B. x. c. TIT. 13. THE CURETES. 185 ' gods. Euripides, in the Bacchag, does the same thing, con- joining, from the proximity of the countries, 1 Lydian and Phrygian customs. " Then forsaking Tmolus, the rampart of Lydia, my maidens, my pride, [whom I took from among barbarians and made the partners and com- panions of my way, raise on high the tambourine of Phrygia, the tam- bourine of the great mother Rhea,] my invention. " Blest and happy he who, initiated into the sacred rites of the gods, leads a pure life ; who celebrating the orgies of the Great Mother Cy- bele, who brandishing on high the thyrsus and with ivy crowned, becomes Dionysus' worshipper. Haste, Bacchanalians, haste, and bring Bromius Dionysus down from the Phrygian mountains to the wide plains of Greece." And again, in what follows, he combines with these the Cre- tan rites. " Hail, sacred haunt of the Curetes, and divine inhabitants of Crete, progenitors of Jove, where for me the triple-crested Corybantes in their caves invented this skin-stretched circle [of the tambourine], who mingled with Bacchic strains the sweet breath of harmony from Phrygian pipes, and placed in Rhea's hands this instrument which re-echoes to the joyous shouts of Bacchanalians: from the Mother Rhea the frantic Satyri succeeded in obtaining it, and introduced it into the dances of the Trieterides, among whom Dionysus delights to dwell." 2 1 Sia TO o/iopov, for Sid rt "Opripov. Meineke. 2 The literal translation has been preserved in the text for the sake of the argument. The following is Potter's translation, in which, however, great liberty is taken with the original. "To whom the mysteries of the gods are known, By these his life he sanctifies, And, deep imbibed their chaste and cleaning lore, Hallows his soul for converse with the skies. Enraptur'd ranging the wild mountains o'er, The mighty mother's orgies leading, He his head with ivy shading, His light spear wreath' d with ivy twine, To Bacchus holds the rites divine. Haste then, ye Bacchae, haste, Attend your god, the son of heaven's high king. From Phrygia's mountains wild and waste To beauteous-structur'd Greece your Bacchus bring
' O ye Curetes, friendly band, You, the blest natives of Crete's sacred land, Who tread those groves, which, dark'ning round, O'er infant Jove their shelt'ring branches spread, The Corybantes in their caves profound, The triple crest high waving on their head,
