HKB
CHORUS (the words are not heard by PENTHEUS) Injurious King, hast thou no fear of God, Nor Cadmus, sower of the Giants' Sod, Life-spring to great Echîon and to thee?
TEIRESIAS Good words my son, come easily, when he That speaks is wise, and speaks but for the right. Else come they never! Swift are thine, and bright As though with thought, yet have no thought at all Lo this new God, whom thou dost flout withal, I cannot speak the greatness wherewith He In Hellas shall be great! Two spirits there be, Young Prince, that in man's world are first of worth. Dêmêtêr one is named; she is the Earth-- Call her which name thou will!--who feeds man's frame With sustenance of things dry. And that which came Her work to perfect, second, is the Power From Semelê born. He found the liquid show Hid in the grape. He rests man's spirit dim From grieving, when the vine exalteth him. He giveth sleep to sink the fretful day In cool forgetting. Is there any way With man's sore heart, save only to forget? Yea, being God, the blood of him is set Before the Gods in sacrifice, that we For his sake may be blest.--And so, to thee, That fable shames him, how this God was knit Into God's flesh? Nay, learn the truth of it Cleared from the false.--When from that deadly light Zeus saved the babe, and up to Olympus' height Raised him, and Hera's wrath would cast him thence Then Zeus devised him a divine defence. A fragment of the world-encircling fire He rent apart, and wrought to his desire Of shape and hue, in the image of the child, And gave to Hera's rage. And so, beguiled By change and passing time, this tale was born, How the babe-god was hidden in the torn Flesh of his sire. He hath no shame thereby. A prophet is he likewise. Prophecy Cleaves to all frenzy, but beyond all else To frenzy of prayer. Then in us verily dwells The God himself, and speaks the thing to be. Yea, and of Ares' realm a part hath he. When mortal armies, mailêd and arrayed, Have in strange fear, or ever blade met blade, Fled maddened, 'tis this God hath palsied them. Aye, over Delphi's rock-built diadem Thou yet shalt see him leaping with his train Of fire across the twin-peaked mountain-plain, Flaming the darkness with his mystic wand, And great in Hellas.--List and understand, King Pentheus! Dream not thou that force is power; Nor, if thou hast a thought, and that thought sour And sick, oh, dream not thought is wisdom!--Up, Receive this God to Thebes; pour forth the cup Of sacrifice, and pray, and wreathe thy brow. Thou fearest for the damsels? Think thee now; How toucheth this the part of Dionyse To hold maids pure perforce? In them it lies, And their own hearts; and in the wildest rite Cometh no stain to her whose heart is white. Nay, mark me! Thou hast thy joy, when the Gate Stands thronged, and Pentheus' name is lifted great And high by Thebes in clamour; shall not He Rejoice in his due meed of majesty? Howbeit, this Cadmus whom thou scorn'st and I Will wear His crown, and tread His dances! Aye, Our hairs are white, yet shall that dance be trod! I will not lift mine arm to war with God For thee nor all thy words. Madness most fell Is on thee, madness wrought by some dread spell, But not by spell nor leechcraft to be cured!
CHORUS Grey prophet, worthy of Phoebus is thy word, And wise in honouring Bromios, our great God.