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The elder gods in exile sleep,
Row beside row, uplift in space,
With stars upon each placid face,
Dreaming before their lustrous spheres
The happiness that once was theirs.
Thither we go, but here we would
Take counsel with our brotherhood.’
Then to the city azure-walled
He swung his lamp of emerald:
‘Pass on — pass on, O holy men!
I, that am eld, remember when
On such an eve, in such a flame,
Bacchus from farthest Phrygia came.
Lo, on that very spot are ye
Where the god stood in ecstasy!
Alas! we knew it not that night,
But ere the morrow came a blight,
Duress and famine, pale and bold,
Bare silences in every fold,
Save in the vineyards — there alone
The grapes hung purple, every one,
And from each laden stem there fell
Wine, gushing as a miracle,
While in a reddened mist unseen
The cry came: “Drink! here have I been!”
But if one drank—the gods forbid!
That thing became a Bassarid,
Ravening in the drooping feast,

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