KovacsParodos

Josh Kemp / ParodosForArticle
  • Created on 2023-05-25 17:52:25
  • Modified on 2023-06-20 17:53:34
  • Translated by David Kovacs
  • Aligned by Josh Kemp
David Kovacs' translation of Bacchae vv. 64-169, from the Loeb Classical Library edition of the play. ISBN 978-0-674-99601-4
Ἑλληνική Transliterate
English
https://scaife.perseus.org/reader/urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0006.tlg017.perseus-grc2:64-169/
Ἀσίας ἀπὸ γᾶς
ἱερὸν Τμῶλον ἀμείψασα θοάζω
Βρομίῳ πόνον ἡδὺν κάματόν τʼ εὐκάματον ,
Βάκχιον εὐαζομένα .
τίς ὁδῷ τίς ὁδῷ ; τίς ;
μελάθροις ἔκτοπος ἔστω , στόμα τʼ εὔφημον
ἅπας ἐξοσιούσθω ·
τὰ νομισθέντα γὰρ αἰεὶ
Διόνυσον ὑμνήσω .

μάκαρ , ὅστις εὐδαίμων
τελετὰς θεῶν εἰδὼς
βιοτὰν ἁγιστεύει καὶ
θιασεύεται ψυχὰν
ἐν ὄρεσσι βακχεύων
ὁσίοις καθαρμοῖσιν ,
τά τε ματρὸς μεγάλας ὄργια
Κυβέλας θεμιτεύων ,
ἀνὰ θύρσον τε τινάσσων ,
κισσῷ τε στεφανωθεὶς
Διόνυσον θεραπεύει .
ἴτε βάκχαι , ἴτε βάκχαι ,
Βρόμιον παῖδα θεὸν θεοῦ
Διόνυσον κατάγουσαι
Φρυγίων ἐξ ὀρέων Ἑλλάδος εἰς
εὐρυχόρους ἀγυιάς , τὸν Βρόμιον ·
ὅν
ποτʼ ἔχουσʼ ἐν ὠδίνων
λοχίαις ἀνάγκαισι
πταμένας Διὸς βροντᾶς νηδύος
ἔκβολον μάτηρ
ἔτεκεν , λιποῦσʼ αἰῶνα
κεραυνίῳ πληγᾷ ·
λοχίοις δʼ αὐτίκα νιν δέξατο
θαλάμαις Κρονίδας Ζεύς ,
κατὰ μηρῷ δὲ καλύψας
χρυσέαισιν συνερείδει
περόναις κρυπτὸν ἀφʼ Ἥρας .
ἔτεκεν δʼ , ἁνίκα Μοῖραι
τέλεσαν , ταυρόκερων θεὸν
στεφάνωσέν τε δρακόντων
στεφάνοις , ἔνθεν ἄγραν θηροτρόφον
μαινάδες ἀμφιβάλλονται
πλοκάμοις .
Σεμέλας τροφοὶ Θῆβαι ,
στεφανοῦσθε κισσῷ ·
βρύετε βρύετε χλοήρει
μίλακι καλλικάρπῳ
καὶ καταβακχιοῦσθε δρυὸς
ἐλάτας κλάδοισι ,
στικτῶν τʼ ἐνδυτὰ νεβρίδων
στέφετε λευκοτρίχων πλοκάμων
μαλλοῖς · ἀμφὶ δὲ νάρθηκας ὑβριστὰς
ὁσιοῦσθʼ · αὐτίκα γᾶ πᾶσα χορεύσει
Βρόμιος ὅστις ἄγῃ θιάσουσ
εἰς ὄρος εἰς ὄρος , ἔνθα μένει
θηλυγενὴς ὄχλος
ἀφʼ ἱστῶν παρὰ κερκίδων τʼ
οἰστρηθεὶς Διονύσῳ .
θαλάμευμα Κουρήτων
ζάθεοί τε Κρήτας
Διογενέτορες ἔναυλοι ,
ἔνθα τρικόρυθες ἄντροις
βυρσότονον κύκλωμα τόδε
μοι Κορύβαντες ηὗρον ·
βακχείᾳ δʼ ἀνὰ συντόνῳ
κέρασαν ἁδυβόᾳ Φρυγίων
αὐλῶν πνεύματι ματρός τε Ῥέας ἐς
χέρα θῆκαν , κτύπον εὐάσμασι Βακχᾶν ·
παρὰ δὲ μαινόμενοι Σάτυροι
ματέρος ἐξανύσαντο θεᾶς ,
ἐς δὲ χορεύματα
συνῆψαν τριετηρίδων ,
αἷς χαίρει Διόνυσος .
ἡδὺς ἐν ὄρεσιν , ὅταν ἐκ θιάσων δρομαίων
πέσῃ πεδόσε , νεβρίδος
ἔχων ἱερὸν ἐνδυτόν , ἀγρεύων
αἷμα τραγοκτόνον , ὠμοφάγον χάριν , ἱέμενος
ἐς ὄρεα Φρύγια , Λύδιʼ , δʼ ἔξαρχος Βρόμιος ,
εὐοἷ .
ῥεῖ δὲ γάλακτι πέδον , ῥεῖ δʼ οἴνῳ , ῥεῖ δὲ μελισσᾶν
νέκταρι .
Συρίας δʼ ὡς λιβάνου καπνὸν
Βακχεὺς ἀνέχων
πυρσώδη φλόγα πεύκας
ἐκ νάρθηκος ἀίσσει
δρόμῳ καὶ χοροῖσιν
πλανάτας ἐρεθίζων
ἰαχαῖς τʼ ἀναπάλλων ,
τρυφερόν τε πλόκαμον εἰς αἰθέρα ῥίπτων .
ἅμα δʼ εὐάσμασι τοιάδʼ ἐπιβρέμει ·
ἴτε βάκχαι ,
ἴτε βάκχαι ,
Τμώλου χρυσορόου χλιδᾷ
μέλπετε τὸν Διόνυσον
βαρυβρόμων ὑπὸ τυμπάνων ,
εὔια τὸν εὔιον ἀγαλλόμεναι θεὸν
ἐν Φρυγίαισι βοαῖς ἐνοπαῖσί τε ,
λωτὸς ὅταν εὐκέλαδος
ἱερὸς ἱερὰ παίγματα βρέμῃ , σύνοχα
φοιτάσιν εἰς ὄρος εἰς ὄρος · ἡδομένα
δʼ ἄρα , πῶλος ὅπως ἅμα ματέρι
φορβάδι , κῶλον ἄγει ταχύπουν σκιρτήμασι βάκχα .
From the land of Asia ,
leaving behind Tmolus the sacred mount , I have sped ,
toiling for Bromios a toil that is sweet
and a weariness that wearies happily ,
making ecstatic cry to the bacchic god .
Who is in the road , who is in the road ? Who
is in the palace ? Let everyone come forth ,
keeping their tongues mute in holy silence :
I shall hymn Dionysus
