rocks Some, on the close-entwined thickets some, No easy search; the miserable head
His mother, as she caught it in her hands, Fix'd on her thyrsus, o'er Citharon bears High-lifted, as some mountain lion's spoils: Leaving her sisters with the Mænades, And proud of her ill-fated prize, her steps She this way bends, on Bacchus calling loud, The partner of the chace and of the prize, The glorious conqueror, who this conquest gain'd Of tears to her. This horrid scene I fled, E'er to this house Agave should return. A modest awe and reverence of the gods I deem the most distinguish'd ornament, And wisdom's noblest height in mortal man. To Bacchus raise the choral strain, And celebrate the god for Pentheus slain. This tyrant of the dragon race,
Our hallow'd haunts to trace, Conceal'd a female stole beneath, The thyrsus shook with impious pride, The faithful wand of death,
And on his ruin rush'd, a bull his guide. Ye Theban dames, to Bacchus dear, Your god hath led the vaunting foe, His hopes of conquest vanish'd into air, To groans, to tears, to woe.
A glorious conquest, when her hand With her son's gushing blood distain'd The mother rais'd.
No more I see her; to this royal house Agave speeds, rolling her furious eyes Askance. Receive th' associate of the god.
AGAV. We from the mountains bring a new-slain prize, A glorious capture, to this royal house.
CHOR. I see it, and receive thee to our band.
AGAV. I caught him without toils, without a troop
Of hunters, this young lion: thou may'st see him.
CHOR. In what lone wild?
AGAV. My name amidst the bacchic train is fam'd:
What other dame from Cadmus
AGAV. Who, sprung from Cadmus, save myself, myself, Once touch'd this savage?
AGAV. Share then the feast.
Alas, what should I share?
AGAV. 'Tis but a whelp: beneath his shaggy head The hair yet soft begins to clothe his cheeks: This brinded mane is the rough grace, that marks The mountain savage. Bacchus to this chace, The hunter Bacchus, rous'd the Mænades, Shewing his skill.
The chace delights our king.
AGAV. Thou dost commend him.
AGAV. The Thebans soon, and Pentheus too, my son, Shall praise his mother, who this glorious prize Took gloriously, this lion-gender'd prize.
So great, so glorious, by my hand perform'd. CHOR. Shew then, unhappy, to thy citizens
Shew the proud conquest thou hast brought with thee. AGAV. You, who the beauteous-structur'd tow'rs of Thebes Inhabit, come, daughters of Cadmus, come,
And see this prize, this savage, which I caught Not grasping the Thessalian spear, nor round Spreading the toils; but with these vig❜rous arms Of snowy whiteness; this I make my boast, And the fine artist forms the spear in vain ; For with these hands I caught him, with these hands I rent the bleeding savage limb from limb. Where is my aged father? let him come: Where is my son, my Pentheus? He will fix High on the sculptur'd pillar, that supports The fretted roof, this head, the lion's spoils Which in the chace I caught, and bring with me.
CADMUS, AGAVE, CHORUS. CADM. Follow me, you that bear the wretched load Of Pentheus; my attendants, follow me; For to the house I bear his body, found With toilsome search along Citharon's heights Rent piecemeal, and the members scatter'd wide, With pain collected in the mazy wood. For as the gates I enter'd with the seer, Hoary Tiresias, of the daring deeds
Wrought by my daughters in their bacchic rage I heard; and back returning to the heights I bring my son, slain by the Mænades. The mother of Actæon there I saw,
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