Nonnus of Panopolis, Dionysiaca 11.214–300: Book 11: Death of Ampelos

So spoke the rosy boy, so near to Hades, unhappy one ! Up to the pathless tops of the mountain leapt the infuriated bull on his cloven hooves, and threw the youth headlong off his back. He fell on his head rolling in a hunched up heap, and broke his bent neck with a little crack ; the bull bowled him over and over on the ground, and pinned him to the earth with the sharp point of his horn. He lay there a headless corpse; his white body unburied was stained with ruddy gore.

One of the Satyrs caught sight of lovely Ampelos lying in the dust on the ground, and brought the bad news to Bacchos. The god on hearing it ran there swift as the wind. Heracles made no such running, when the Nymphs had hidden dainty Hylas in their envious waters, a bridegroom kept safely for the greedy water-sprite, as Bacchos did then while he bounded over the mountain roads ; he groaned when he saw the boy lying in the dust as if alive. He clothed the breathless body, laid a fawnskin over his shoulder and cold chest, put buskins on his feet though he was dead ; he sprinkled roses and lilies upon his body, and hung a garland on his hair of the soon-perishing anemone flowers, as for one fallen too early by a cruel blow. In his hand he placed a thyrsus, and covered him with his own purple robe ; from his own uncut head he took one lock, and laid it on the body as a last gift and token. He brought ambrosia from Mother Rheia and poured it into the wounds, whence Ampelos when he took his new shape passed the fragrant ambrosia into his fruit.

No pallor spread on the rosy skin of the charming body which lay there stretched on the ground. The charming curls of that head so lovely, of one who had died so young, strayed over his face as the gentle breezes blow. He was a ravishing sight even in the dust. Around the body the Seilenoi lamented, the Bacchoi mourned. His beauty left him not although he was dead. But like a Satyr the body lay, with a lifelike smile on his face, as if for ever he were pouring his honeysweet voice from those silent lips,

Dionysos also uttered a voice of sorrow when he saw the body, nevermourning Dionysos with no smile now on his face :

Let the Fates drop their envious thread ! Are even bulls jealous of boys as the breezes are? What Zephyros is this who has attacked Dionysos too after Apollo? Happy is Phoibos Atymnios for he took that name from the boy. He consoles himself by making to rise the flower named after his Therapnaian youth, and scoring upon the iris-leaves the word Alas ! What garland have I on my hair ? What speaking petals do I also wave to comfort me in pain, boy ? But I will avenge your death, untimely dead, and drag to slaughter over your tomb that runaway bull. I will not fell your murderer with an axe, to let him share the lot of bulls killed with shattered skull ; but I will tear open all the bull’s hateful belly with the point of my horn, because he mangled you with that long horny spike of his. Happy is Earthshaker! He loved a Phrygian boy, a neighbour to my own boy’s country, and he carried him to the golden house of Zeus and gave him a home in Olympos ; and when the boy was eager for the love-race with chariots, he lent his own unsinking car to honour Hippodameia’s wedding.

I only have had a boy who died untimely. For lovely Ampelos knew no life-refreshing marriage ; this youth never yoked my car for his ride to the bridal chamber: no, he died, and left grief for Dionysos who cannot grieve. Persuasion has not yet left your tongue, my well-loved boy, but although you are dead she abides on those breathless lips. Although you are dead, those cheeks are still bright with bloom, those eyes are laughing still, your arms and two hands are snowy-white, your lovely curls move in the whistling wind ; the hour of death has not blanched the roses of your limbs—all these are preserved untouched.

Woes me for Love ! What need was there for you to ride on a cruel bull ? If some passion for stormfoot horses excited you, why did you not tell me? I could have brought you here a chariot from neighbouring Ida, and got you horses of the ancient heavenly breed of Troy ! I could have robbed the country of Ganymedes, who was bred on Ida and had beauty like yours—but Zeus saved him from man-murdering bulls, and flew into the heights carrying […] with gentle claws. If you really wanted to kill wild beasts in the mountains, why did not you tell me that you had need of a car? You might have driven my rolling wagon without hurt ; you might have held the untouchable reins of my Rheia, and flogged a team of tame dragons unstaggering !