DIONYSUS ELEUTHERIOS

Like a cat beside a poolMore than half afraid of it,Fishing gingerly I sitHere beside this pool of wit—Dumb as any fool!Chirrups humor in the grass;Winds of tickling laughter pass,And the world grows wise forsooth,Lets gleam amused toothSeeing in this water-glassJests that swim the depths of truth,And like fins of fishes shiverIt to fretful quirk and quiver.Ripples break and bubbles riseCatching smiles from out the skiesIn their globed eyes.Surely, surely there was neverSuch a pleasant river!Only I am out of tuneLike an icicle in June,Or a monster from the moon.Dionysus, hear my prayer!Spreading arms to the mute air,I entreat thee, fashion meOne with this gay company,One in mirth and one in songDartling their minds among.Loosener of lips and heart,Draw my sullen mouth apart.Give a gleam to guide me byAs a phare in a night-sky—Grace of tongue and warmth of eye;Give me of thy fire and dew;Give me flash of mimic art—Spice of Godhead in this brewTo pierce my fellows thru and thru.Oh, thou vintal Deity,Loose my limbs that they may flyWith this reckless revelry!Sick of sober ways am I;In this tumult I aloneAm a satyr turned to stone;Satyr—satyr—not a man!Gifts I ask not of Apollo—Wine is good and grief is hollow;I would follow after Pan;I would follow, follow, followAfter Pan!Or if he wander ways too quiet,Shepherd ways of warmth and ease,Let me taste a wilder riotIn thy mysteries—Let me quaff it, laugh it, cry it!Give me, give me, give me these—Fleet foot after those that flee,Hot veins amorous to seizeMaenads maddened by the wine,Wound with hair and wreathed with vine,Maenads stained with purple lees—Give me, give me, give me these.Only this I ask of theeDionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele!

Like a cat beside a pool

More than half afraid of it,

Fishing gingerly I sit

Here beside this pool of wit—

Dumb as any fool!

Chirrups humor in the grass;

Winds of tickling laughter pass,

And the world grows wise forsooth,

Lets gleam amused tooth

Seeing in this water-glass

Jests that swim the depths of truth,

And like fins of fishes shiver

It to fretful quirk and quiver.

Ripples break and bubbles rise

Catching smiles from out the skies

In their globed eyes.

Surely, surely there was never

Such a pleasant river!

Only I am out of tune

Like an icicle in June,

Or a monster from the moon.

Dionysus, hear my prayer!Spreading arms to the mute air,I entreat thee, fashion meOne with this gay company,One in mirth and one in songDartling their minds among.Loosener of lips and heart,Draw my sullen mouth apart.Give a gleam to guide me byAs a phare in a night-sky—Grace of tongue and warmth of eye;Give me of thy fire and dew;Give me flash of mimic art—Spice of Godhead in this brewTo pierce my fellows thru and thru.

Dionysus, hear my prayer!

Spreading arms to the mute air,

I entreat thee, fashion me

One with this gay company,

One in mirth and one in song

Dartling their minds among.

Loosener of lips and heart,

Draw my sullen mouth apart.

Give a gleam to guide me by

As a phare in a night-sky—

Grace of tongue and warmth of eye;

Give me of thy fire and dew;

Give me flash of mimic art—

Spice of Godhead in this brew

To pierce my fellows thru and thru.

Oh, thou vintal Deity,Loose my limbs that they may flyWith this reckless revelry!Sick of sober ways am I;In this tumult I aloneAm a satyr turned to stone;Satyr—satyr—not a man!Gifts I ask not of Apollo—Wine is good and grief is hollow;I would follow after Pan;I would follow, follow, followAfter Pan!Or if he wander ways too quiet,Shepherd ways of warmth and ease,Let me taste a wilder riotIn thy mysteries—Let me quaff it, laugh it, cry it!Give me, give me, give me these—Fleet foot after those that flee,Hot veins amorous to seizeMaenads maddened by the wine,Wound with hair and wreathed with vine,Maenads stained with purple lees—Give me, give me, give me these.Only this I ask of theeDionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele!

Oh, thou vintal Deity,

Loose my limbs that they may fly

With this reckless revelry!

Sick of sober ways am I;

In this tumult I alone

Am a satyr turned to stone;

Satyr—satyr—not a man!

Gifts I ask not of Apollo—

Wine is good and grief is hollow;

I would follow after Pan;

I would follow, follow, follow

After Pan!

