And struck the quivering skin, whence hollow echoes

flew,

And raised this panting song to his infuriate crew.

"Ye priests of Cybele, or rather let me say, "For ye are men no longer, ye priestesses, away! "Together pierce the forest, great Cybele's domains, "Ye vagrant flocks of her on Dindymus who reigns. "Ye, like devoted exiles, who, seeking foreign lands, "Have follow'd me your leader, have bow'd to my commands;

"Have cross'd the salt-sea wave, have dared the raging storms,

"And, loathing woman's love, unmann'd your lusty

forms;

"The sense of error past let laughing frenzy blind; "Let doubt, let thought itself be driven from the mind.

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Haste, haste, together haste to Cybele divine!

"Seek we her Phrygian grove and dark sequester'd

shrine,

"Where cymbals clash, where drums resound their

deepening tone,

"Where Phrygia's crooked pipe breathes out its solemn drone,

"Where votaresses toss their ivy-circled brows,

66 And urge with piercing yells their consecrated vows, "Where the delirious train disport as chance may lead:

"Thither our vows command in mystic dance to speed."

Thus Atys, female now, to female comrades sung. The frantic chorus rose from many a panting tongue; Re-echoes the deep timbrel, the hollow cymbals ring, And all to verdant Ida run madly as they sing. Though breathless, still impetuous with inspiration's

force,

Raving and bewilder'd, scarce conscious of her course, As the unbroken heifer will fly the threaten'd yoke, Atys through gloomy woods, where never sun-beam broke,

Loud-striking the light timbrel, rush'd on with bound

ing stride,

And all the frantic priestesses pursue their rapid guide. The fearful fane at length their panting ardour stops, Each, faint and unrefresh'd, in leaden slumber drops. In languor most profound their eyelids are deprest, And all extatic rage is lull'd in torpid rest.

But when again the sun returning to the skies
Put forth his golden brow, when now his radiant eyes
Throughout white heaven, and earth, and ocean
pour'd their light,

And with thunder-pacing steeds he chased the shades of night,

Sleep then leaving Atys, who started from her rest, To fair Pasithea fled, and sunk upon her breast. When slumber's reign serene had frenzy's flame sub

dued;

When Atys her fell deed in clearer reason view'd,
Beheld in what abode her future lot was placed,

And, ah! how low she stood in nature's rank disgraced;

Then, hurried to despair by passion's rising tide, Again she wildly sought the country's sea-girt side; There, casting her full eyes o'er boundless ocean's flow,

Address'd her native land in plaintive words of woe.

"My country, oh my mother! creatress, parent earth! "My country, oh my nurse that fed me from my birth!

"From whom, as churlish slaves their kindly lord have fled,

"To Ida's gloomy woods an exile I have sped, "With beasts their frozen dens for my abode to share, "And madly roaming rouse the fierce one from his

lair.

"Ah! where, in what far point of this surrounding sky, "Shall I now deem, my native land, thy loved shores

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lie?

My longing eyeballs strain to cast their sight to thee, "While yet awhile my mind is from its frenzy free.

"Must I for dreary woods forsake my native shore, "And see my friends, my home, my parents never more?

"No more the Forum seek, the gay Palestra's court, "The Stadium, urge no more each famed gymnastic sport?

"Oh wretched, wretched man! while years shall slowly roll

"For ever o'er and o'er again, grieve, grieve, my soul !

"What grace, what beauty is there, that I did not enjoy?

"I, when in manhood's prime, a youth, or yet a boy, "The flower of all who trod the firm gymnastic soil, "The victor 'mid the crowd who wore the wrestler's oil.

"My gates were ever throng'd, and full my threshold

swarm'd ;

"With blooming garlands hung, that lovesick maidens form'd;