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You made burnt offerings that were neither right nor holy, in the chambers of the gods,  and you have incurred the wrath of the great mother, child, by not honoring her sacrifices. Oh! Great is the power of dappled fawn-skin robes,  and green ivy that crowns a sacred thyrsos, the whirling beat of the tambourine circling in the air, hair streaming wildly for the revelry of Bromios,  and the night-long festivals of the goddess. . . . You gloried in your beauty alone.