Or if he wander ways too quiet,

Shepherd ways of warmth and ease,

Let me taste a wilder riot

In thy mysteries—

Let me quaff it, laugh it, cry it!

Give me, give me, give me these—

Fleet foot after those that flee,

Hot veins amorous to seize

Maenads maddened by the wine,

Wound with hair and wreathed with vine,

Maenads stained with purple lees—

Give me, give me, give me these.

Only this I ask of thee

Dionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele!

Lo! the God of purple pleasureHeard and hearkened to his prayer,Reft the swathed bands that bound him,From his cloak of Self unwound him,Filled him with supernal seizureThat his humor’s jewelled treasureLeaped and sparkled in the air—Till the night was bright around him.Never such a jestful fitDreamt he in his wildest wishes!Never from the pool of witHad he drawn such shining fishes!Humid flame glowed in each eyeAnd his face had changed its vesture,And his arms moved with strange gestureApt in every mimicry.With the spell of Fire and DewHe pierced his fellows thru and thru.Surely Dithyrambus pressed him!Surely the Great God possessed him!And the mystic sisters too,Oeno, Spermo, and Elais,(Who knoweth what their way is?)Surely they caressed him!He whose tongue of old was frozen—As he quaffs, with this potationDeep and deeper inspirationSeems to grow a Prophet—chosen,For he speaks by divination!Never were such fancies wovenFrom the carded thoughts of mortal.Some are mazed, and some deride him,“Lo, his wits have gone astray,What a fool he is!” they say.Others whisper (those beside him)“He hath crossed another portal—He is one whose foot is cloven.Do ye hear wild creatures beatLifted hoof and naked feetOn the quiet woodland sod?Do ye mark what mood that strain is?Hints it not the Shepherd GodWith his pipings shrill and sweet—Snubnose, Sweetwine, old Silenus,All his creatures shy and fleet?”Deeper, deeper, Fire and DewDrains he of the Wine-God’s brewCraving furthest essence—thusHeareth now another voiceTerrible and new,Luring—appalling,“Iachus! Iachus! Iachus!Wine! Wine! Wine! Rejoice!”Thru the forest calling.And the sky is red and goldenAnd the red, red stars are falling,Falling to the earth in showers.And the fresh blood-scents emboldenGold and sable leopards, sleeping,To come crawling, writhing, leaping,Over gold and purple flowers.And the autumn sun is swollenWith the sweetness he has stolenFrom the wine, and he is wine, wine-red.Come ye now with wreathed head,Come ye nowWith ivy bound on your white brow,And forgotten, forgotten be the hours!Forgotten and forgotten! Ah the night has fled away,And the wine is spilt, and the stars are gray,For the old cold dawn abashesAll the torches turned to ashes,But the feasters—where are they?Fled, the sound of pipes at last;Fled, the panting, goat-shank’d clan,And the maenad rout have passed,And the echoes caught and castDied where they began.Never, never, neverA more sombre riverFrom such springs of laughter ran!And the lucid pool of wit—What a scum has clouded it!Past each stately Parian columnDay comes, gaunt and pale and shrunkenAnd her step is very solemn.On the veined marble sunken,Reft of breath of Deity,Prone there, lies the Priest—the Chosen,Huddled, bestial, bleared and drunken—Like a body that is frozen(That such things should be!)Shape of shapeless mockeryHe had tasted all one can;He had heard the pipes of Pan;He had followed in thy vanDionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele—Satyr?—not a satyr he—a man!

Lo! the God of purple pleasure

Heard and hearkened to his prayer,

Reft the swathed bands that bound him,

From his cloak of Self unwound him,

Filled him with supernal seizure

That his humor’s jewelled treasure

Leaped and sparkled in the air—

Till the night was bright around him.

Never such a jestful fit

Dreamt he in his wildest wishes!

Never from the pool of wit

Had he drawn such shining fishes!

Humid flame glowed in each eye

And his face had changed its vesture,

And his arms moved with strange gesture

Apt in every mimicry.

With the spell of Fire and Dew

He pierced his fellows thru and thru.

Surely Dithyrambus pressed him!

Surely the Great God possessed him!And the mystic sisters too,Oeno, Spermo, and Elais,(Who knoweth what their way is?)Surely they caressed him!He whose tongue of old was frozen—As he quaffs, with this potationDeep and deeper inspirationSeems to grow a Prophet—chosen,For he speaks by divination!Never were such fancies wovenFrom the carded thoughts of mortal.Some are mazed, and some deride him,“Lo, his wits have gone astray,What a fool he is!” they say.Others whisper (those beside him)“He hath crossed another portal—He is one whose foot is cloven.Do ye hear wild creatures beatLifted hoof and naked feetOn the quiet woodland sod?Do ye mark what mood that strain is?Hints it not the Shepherd GodWith his pipings shrill and sweet—Snubnose, Sweetwine, old Silenus,All his creatures shy and fleet?”

