I invoke Dionysos, the roaring
god of the Bacchanal, first made, double
natured and thrice born, the Bacchic lord, wild,
ineffable, hidden, two-horned, two-formed
teaming with ivy, bull-faced like Ares,
crying “evoe,” holy and savage.
You hold triennial feasts where you are
clothed in ivy, bearing clusters of grapes.
Clever Eubouleus, you were born from Zeus
and Persephone when he lay with her
in her bed, which is not to be spoken.
Immortal daimon, sweet and blameless, hear
my voice, and, with a kind heart, inspire us,
together with your finely dressed nurses.