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Chorus
Here we have no Bromian god; no dances here, or Bacchantes thyrsus-bearing;
no roll of drums, or drops of sparkling wine by gurgling founts; nor is it now with Nymphs in Nysa I sing a song of Bacchus, Bacchus!
65
to the queen of love, in quest of whom I once sped on with Bacchantes, white of foot.
70
Dear friend, dear Bacchic god, whither art roaming alone,
waving thy auburn locks, while I, thy minister, do service to the one-eyed Cyclops, a slave and wanderer I,
75
clad in this wretched goat-skin dress, severed from thy love?
80
Here we have no Bromian god; no dances here, or Bacchantes thyrsus-bearing;
no roll of drums, or drops of sparkling wine by gurgling founts; nor is it now with Nymphs in Nysa I sing a song of Bacchus, Bacchus!
65
to the queen of love, in quest of whom I once sped on with Bacchantes, white of foot.
70
Dear friend, dear Bacchic god, whither art roaming alone,
waving thy auburn locks, while I, thy minister, do service to the one-eyed Cyclops, a slave and wanderer I,
75
clad in this wretched goat-skin dress, severed from thy love?
80
Cyclops. Euripides. London. 1891.
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