Surely the Great God possessed him!

And the mystic sisters too,

Oeno, Spermo, and Elais,

(Who knoweth what their way is?)

Surely they caressed him!

He whose tongue of old was frozen—

As he quaffs, with this potation

Deep and deeper inspiration

Seems to grow a Prophet—chosen,

For he speaks by divination!

Never were such fancies woven

From the carded thoughts of mortal.

Some are mazed, and some deride him,

“Lo, his wits have gone astray,

What a fool he is!” they say.

Others whisper (those beside him)

“He hath crossed another portal—

He is one whose foot is cloven.

Do ye hear wild creatures beat

Lifted hoof and naked feet

On the quiet woodland sod?

Do ye mark what mood that strain is?

Hints it not the Shepherd God

With his pipings shrill and sweet—

Snubnose, Sweetwine, old Silenus,

All his creatures shy and fleet?”

Deeper, deeper, Fire and DewDrains he of the Wine-God’s brewCraving furthest essence—thusHeareth now another voiceTerrible and new,Luring—appalling,“Iachus! Iachus! Iachus!Wine! Wine! Wine! Rejoice!”Thru the forest calling.And the sky is red and goldenAnd the red, red stars are falling,Falling to the earth in showers.And the fresh blood-scents emboldenGold and sable leopards, sleeping,To come crawling, writhing, leaping,Over gold and purple flowers.And the autumn sun is swollenWith the sweetness he has stolenFrom the wine, and he is wine, wine-red.Come ye now with wreathed head,Come ye nowWith ivy bound on your white brow,And forgotten, forgotten be the hours!

Deeper, deeper, Fire and Dew

Drains he of the Wine-God’s brew

Craving furthest essence—thus

Heareth now another voice

Terrible and new,

Luring—appalling,

“Iachus! Iachus! Iachus!

Wine! Wine! Wine! Rejoice!”

Thru the forest calling.

And the sky is red and golden

And the red, red stars are falling,

Falling to the earth in showers.

And the fresh blood-scents embolden

Gold and sable leopards, sleeping,

To come crawling, writhing, leaping,

Over gold and purple flowers.

And the autumn sun is swollen

With the sweetness he has stolen

From the wine, and he is wine, wine-red.

Come ye now with wreathed head,

Come ye now

With ivy bound on your white brow,

And forgotten, forgotten be the hours!

Forgotten and forgotten! Ah the night has fled away,And the wine is spilt, and the stars are gray,For the old cold dawn abashesAll the torches turned to ashes,But the feasters—where are they?Fled, the sound of pipes at last;Fled, the panting, goat-shank’d clan,And the maenad rout have passed,And the echoes caught and castDied where they began.Never, never, neverA more sombre riverFrom such springs of laughter ran!And the lucid pool of wit—What a scum has clouded it!Past each stately Parian columnDay comes, gaunt and pale and shrunkenAnd her step is very solemn.On the veined marble sunken,Reft of breath of Deity,Prone there, lies the Priest—the Chosen,Huddled, bestial, bleared and drunken—Like a body that is frozen(That such things should be!)Shape of shapeless mockeryHe had tasted all one can;He had heard the pipes of Pan;He had followed in thy vanDionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele—Satyr?—not a satyr he—a man!

Forgotten and forgotten! Ah the night has fled away,

And the wine is spilt, and the stars are gray,

For the old cold dawn abashes

All the torches turned to ashes,

But the feasters—where are they?

Fled, the sound of pipes at last;

Fled, the panting, goat-shank’d clan,

And the maenad rout have passed,

And the echoes caught and cast

Died where they began.

Never, never, never

A more sombre river

From such springs of laughter ran!

And the lucid pool of wit—

What a scum has clouded it!

Past each stately Parian column

Day comes, gaunt and pale and shrunken

And her step is very solemn.

On the veined marble sunken,

Reft of breath of Deity,

Prone there, lies the Priest—the Chosen,

Huddled, bestial, bleared and drunken—

Like a body that is frozen

(That such things should be!)

Shape of shapeless mockery

He had tasted all one can;

He had heard the pipes of Pan;

He had followed in thy van

Dionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele—

Satyr?—not a satyr he—a man!

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