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Atys o'er the distant waters, driving in his rapid

bark, Soon with foot of wild impatience touch'd the Phry

gian forest dark, Where amid the awful shades possessed by mighty

Cybele, In his zealous frenzy blind, And wand'ring in his hapless mind, With flinty knife he gave to earth the weights that

stamp virility.

Then as the widowed being saw it's wretched limbs

bereft of man, And the unaccustom'd blood that on the ground

polluting ran, With snowy hand it snatch'd in haste the timbrel's

airy round on high, That opens with the trumpet's blast, thy rites, Ma

ternal Mystery; And upon it's whirling fingers, while the hollow

parchment rung, Thus in outcry tremulous to it's wild companions

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Now come along, come along with me,
Worshippers of Cybele,
To the lofty groves of the deity!
Ye vagabond herds that bear the name
Of the Dindymenian dame!

Who seeking strange lands, like the banished of


With Atys, with Atys distractedly roam;
Who your limbs have unmann'd in a desperate hour
With a frantic disdain of the Cyprian pow'r;
Who have carried my sect through the dreadful salt


Rouse, rouse your wild spirits careeringly!
No delay, no delay,
But together away,
And follow me up to the Dame all-compelling,
To her high Phrygian groves and her dark Phrygian

dwelling, Where the cymbals they clash, and the drums they

resound, And the Phrygian's curv'd pipe pours it's moanings


Where the ivy-crown'd priestesses toss with their


And send the shrill howl through their deity's house, Where they shriek, and they scour, and they mad

den about, 'Tis there we go bounding in mystical rout.

No sooner had spoken
This voice half-broken,
When suddenly from quiv'ring tongues arose the

universal cry, The timbrels with a boam resound, the cymbals

with a clash reply, And up the verdant Ida with a quicken'd step the

chorus flew, While Atys with the timbrel's smite the terrible

procession drew;

Raging, panting, wild, and witless, through the

sullen shades it broke, Like the fierce, unconquer'd heifer bursting from

her galling yoke ; And on pursue the sacred crew, till at the door of

Cybele, Faint and fasting, down they sink, in pale immova

bility : The heavy sleep-the heavy sleep-grows o'er their

failing eyes, And lock’d in dead repose the rabid. frenzy lies.

But when the Sun look'd out with eyes of light Round the firm earth, wild seas, and skies of morn

ing white, Scaring the ling'ring shades With echo-footed steeds,

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