Swamped, sorry! It seems like my life has been ruled by Dionysos this week and I'm going to spend my Saturday unraveling some of the mess. So, for what it's worth, here's a tribute to Dionysos for you. May he be kind!

Euripides’ Bacchae, First Chorus (part 1): 64-119

From the Asian land
After leaving sacred Tmôlos I speed—
A toil for Bromios that is sweet,
And a worn but happy weariness—
Crying out to the Bacchic god.

Who is in the road? Who is on the road?
Who is in the palace? Have every person come out!
Have each one hold a quiet tongue in sacred silence. 

I am hymning Dionysus
In the customs that are always used.
You are blessed if you are lucky
To know the rites of the gods
And lead a pure life;
And join your soul to the band
Of Bacchic revelers on the mountains
In the sacred cleansing worship.

Taking care of the Great mother’s mysteries
Shaking the thyrsus all about
once you are wreathed in ivy,
you tend to Dionysus!

Go, Bacchae, Go Bacchae,
Lead on this Bromios, a divine child of a god,

From the Phrygian mountains on
To the streets of Greece, wide-enough for dances.
Once, his mother went
Into the forced labors of birth
From Zeus’ thunder in flight
She released him from her womb
Too early, and lost her life
At the lightning’s strike.
But Zeus, Kronos’ son
Immediately welcomed him
Into his hands
And hid him in his thigh—

He sewed him up with golden pins
To keep him a secret from Hera.
When the Fates made him grow,
He gave birth
To a bull-horned god
And crowned him with wreaths of snakes.
This is why the Maenads weave
Beast-eating serpents in their hair.
Thebes, the nurse of Semele,
Crown yourselves with ivy!
Flourish, Grow with the green
Leaves flush with fruit.
Make yourselves Bacchae too
With branches of oak or pine.

Adorn your clothes of stitched fawn
With strands of white wool.
Make sacred the arrogant wands.

Right now the whole earth will dance
As Bromios leads out his bands
To the mountain, to the mountain where
the woman-born mob stands
driven mad from their shuttles and looms
by Dionysus.