BuckleyParodos
Josh Kemp / ParodosForArticle
- Created on 2023-05-26 17:07:06
- Modified on 2023-06-20 18:03:08
- Translated by Theodore Alois Buckley
- Aligned by Josh Kemp
Buckley with a corrected Greek text.
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 . ὦ 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 . ὦ Σεμέλας τροφοὶ Θῆβαι , στεφανοῦσθε κισσῷ · βρύετε βρύετε χλοήρει μίλακι καλλικάρπῳ καὶ καταβακχιοῦσθε δρυὸς ἢ 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 . ὦ 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 , ὁ δʼ ἔξαρχος Βρόμιος , εὐοἷ . ῥεῖ δὲ γάλακτι πέδον , ῥεῖ δʼ οἴνῳ , ῥεῖ δὲ μελισσᾶν νέκταρι . Συρίας δʼ ὡς λιβάνου καπνὸν ὁ 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 · Ὦ ἴτε βάκχαι , ὦ 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
,
having
left
sacred
Tmolus
,
I
am
swift
to
perform
for
Bromius
my
sweet
labor
and
toil
easily
borne
,
celebrating
the
god
Bacchus
.
Who
is
in
the
way
?
Who
is
in
the
way
?
Who
?
Let
him
get
out
of
the
way
indoors
,
and
let
everyone
keep
his
mouth
pure
,
speaking
propitious
things
.
For
I
will
celebrate
Dionysus
with
hymns
according
to
eternal
custom
.
Blessed
is
he
who
,
being
fortunate
and
knowing
the
rites
of
the
gods
,
keeps
his
life
pure
and
has
his
soul
initiated
into
the
Bacchic
revels
,
dancing
in
inspired
frenzy
over
the
mountains
with
holy
purifications
,
and
who
,
revering
the
mysteries
of
great
mother
Kybele
,
brandishing
the
thyrsos
,
garlanded
with
ivy
,
serves
Dionysus
.
Go
,
Bacchae
,
go
,
Bacchae
,
escorting
the
god
Bromius
,
child
of
a
god
,
from
the
Phrygian
mountains
to
the
broad
streets
of
Hellas
—
Bromius
,
Whom
once
,
in
the
compulsion
of
birth
pains
,
the
thunder
of
Zeus
flying
upon
her
,
his
mother
cast
from
her
womb
,
leaving
life
by
the
stroke
of
a
thunderbolt
.
Immediately
Zeus
,
Kronos’
son
,
received
him
in
a
chamber
fit
for
birth
,
and
having
covered
him
in
his
thigh
shut
him
up
with
golden
clasps
,
hidden
from
Hera
.
And
he
brought
forth
,
when
the
Fates
had
perfected
him
,
the
bull-horned
god
,
and
he
crowned
him
with
crowns
of
snakes
,
for
which
reason
Maenads
cloak
their
wild
prey
over
their
locks
.
O
Thebes
,
nurse
of
Semele
,
crown
yourself
with
ivy
,
flourish
,
flourish
with
the
verdant
yew
bearing
sweet
fruit
,
and
crown
yourself
in
honor
of
Bacchus
with
branches
of
oak
or
pine
.
Adorn
your
garments
of
spotted
fawn-skin
with
fleeces
of
white
sheep
,
and
sport
in
holy
games
with
insolent
thyrsoi
.
At
once
all
the
earth
will
dance
—
whoever
leads
the
sacred
band
is
Bromius
—
to
the
mountain
,
to
the
mountain
,
where
the
crowd
of
women
waits
,
goaded
away
from
their
weaving
by
Dionysus
.
O
secret
chamber
of
the
Kouretes
and
you
holy
Cretan
caves
,
parents
to
Zeus
,
where
the
Korybantes
with
triple
helmet
invented
for
me
in
their
caves
this
circle
,
covered
with
stretched
hide
;
and
in
their
excited
revelry
they
mingled
it
with
the
sweet-voiced
breath
of
Phrygian
pipes
and
handed
it
over
to
mother
Rhea
,
resounding
with
the
sweet
songs
of
the
Bacchae
;
nearby
,
raving
Satyrs
were
fulfilling
the
rites
of
the
mother
goddess
,
and
they
joined
it
to
the
dances
of
the
biennial
festivals
,
in
which
Dionysus
rejoices
.
He
is
sweet
in
the
mountains
,
whenever
after
the
running
dance
he
falls
on
the
ground
,
wearing
the
sacred
garment
of
fawn
skin
,
hunting
the
blood
of
the
slain
goat
,
a
raw-eaten
delight
,
rushing
to
the
Phrygian
,
the
Lydian
mountains
,
and
the
leader
of
the
dance
is
Bromius
,
evoe
!
The
plain
flows
with
milk
,
it
flows
with
wine
,
it
flows
with
the
nectar
of
bees
.
The
Bacchic
one
,
raising
the
flaming
torch
of
pine
on
his
thyrsos
,
like
the
smoke
of
Syrian
incense
,
darts
about
,
arousing
the
wanderers
with
his
racing
and
dancing
,
agitating
them
with
his
shouts
,
casting
his
rich
locks
into
the
air
.
And
among
the
Maenad
cries
his
voice
rings
deep
:
Go
,
Bacchae
,
go
,
Bacchae
,
with
the
luxury
of
Tmolus
that
flows
with
gold
,
sing
of
Dionysus
,
beneath
the
heavy
beat
of
drums
,
celebrating
in
delight
the
god
of
delight
with
Phrygian
shouts
and
cries
,
when
the
sweet-sounding
sacred
pipe
sounds
a
sacred
playful
tune
suited
to
the
wanderers
,
to
the
mountain
,
to
the
mountain
!
And
the
Bacchante
,
rejoicing
like
a
foal
with
its
grazing
mother
,
rouses
her
swift
foot
in
a
gamboling
dance
.