No More Learning

come into this meadow, thy favourite resting-place; come to direct the
sacred choirs of the Initiate; may a thick crown of fruit-laden myrtle
branches rest on thy head and may thy bold foot step this free and joyful
dance, taught us by the Graces--this pure, religious measure, that our
sacred choirs rehearse.

XANTHIAS. Oh! thou daughter of Demeter, both mighty and revered, what a
delicious odour of pork!

DIONYSUS. Cannot you keep still then, fellow, once you get a whiff of a
bit of tripe?

CHORUS. Brandish the flaming torches and so revive their brilliancy.
Iacchus, oh! Iacchus! bright luminary of our nocturnal Mysteries. The
meadow sparkles with a thousand fires; the aged shake off the weight of
cares and years; they have once more found limbs of steel, wherewith to
take part in thy sacred measures; and do thou, blessed deity, lead the
dances of youth upon this dewy carpet of flowers with a torch in thine
hand.

Silence, make way for our choirs, you profane and impure souls, who have
neither been present at the festivals of the noble Muses, nor ever footed
a dance in their honour, and who are not initiated into the mysterious
language of the dithyrambs of the voracious Cratinus;[426] away from here
he who applauds misplaced buffoonery. Away from here the bad citizen, who
for his private ends fans and nurses the flame of sedition, the chief who
sells himself, when his country is weathering the storms, and surrenders
either fortresses or ships; who, like Thorycion,[427] the wretched
collector of tolls, sends prohibited goods from Aegina to Epidaurus, such
as oar-leathers, sailcloth and pitch, and who secures a subsidy for a
hostile fleet,[428] or soils the statues of Hecate,[429] while he is
humming some dithyramb. Away from here, the orator who nibbles at the
salary of the poets, because he has been scouted in the ancient
solemnities of Dionysus; to all such I say, and I repeat, and I say it
again for the third time, "Make way for the choruses of the Initiate.
"
But you, raise you your voice anew; resume your nocturnal hymns as it is
meet to do at this festival.

Let each one advance boldly into the retreats of our flowery meads, let
him mingle in our dances, let him give vent to jesting, to wit and to
satire. Enough of junketing, lead forward! let our voices praise the
divine protectress[430] with ardent love, yea! praise her, who promises
to assure the welfare of this country for ever, in spite of Thorycion.

Let our hymns now be addressed to Demeter, the Queen of Harvest, the
goddess crowned with ears of corn; to her be dedicated the strains of our
divine concerts. Oh! Demeter, who presidest over the pure mysteries, help
us and protect thy choruses; far from all danger, may I continually yield
myself to sports and dancing, mingle laughter with seriousness, as is
fitting at thy festivals, and as the reward for my biting sarcasms may I
wreathe my head with the triumphal fillets. And now let our songs summon
hither the lovable goddess, who so often joins in our dances.

Oh, venerated Dionysus, who hast created such soft melodies for this
festival, come to accompany us to the goddess, show that you can traverse
a long journey without wearying. [431] Dionysus, the king of the dance,
guide my steps. 'Tis thou who, to raise a laugh and for the sake of
economy,[432] hast torn our sandals and our garments; let us bound, let
us dance at our pleasure, for we have nothing to spoil. Dionysus, king of
the dance, guide my steps. Just now I saw through a corner of my eye a
ravishing young girl, the companion of our sports; I saw the nipple of
her bosom peeping through a rent in her tunic. Dionysus, king of the
dance, guide my steps.

DIONYSUS.