with the songs hallowed by use and wont !
O blessed the man who ,
happy in knowing the gods ' rites ,
makes his life pure
and joins his soul to the worshipful band ,
performing bacchic rites upon the mountains ,
with cleansings the gods approve :
he performs the sacred mysteries
of Mother Cybele of the mountains ,
and shaking the bacchic wand up and down ,
his head crowned with ivy ,
he serves Dionysus .
On bacchants , on you bacchants !
Bring the roaring
son of a god , Dionysus ,
from Phrygia ' s mountains to Hellas ' streets ,
broad for dancing ! Bring Bromios !
His mother long ago
in forced pangs of labor ,
after Zeus ' s thunderbolt had sped ,
gave birth to him untimely
as she left her life behind
under the lightning ' s stroke .
Straightway Kronos ' son Zeus
received him in birth ' s secret recesses
and concealed him in his thigh ,
closing it up with golden pins
to keep him hid from Hera .
Then , when the Fates brought him to term ,
he gave birth to the god with the horns of a bull
and crowned him with garlands of serpents :
that is why maenads catch beast-eating snakes
and drape their tresses with them .
O Thebes that nurtured Semele ,
be crowned with ivy !
Abound , abound in the green
bryony with its lovely berries ,
be consecrate as bacchant
with boughs of oak or fir ,
and deck your dappled fawnskin garments
with white strands of wool !
Wrap the violent bacchic wand
in holiness ! Forthwith the whole land shall dance ,
when Bromios leads the worshipful bands
to the mountain , to the mountain , where there rests
the throng of women ,
driven by Dionysus in madness
from their looms and shuttles .
O secret chamber of the Curetes ,
O holy haunts of Crete
where Zeus was born !
There in the cave the thrice-helmed
Corybantes invented for me this drum of tightened hide ;
and in their intense ecstatic dance
they mingled it with the sweet-hallooing breath
of Phrygian pipes and put it into the hands of Mother Rhea ,
to mark the measure for the bacchants ' ecstatic dance .
And the maddened satyrs obtained it
from the Goddess Mother
and added it to the dances
of the second-year festivals
in which Dionysus delights .
Welcome is the god when on the mountains
he leaves the coursing covens
and falls to the ground , his holy
garment of fawnskin about him , in pursuit
of the shed blood of the slain goat , the glad meal of raw
flesh ,
rushing to the mountains
of Lydia , this leader of ours , Bromios :
euhoi !
The ground runs with milk , runs with wine ,
runs with the nectar of bees .
The bacchic god holds aloft ,
fragrant as smoke from Syrian incense ,
his flaming pine torch
lit from the fennel wand and rushes on ,
now running , now dancing ,
rebuking the stragglers ,
spurring them on with joyous shouts ,
and tossing his luxuriant locks to heaven .
And midst his ecstatic cries he calls ,
" On bacchants ,
on you bacchants ,
pride of the River Tmolus that runs with gold :
sing Dionysus ' praises
to the deep-roaring drums ,
making ecstatic cries to the god of ecstasy
with Phrygian shouts and exclamations ,
when the lovely pipe
shrills , all holy , its holy songs in concert
with those who go to the mountain , to the mountain ! "
Hence in joy ,
like a colt with its grazing mother ,
the bacchant leaps and gambols on nimble legs .

( 95 ) 22% GRC
( 334 ) 78% GRC - ENG

( 577 ) 80% GRC - ENG
( 140 ) 20% ENG