“What will ye, dames,” quoth Pentheus.  “Thou shalt guess
        At what we mean, untold,” Autonoae said. 
      Agave moaned—­so moans a lioness
        Over her young one—­as she clutched his head: 
      While Ino on the carcass fairly laid
    Her heel, and wrenched away shoulder and shoulder-blade.

      Autonoae’s turn came next:  and what remained
        Of flesh their damsels did among them share,
      And back to Thebes they came all carnage-stained,
        And planted not a king but aching there. 
      Warned by this tale, let no man dare defy
    Great Bacchus; lest a death more awful he should die,

      And when he counts nine years or scarcely ten,
        Rush to his ruin.  May I pass my days
    Uprightly, and be loved of upright men! 
        And take this motto, all who covet praise: 
      (’Twas AEgis-bearing Zeus that spake it first:)
    ‘The godly seed fares well:  the wicked’s is accurst.’

      Now bless ye Bacchus, whom on mountain snows,
        Prisoned in his thigh till then, the Almighty laid. 
      And bless ye fairfaced Semele, and those
        Her sisters, hymned of many a hero-maid,
      Who wrought, by Bacchus fired, a deed which none
    May gainsay—­who shall blame that which a god hath done?

IDYLL XXVII.

A Countryman’s Wooing.

DAPHNIS.  A MAIDEN.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    How fell sage Helen? through a swain like thee.

    DAPHNIS. 
    Nay the true Helen’s just now kissing me.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    Satyr, ne’er boast:  ‘what’s idler than a kiss?’

    DAPHNIS. 
    Yet in such pleasant idling there is bliss.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    I’ll wash my mouth:  where go thy kisses then?

    DAPHNIS. 
    Wash, and return it—­to be kissed again.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    Go kiss your oxen, and not unwed maids.

    DAPHNIS. 
    Ne’er boast; for beauty is a dream that fades.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    Past grapes are grapes:  dead roses keep their smell.

    DAPHNIS. 
    Come to yon olives:  I have a tale to tell.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    Not I:  you fooled me with smooth words before.

    DAPHNIS. 
    Come to yon elms, and hear me pipe once more.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    Pipe to yourself:  your piping makes me cry.

    DAPHNIS. 
    A maid, and flout the Paphian?  Fie, oh fie!

    THE MAIDEN. 
    She’s naught to me, if Artemis’ favour last.

    DAPHNIS. 
    Hush, ere she smite you and entrap you fast.

    THE MAIDEN. 
    And let her smite me, trap me as she will!

    DAPHNIS. 
    Your Artemis shall be your saviour still?

    THE MAIDEN. 
    Unhand me!  What, again?  I’ll tear your lip.