This text is part of:
Search the Perseus Catalog for:
Table of Contents:
Chorus
Awake, for it has come tossing torches in hand,
Iacchos, Oh Iacchos,
the light-bringing star of our nocturnal rite.
Now the meadow brightly burns
Old men's knees start to sway.
They shake away their pains
and the long cycles of ancient years
Through your holy rite.
Beaming with your torch,
lead forth to the flowering stretch of marsh
the youth that makes your choruses, o blessed one!
Aristophanes. Frogs. Matthew Dillon.
The Annenberg CPB/Project provided support for entering this text.