They tell how Atys, wild with love,
Roams the mount and haunted grove,
Cybele’s name he howls around,
The gloomy blast returns the sound!
Oft too, by Claros’ hallow’d spring,
The votaries of the laurell’d king
Quaff the inspiring magic stream,
And rave in wild prophetic dream.
But frenzied dreams are not for me,
Great Bacchus is my deity!
Full of mirth, and full of him,
While floating odours round me swim,
While mantling bowls are full supplied,
And you sit blushing by my side,
I will be mad and raving too —
Mad, my girl, with love for you!