Of fire across the twin-peaked mountain-plain, Flaming the darkness with his mystic wand, And great in Hellas.--List and understand, King Pentheus! Dream not thou that force is power; Nor, if thou hast a thought, and that thought sour And sick, oh, dream not thought is wisdom!--Up, Receive this God to Thebes; pour forth the cup Of sacrifice, and pray, and wreathe thy brow. Thou fearest for the damsels? Think thee now; How toucheth this the part of Dionyse To hold maids pure perforce? In them it lies, And their own hearts; and in the wildest rite Cometh no stain to her whose heart is white. Nay, mark me! Thou hast thy joy, when the Gate Stands thronged, and Pentheus' name is lifted great And high by Thebes in clamour; shall not He Rejoice in his due meed of majesty? Howbeit, this Cadmus whom thou scorn'st and I Will wear His crown, and tread His dances! Aye, Our hairs are white, yet shall that dance be trod! I will not lift mine arm to war with God For thee nor all thy words. Madness most fell Is on thee, madness wrought by some dread spell, But not by spell nor leechcraft to be cured! CHORUS Grey prophet, worthy of Phoebus is thy word, And wise in honouring Bromios, our great God. CADMUS My son, right well Teiresias points thy road. Oh, make thine habitation here with us, Not lonely, against men's uses. Hazardous Is this quick bird-like beating of thy thought Where no thought dwells.--Grant that this God be naught, Yet let that Naught be Somewhat in thy mouth; Lie boldly, and say He is! So north and south Shall marvel, how there sprang a thing divine From Semelê's flesh, and honour all our line. [_Drawing nearer to_ PENTHEUS.] Is there not blood before thine eyes even now? Our lost Actaeon's blood, whom long ago His own red hounds through yonder forest dim Tore unto death, because he vaunted him Against most holy Artemis? Oh, beware And let me wreathe thy temples. Make thy prayer With us, and walk thee humbly in God's sight. [_He makes as if to set the wreath on_ PENTHEUS _head_.]