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yless eyes Reproach'd him. Angrily, his temples hoar With reverend locks, the prophet shook, and said;-- "Happy for thee, if thus of light bereft, "The Bacchanalian orgies ne'er to see! "The day approaches, nor far distant now; "My sight prophetic tells,--when here will come "Bacchus new-born, of Semele the son, "Whose rites, if thou with honor due, not tend'st "In temples worthy,--scatter'd far and wide, "Thy limbs dismember'd shall the ground bestrew: "Thy blood the forests shall distain;--thy gore "Thy aunts,--nay e'en thy mother, shall pollute: "For thou such honors, as immortals claim, "Shalt to the god deny; then wilt thou find "Beneath this darkness I but see too well." Thus speaking, Echion's son the prophet push'd Harshly away; but his too faithful words Time prov'd;--the threaten'd deeds accomplish'd all. Lo! Bacchus comes, and all the country rings With joyous outcries; crowds on crowds thick swarm;-- Matrons, and wives new-wedded, mixt with men; Nobles, and commons; all the impulse bears, To join the stranger's rites. But Pentheus thus;-- "Offspring of Mars! O nation, serpent born! "What madness fills your minds? Can piercing sounds "Of brass from brass rebounding; winding horns, "And magic cheatings, then possess such power? "You whom the warlike sword, the trumpet's clang, "And battle's edge, dread bristling close with arms, "Appal not; yield ye thus to female howls; "Wine's maddening fumes; a filthy shameless crowd; "And empty cymbals? In amaze, I see, "You venerable men who plough'd the seas, "And here, a refuge for your exil'd gods, "This second Tyre have built,--without a blow, "Yield it a spoil! Ye too, robuster youths, "Of hardier age, and years more near my own;-- "Whom warlike arms, than Thyrsi more become; "And brows with helmets than with leaves comprest: "Think whence you sprang, and let the thought inspire "Your souls with all the dragon's fierceness: he Singly slew hosts: he for his fountain fell; You for your honor vanquish. He destroy'd The valiant; you th' effeminate expel; And all the glory of your sire regain. "If fate to Thebes a speedy fall decrees, "May heroes, O, ye gods! with battering force "O'erturn her walls;--may the sword rage, and flames "Crackling, devour her. Wretched though our lot; "Not criminal: our fate, though much bemoan'd, "Would need concealment not:
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