An adaptation of part of Euripides' The Bacchae.
Evoë
Mountained is my love,
wearing holy fawn-skin,
singing as he slays the goat,
delighting in the flesh.
Mountained in Phrygia is my love,
Bromios, who dancing leads
by milk-rich, wine-flowing streams,
by nectar-wine of bees.
Evoë!
With incense-fume of pine torch,
fragrant on the fennel rod;
running, dancing, hair-streaming,
band-rousing, ever shouting:
Evoë!
Booming timbrels hymn the Bacchic god;
the Phrygian flute of Mother Rhea,
satyr-stolen, it blends with revel,
sweet-graced and most holy,
antheming the wild troops;
mounting up they band and revel,
mountained, they are light of foot,
gambolling like wild foals.
Evoë!
