His gifts deposit. Yet, O son of May, "There are three Fates, three virgin Sisters, who, Its circling skirts-from these I have learned true My father cared not. Whilst they search out dooms, “They, having eaten the fresh honey, grow I give ;-if you inquire, they will not stutter; "Take these and the fierce oxen, Maia's child- Thus King Apollo loved the child of May In truth, and Jove covered them with love and joy. Hermes with Gods and men even from that day Mingled, and wrought the latter much annoy, And little profit, going far astray Through the dun night. Farewell, delightful Boy, Of Jove and Maia sprung,-never by me, Nor thou, nor other songs, shall unremembered be. Silenus. O BACCHUS, what a world of toil, both now And ere these limbs were overworn with age, Have I endured for thee! First, when thou filed'st By the strange madness Juno sent upon thee; Then in the battle of the sons of Earth, When I stood foot by foot close to thy side, No unpropitious fellow combatant, And, driving through his shield my winged spear, Is it a dream of which I speak to thee? By Jove it is not, for you have the trophies! And now I suffer more than all before; A tedious voyage for you, I put to sea With all my children quaint in search of you, Of Bacchic sports, sweet dance and melody, We keep this lawless giant's wandering flocka. My sons indeed, on far declivities, Young things themselves, tend on the youngling sheep, But I remain to fill the water casks, Or sweeping the hard floor, or ministering To the fell Cyclops. I am wearied of it! CHORUS OF SATYRS. STROPHE. Where has he of race divine Here the air is calm and fine Wild, seditious, rambling! An Iacchic melody EPODE.* To the golden Aphrodite Seeking her and her delight With the Mænads, whose white feet In these wretched goat-skins clad, Far from thy delights and thee. The Antistrophe is omitted. Sil. Be silent, sons; command the slaves to drive The gathered flocks into the rock-roofed cave. Chorus. Go But what needs this serious haste, O father? Sil. I see a Greek ship's boat upon the coast, And thence the rowers with some general Hang empty vessels, as they wanted food, And water-flasks.-O miserable strangers! Whence come they, that they know not what and who My master is, approaching in ill hour The inhospitable roof of Polypheme, And the Cyclopian jaw-bone, man-destroying? Be silent, Satyrs, while I ask and hear, Ulys. Friends, can you show me some clear water spring, The remedy of our thirst? Will any one Furnish with food seamen in want of it? Ha! what is this? We seems to be arrived This sportive band of Satyrs near the caves. O Stranger! Tell thy country and thy race. Sil. Oh! I know the man, Wordy and shrewd, the son of Sisyphus. Ulys. I am the same, but do not rail upon me.- Ulys. From Ilion, and from the Trojan toils. Sil. How, touched you not at your paternal shore? Ulys. Where you then driven here by stress of wea |