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Now plunge I into deepest woods, Where everlastingly there broods Such quiet and glamour as must be Beneath the threshing upper sea. Here burns no sun, but tawny light Pervades the vistas still and bright Of mazy boles and fallen leaves.... I press yet on. At length there cleaves The twilit hush a pillared gleam. The leafed floor rises. 'Tis a beam Of sunlight fallen in a dell Beyond the mound. There will I dwell, Soothed by sunned quietude. For there A carved rock spouts and moists the air With gross-mouthed pour and rising spray.... But hark! what festive cries are they Of the Which greet me as I top the mound? Satyrs' Feast. Below, dispersed and sunk around The green and golden of the glen, Lie satyrs; in a leafy den, Silenus, crowned with vines and roses, Drowses and starts, blinks, drinks, and dozes. Banqueting dishes strew the grass, Goblets of gold and peacock glass, Flagons, urns, many a brimming bowl, And horns from which the flushed fruits roll. High o'er the feast a fronded ash Hangs full of sunlight, and the splash Of the spring's leap or gurgeing flow Into the rippled pool below, Where lilies rock, shakes up a bright Eddy of golden tremulous light Over the leaves. The Oread, In a hooded lynx pelt clad, Smiles where she lolls ... the while twin fauns With stamping hooves and butting horns Join combat for a dripping cup She bears. But now a shout goes up At sight of me:

Satyr. "We feast, we feast; For, lo! the flaming sun hath ceased The Invitation. To climb the curve of arid sky, And his meridian holds on high, Narrowing with his scorching beams The chestnut's shade, exhausting streams, Stilling the woodland singer's note, Piercing the eyes, shrinking the throat, Saddening the heart of man and beast. Yet grieve not we but sprawl and feast. Leap down, O Faun, then, from thy rocks, Leap down to us. Bedew thy locks With such cool spicy nards as dwell Within this ribbed and rosy shell; Around thy scalded temples twine Sprays of this fountain-wetted vine, And from this golden jorum sip Nectarous liquor--ay, and lip Smooth nectarines, thy sunk teeth clench In melon dripping sherds, and quench Thy salty thirst anew in flow Of sparkled or dark wines that glow With sober warmth and merriment, Until our gladdened voices blent Awake the vigour of our feet, And up we start the grass to beat With fervent foot, drink, dance again, And, ever at the loud refrain Clashing our cups, dance on and on, Till the noontide lull is gone."

So join I them, and drink and sup, And fill again the great bowl up; And, drenched thus down, spin lusty tales Of topping bouts 'twixt men and whales; Of the East's Emperor who hath A pool of wine to be his bath; Of Hercules his thirst, and how He did all Ethiopia plough, And plant with vines, his thirst to sate. We will discuss the Ideal State, Whose sky is covered by a vine, Whose hills are cheese, whose rivers wine, Whose trees bear loaves brown, crisp and sweet, Whose citizens do nought but eat, But eat and drink, drink, eat, and snore, And eat again, and wish no more Than so to drink, snore, eat; who find In this true liberty of mind And true equality, in this Fraternity, law, earthly bliss. So swill again and yet again, Till a fire flushes all the brain And, trolling lustily and long, Each hearty throat bursts into song.

Faun and Satyrs. Avaunt, mild-eyed Melancholy! Welcome, Mirth and maenad Folly! A DITHYRAMB See about the lifted bowl, TO DIONYSOS. Wrinkled on its bossy scroll, Ribald nymphs and satyrs jolly Tussle with a prancing goat; While Silenus, kneeling, drolly Proffers a dry bowl unto 't---- Ay, and round the mazer's brim Boisterous Mermen shouting swim, And each burly arm lifts up, Wine that o'erbrims its conched cup; Wherefore pour a triple potion: If such can be dry in ocean, 'Tis as Titans we must sup!

Avaunt, brow and visage pious: None but Bacchus boys come nigh us! Raise the bowl and shout his name: Io, Bacchus! for a flame Chafes in our blood, O Bromios! Fire no water e'er could quench, And its heat must scorify us If with wine we do not drench. Wherefore overbrim the cup: This to Jove now drink I up, Who upon thy first of days Snatched thee and cowed thy natal blaze, Even as 'tis now the merry Strength of this thy vintaged berry, That the scorching danger stays.

To the vine now! let its golden Leaves about our brows be folden. To the swarthy hand that trims it! To the grape! the sun that dims it! To the pipe that doth embolden Purpled stamping feet to riot O'er the vatted winepress olden! To the cavern's depth, chill, quiet! Last to wine's own ruddy sprite, Wakes in rheumy eyes a light-- Ay, and ripens youth to man; Wine which more works than wisdom can; Wine that welcomes hardy morrows; Wine that turns to song our sorrows; Wine the only magian!

Deep now! every bowl enhances The world's beauty; see there dances In the sky the leaping sun! 'Nay, can thine eye catch but one?' 'Six now spin.' 'A seventh advances, Flares and vomits, swerves and blazes, Now bursts and countlessly it prances, Pulsing to my frantic paces!' 'I flame,--gyrate!' 'I shoot out heat!' 'My tricked speech trips, and trip my feet!' 'The earth runs round and heav'n is wheeling!' 'I sway; I reel.' 'Earth's wrecked and reeling!' 'Dance on.' 'Earth's gone.' 'All's white and clear!' 'Ah! Ah! Behind the blaze I hear The Oread's laughter pealing!'

Avaunt, grief! Descend, O holy Fierce Bacchic rapture, divine folly!