DIONYSUS. Where shall I fly to? XANTHIAS. And I? DIONYSUS. Priest,[420] save me, that I may drink with you. XANTHIAS. Oh! mighty Heracles! we are dead men. DIONYSUS. Silence! I adjure you. Don't utter that name. XANTHIAS. Well then, we are dead men, Dionysus! DIONYSUS. That still less than the other. XANTHIAS. Keep straight on, master, here, here, this way. DIONYSUS. Well? XANTHIAS. Be at ease, all goes well and we can say with Hegelochus, "After the storm, I see the return of the _cat_."[421] The Empusa has gone. DIONYSUS. Swear it to me. XANTHIAS. By Zeus! DIONYSUS. Swear it again. XANTHIAS. By Zeus! DIONYSUS. Once more. XANTHIAS. By Zeus! DIONYSUS. Oh! my god! how white I went at the sight of the Empusa! But yonder fellow got red instead, so horribly afraid was he![422] Alas! to whom do I owe this terrible meeting? What god shall I accuse of having sought my death? Might it be "the Aether, the dwelling of Zeus," or "the wing of Time"?[423] XANTHIAS. Hist! DIONYSUS. What's the matter? XANTHIAS. Don't you hear? DIONYSUS. What then? XANTHIAS. The sound of flutes. DIONYSUS. Aye, certainly, and the wind wafts a smell of torches hither, which bespeaks the Mysteries a league away. But make no noise; let us hide ourselves and listen. CHORUS.[424] Iacchus, oh! Iacchus! Iacchus, oh! Iacchus! XANTHIAS. Master, these are the initiates, of whom Heracles spoke and who are here at their sports; they are incessantly singing of Iacchus, just like Diagoras.[425] DIONYSUS. I believe you are right, but 'tis best to keep ourselves quiet till we get better information. CHORUS. Iacchus, venerated god, hasten at our call. Iacchus, oh! Iacchus! 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.