Where loud the cymbal's voice resounds with timbrel-echoes blending,
And where the Phrygian piper drones grave bass from reed a-bending,
Where toss their ivy-circled heads with might the Mænades
Where ply mid shrilly lullilooes the holiest mysteries,
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Where to fly here and there be wont the she-god's vaguing train,
Thither behoves us lead the dance in quick-step hasty strain."
Soon as had Atys (bastard-she) this lay to comrades sung
The Chorus sudden lulliloos with quivering, quavering tongue,
Again the nimble timbrel groans, the scooped-out cymbals clash,