_Tiresias_: Neither the birds can summon up the name, 390 Who cleave the depths of heaven on fleeting wing, Nor yet the vitals plucked from living breasts. But we must seek it in another way: The murdered king himself must be recalled From realms of everlasting night, that thus, Released from Erebus, he may declare His murderer. The earth must be unsealed; 395 The pitiless divinity of Dis Must be implored, and hither brought the shades Who live beyond the Styx. Now do thou tell To whom thou giv'st the sacred embassy; For 'tis not right for thee who hold'st the reins Of government to seek the gloomy shades. _Oedipus_: O Creon, thee this task demands, to whom, As next in power, my kingdom looks for aid. 400 _Tiresias_: And while we loose the bars of deepest hell, Do ye the praises of our Bacchus tell. [_Exeunt_ Creon, Tiresias, _and_ Manto.] _The Chorus_ [_in dithyrambic strain sings in praise of_ Bacchus]: Bind ye now your flowing locks with the swaying ivy, Brandish aloft with your languishing arms the Nysaean thyrsus! O glorious light of heaven, attend the prayers 405 Which noble Thebes, thy Thebes, O beautiful Bacchus, With suppliant hands outstretched here offers thee. Turn hither thy smiling virgin face, Dispel the clouds with thy starry glance, 410 The gloomy threats of Erebus, And ravenous fate. Thee it becomes to crown thy locks with flowers of the springtime, Thee to bind thy head with the Tyrian fillet; Or with the clinging ivy, gleaming with berries, Softly to wreathe thy brow; 415 Now thy hair to unbind and spread in confusion, Now in close-drawn knot to collect and confine it; Just as when thou, fearing the wrath of Juno, Didst conceal thyself in the guise of maidens. Virgin, too, thou seemedst with golden ringlets, 420 Binding up thy robe with a saffron girdle. So the softer graces of living please thee, Robes ungirt and flowing in long profusion. When in thy golden car thou wast drawn by lions, Clad in flowing garments, the East beheld thee, 425 All the vast expanse of the Indian country, They who drink the Ganges and cleave the surface Of snowy Araxes. Seated on humble beast the old Silenus attends thee, Binding his throbbing brows with a waving garland of ivy; 430 While the wanton priests lead on the mysterious revels. And then a troop of Bassarids With dancing step conducted thee, Now ranging o'er Pangaeus' foot, And now on Thracian Pindus' top. 435 Soon, 'mid the noble dames of Thebes, A furious Maenad, the comrade of Bacchus,