Meanwhile Dionysos, in the […] of Lydia’s fields, grew into youthful bloom as tall as he wished, shaking the Euian gear of Cybeleid Rheia. To escape the midday lash of Helios moving on high, he cleansed his body in the stream of the Maionian River bubbling gently: Pactolos glad to gratify Lysios murmured as he poured the gold-wing water upon the purple sands, and the gilded went swimming in wealthy soundings where the rich ore lay deep. Playful Satyrs lifted their heels in air, and tumbled plunging head over into the river; one self-propelled swam with paddling hands prone on the waves, and imprinted a footstep on the swell, as he pushed with back-stretching legs and cut the water rolling in riches; one dived deep down into the underwater caves and hunted for speckled fishy down below, stretching a groping hand over a swimming fry—left the deeps again and offered to Bacchos the fish purpled with the slime of the opulent river. Seilenos the old vagabond, challenging a Satyr, entwined hands and feet together, and rolling himself into a ball stooped and dived head first into the stream, from the heights into the deeps, till his hair stuck in the slime ; then he trod his two feet firmly into the glittering sand hunting for good nuggets of ore in the river. Another left shoulder unwetted and showed his back out of the water in the air as he stood in the deep stream over the hips, immovable. Another lifted the ears bare and plunged the shaggy thighs in the transparent flood, while the tail flogged the water in circles of its own.
The god lifting his head and spreading his chest, idled his hands and cut the golden calm. The […] of waves spirted up self-growing roses, the lily sprouted, the Seasons crowned the shores while Bacchos bathed, and the flowing locks of his dark hair were reddened in the sparkling stream.
Once while hunting in the shady lurking wood he was delighted by the rosy form of a young comrade. For Ampelos was a merry boy who had grown up already on the Phrygian hills, a new sprout of the Loves. No dainty bloom was yet on a reddening chin, no down yet marked the snowy circles of his cheeks, the golden flower of youth : curling clusters of hair ran loose behind over his silvery-glistering shoulders, and floated in the whispering wind that lifted them with its breath. As the hair blew aside the neck showed above rising bare in the middle. Unshadowed light flashed from him, like the shining moon when she pierces a damp cloud and shows within it. From his rosy lips escaped a voice breathing honey. Spring itself shone from his limbs ; where his silvery foot stept the meadow blushed with roses ; if he turned his eyes, the gleam of the bright eyeballs as soft as a cow’s eye was like the light of the full moon.
Dionysos took him as playmate in his dainty sports. Then in admiration of his beauty he spoke to him as a man, artfully concealing his divine nature, and asked him:
What father begat you? What immortal womb brought you forth? Which of the Graces gave you birth? What handsome Apollo made you ? Tell me, my friend, do not hide your kin. If you come another Eros, unwinged, without arrows, without quiver, which of the Blessed slept with Aphrodite and bred you? But indeed I tremble to name Cypris as your mother, for I would not call Hephaistos or Ares your father. Or if you are the one they call Hermes come from the sky, show me your light wings, and the lively soles of your shoes. How is it you wear the hair uncut falling along your neck? Can you be Phoibos himself come to me without harp, without bow, Phoibos shaking the locks of his hair unbound! If Cronides begat […], and you are from a mortal stock, if you have the short-lived blood of the horned Satyrs, be king at my side, a mortal with god for your looks will not disgrace the heavenly blood of Lyaios. But why do I call you one of the creatures of a day? I recognize your blood even if you wish to hide it. Selene slept with Helios and brought you to birth wholly like the gracious Narcissos ; for you have a like heavenly beauty, the image of horned Selene.”
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