When thou invok'st him 'mid thy Bacchanals.
_Dio._ Even now he is present, he beholds me now.
_Pen._ Where is he then? mine eyes perceive him not.
_Dio._ Near me: the impious eyes may not discern him.

The king relies on his superior strength.

_Dio._ Thou knowest not where thou art or what thou art.
_Pen._ Pentheus, Agave's son, my sire Echion.
_Dio._ Thou hast a name whose very sound is woe.

Dionysus is removed a prisoner to the palace of Pentheus, while the
latter retires to prepare measures against the Maenads.

CHORAL INTERLUDE II

The Chorus, addressing the landscape before them, expostulate with the
sacred stream in which the infant god was dipped for not accepting the
divinity whose mystic name is 'Twice-born.' They call upon Dionysus to
see them from Olympus, his rapt prophets at strife with dark necessity,
and, golden wand in hand, to come to their rescue against the threats
of the proud dragon-brood. They are wondering what fair land of song
may be holding their sacred leader, when cries from within put an end
to the ode. {582}

EPISODE III

In wild lyric snatches shouts are interchanged between Dionysus within
and groups of the disordered Chorus, bringing out the tumultuous
scene--the earth rocking beneath them, sounds of crashing masonry,
capitals of pillars hurled through the air; then _by the machinery of
the hemicyclium the whole scene left of the center disappears and is
replaced by a tableau representing Pentheus' palace in ruins, and the
smouldering tomb of Semele surmounted by bright flame. From the ruins
steps Dionysus, unharmed and free, the metre breaking into accelerated
rhythm_. {613}

_Dio._ O, ye Barbarian women. Thus prostrate in dismay;
Upon the earth ye've fallen! See ye not as ye may,
How Bacchus Pentheus' palace In wrath hath shaken down?
Rise up! rise up! take courage--Shake off that trembling swoon.
_Chor._ O light that goodliest shinest Over our mystic rite,
In state forlorn we saw thee--Saw with what deep affright!
_Dio._ How to despair ye yielded As I boldly entered in
To Pentheus, as if captured, into that fatal gin.
_Chor._ How could I less? Who guards us If thou shouldst come to woe?
But how wast thou delivered From thy ungodly foe?
_Dio._ Myself myself delivered With ease and effort slight.
_Chor._ Thy hands had he not bound them In halters strong and tight