They search the vineyard o’er from end to end;
’Round and about they trip, with angels’ speed;
Alas, they falter! then they (all agreed)
Cry unto Bacchus—“Bacchus! Bacchus! where—
Where art thou gone? Behold thy guests are here,—
All clothed in kingly garments of the best
We’ve come, as bidden, down to join the feast;
Each with a garland delicately bloomed,
And every one his instrument well tuned:
Our cloud-wrought chariots in the heavens await