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Chorus
No Dionysus is here, no dances, no Bacchic worship and carrying his wand, [65] no ecstatic noise of drums by the gushing springs of water, no fresh drops of wine. Nor on Mount Nysa can I join the Nymphs in singing the song ‘Iacchos Iacchos’ [70] to Aphrodite, whom I swiftly pursued in company with white-footed Bacchants. Ah me, lord Dionysus, where are you faring without your companions, [75] shaking your golden hair? I, your attendant, serve this one-eyed Cyclops, a slave in exile, [80] dressed in this wretched goat-skin cloak and deprived of your friendship.
Euripides. Euripides, with an English translation by David Kovacs. Cambridge. Harvard University Press. forthcoming.
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