Another, as he catches at a cord, Misses his arms, and, tumbling overboard, With his broad fins and forky tail he laves The rising surge, and flounces in the waves. Thus all my crew transformed around the ship, Or dive below, or on the surface leap, And spout the waves, and wanton in the deep. _130 Full nineteen sailors did the ship convey, A shoal of nineteen dolphins round her play. I only in my proper shape appear, Speechless with wonder, and half dead with fear, Till Bacchus kindly bid me fear no more. With him I landed on the Chian shore, And him shall ever gratefully adore.' 'This forging slave,' says Pentheus, 'would prevail O'er our just fury by a far-fetched tale: Go, let him feel the whips, the swords, the fire, _140 And in the tortures of the rack expire.' The officious servants hurry him away, And the poor captive in a dungeon lay. But, whilst the whips and tortures are prepared. The gates fly open, of themselves unbarred; At liberty the unfettered captive stands, And flings the loosened shackles from his hands. THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS. But Penthcus, grown more furious than before, Resolved to send his messengers no more, But went himself to the distracted throng, Where high Cithæron echoed with their song. And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground, And snorts and trembles at the trumpet's sound; Transported thus he heard the frantic rout, And raved and maddened at the distant shout. A spacious circuit on the hill there stood, Level and wide, and skirted round with wood; _10 Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallowed eyes, The howling dames and mystic orgies spies. His mother sternly viewed him where he stood, And kindled into madness as she viewed: Her leafy javelin at her son she cast, And cries, 'The boar that lays our country waste! The boar, my sisters! aim the fatal dart, And strike the brindled monster to the heart.' Pentheus astonished heard the dismal sound, And sees the yelling matrons gathering round: _20 He sees, and weeps at his approaching fate, And begs for mercy, and repents too late. 'Help, help! my aunt Autonöe,' he cried; 'Remember how your own Actæon died.' Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops One stretched-out arm, the other Ino lops. In vain does Pentheus to his mother sue, And the raw bleeding stumps presents to view: His mother howled; and heedless of his prayer, Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair, _30 'And this,' she cried, 'shall be Agave's share,' When from the neck his struggling head she tore, And in her hands the ghastly visage bore, With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey; Then pulled and tore the mangled limbs away, As starting in the pangs of death it lay. Soon as the wood its leafy honours casts, Blown off and scattered by autumnal blasts, With such a sudden death lay Pentheus slain, And in a thousand pieces strowed the plain. _40