Bkiii:Xxv Bacchanalian Song

Where are you taking me, Bacchus, now I’m full of you? To what caves or groves, driven, swiftly, by new inspiration? In what caverns will I be heard planning to set illustrious Caesar’s lasting glory among the stars, in the councils of Jove? I’ll sing a recent achievement, not yet sung by other lips. So does the sleepless Bacchante, stand in amazement on a mountain-ridge, gazing at Hebrus, at Thrace, shining with snow, at Rhodope, trodden by barbarous feet, even as I like to wander gazing, at river banks, and echoing groves. O master of Naiads, of Bacchae owning the power to uproot the tallest ash-trees, with their bare hands, I’ll sing nothing trivial, no humble measure, nothing that dies. O, Lenaeus, the danger of following a god is sweet, wreathing my brow with green leaves of the vine.