Each army was brought to Bacchos by its own separate leader, but the commander-in-chief was Eiraphiotes, roaring with fire, flashing, all-conspicuous. Dancing to battle he came, holding no shield, no furious lance, no sword on shoulder, no helmet on his untrimmed locks, or metal to cover his inviolate head. He only tied his loose tresses with serpent-knots, a grim garland for his head ; instead of fine-wrought greaves, from ankle to thigh he wore purple buskins on his silvery feet. He hung a furry fawnskin over his chest, a chest-piece dappled with spots like the stars, and he fitted a golden kilt round his loins. In his left hand he held a horn full of delicious wine, cunningly wrought of gold ; from this pitcher-horn poured a straight stream of flowing wine. In his right hand he bore a […] thyrsus wound about with purple ivy, at the end a fierce bronze head covered with leaves.
As As As soon as Dionysos had donned the well-wrought golden gear of war in the Corybantian courtyard, he left the peaceful precincts of dance-loving Rheia and went past Maionia : the warriors with the hillranging […] hastened to meet the lord of the vine. The drivers of wheeled wagons carried shoots of the new plant of Bacchos. Many lines of mules went by, with jars of the viney nectar packed on their backs ; slow asses had loads of purple rugs and manycoloured fawnskins on their patient backs. Winedrinkers besides carried silver mixing-bowls with […] cups, the furniture of the feast. The Corybants were busy about the bright manger of the panthers, passing the yokestraps over necks, and entrusted their lions to ivy bound harness when they had fastened this threatening bit in their mouths. One Centaur with a bristling beard stretched his neck into the yoke willingly, unbidden ; and the man mingled with horse half and half, craving the delicious wine even more than a Satyr, whinnied eager to carry Dionysos on his withers.
The god seated at the rail of his leaf-entwined ear passed the stream of Sangarios, passed the bosom of the Phrygian land, the mourning rock of stony Niobe; and the stone, seeing the Indian host warring against Lyaios, shed tears and spoke again with human voice :
Make not war against a god, foolish Indians the son of Zeus, lest Bacchos turn you also, threatening battle, into stone, as Apollo did to me; lest you have to lament a shape like my stony shape ; lest I see the goodson of Deriades, Indian Orontes, fallen beside the stream of the river that bears his name. Rheia in wrath stronger than the Archeress. Flee from Bacchos, Apollo’s brother! It would be a shame, if I must see Indians being slain and weep for strangers !” the stone spoke, then silence sealed it again.
Now the vinegod left the Phrygian plain, and entered Ascania. All the people there, to whom Iobacchos offered his fruitage, accepted his rites and welcomed his dances, bowing the neck to invincible Dionysos, wishing for the quietude of peace without bloodshed. So mighty was the horned host of Bacchos, with the Bacchant women beside them armed for war. But Lyaios kept vigil; all night long heaven thundered, threading fiery streaks among the stars; since Rheia then foretold with witnessing flash the bloodshed of the Indian victory.
the morning, the god went forth to war, driving before him the violence of the black men, that he might free the neck of the Lydians and those who dwelt in Phrygia and Ascania from the yoke of cruel tyranny. Then Bacchos sent two heralds to give proclamation of war, either to fight or to fly : and with them went goatfoot Pan, his long-haired beard shadowing his whole chest.
[…] swiftshoe Hera, likening herself to an Indian, the curly-headed Melaneus, warned Astraios, that spear-shaking captain of men, not to uplift the thyrsus nor to heed the yell of drunken Satyrs, but to raise war to the death against Dionysos. She spoke these words to move the Indian chief:
You’re a nice one, to fear a feeble troop of women ! Fight, Astraios ! Arm yourself too, Celaineus, and take a sharp blade to cut down Dionysos and his ivy-bunches! Thyrsus is no match for spear ! No no, look out for Deriades ! He will be mad, and make an end of you, if you shrink from a weak unarmed woman !
She spoke, the stepmother furious against indomitable Dionysos. The goddess got her way, and hid in darkness.
Then the heralds of Bromios departed, for Astraios drew near them contemptuous, with pitiless menace on his tongue. Furiously he chased Pan and the oxhorned Satyrs, despising the heralds of Dionysos when he was gentle. They turned with timid foot, and made their way back in flight to Dionysos now in warlike mood.
Cite This Text